Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“You come here often,” she says, taking in the humble space.
I rub a thumb over her knuckles. “It’s rustic, but the food is good.”
“I like it. It’s cozy. It feels as if we’re having lunch in someone’s grandmother’s kitchen.”
“Exactly.”
That’s why Rachele refused to come here. She found it too basic. In her opinion, a restaurant only has merit if it adds value to her Instagram status. It’s refreshing to be with an uncomplicated woman, someone who doesn’t require that I lay the world at her feet before she’ll grace me with her attention. Not that Anya has a choice. She’s stuck with me. Yet if she did have a choice, she wouldn’t ask me to slay dragons before giving me an ounce of her time. That’s what I like about her. I like that I can sit across a table from her and enjoy a plate of simple gnocchi.
Anya clears her throat. “We’re in a private room.”
I raise a brow. “Do you prefer to sit in the front?”
She motions at her hand that’s buried under the bulk of mine on the table. “There’s no one here to see you holding my hand. You don’t have to act as if we’re madly in love.”
I grin. “It’s for Rusty’s sake.”
Her smile holds a challenge. “Is that so?”
“I may also like holding your hand.”
A light blush tints her cheeks, giving her that gorgeous peaches-and-cream complexion I love so much. “What is this? Role play practice?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “A little practice has never hurt anyone.” I lower my voice. “On the contrary, practice makes perfect.”
The color on her cheeks turns to a deep apricot, making those cute freckles stand out.
Rusty appears with a bottle of water and the salad. We fall quiet. After placing everything on the table, he doesn’t linger to chat about horse racing and football. He rushes from the room, mumbling something about giving us privacy.
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Anya says. “You could’ve eaten at the seafood restaurant. I would’ve been happy with a sandwich at home.”
“I like coming here. Besides, finding you tomatoes brings me great joy.”
“Stop making fun of me,” she chides.
On the contrary, seeing her devouring something I went to great lengths to source for her is even better than sex. It gives me a warm feeling in the center of my chest, a foreign sentiment I’ve never experienced.
Unable to resist, I lift her hand to my mouth and bite down gently on her index finger. The sharp intake of her breath does things to me, things that shouldn’t happen in a restaurant. When she tries to free her hand, I hold tight. Sucking her finger into my mouth, I wrap my tongue around the digit. Her pupils dilate like small black expanding stars. Under her dress, her nipples contract. It’s impossible to miss the hard little tips that push against the fabric.
My pulse beats with a steady, heavy tempo between my temples. I tried. Like never before. But I’ve never needed anything so badly.
My question is honest. No more beating around the bush. “Did I give you enough time to recover?”
She gives a start. “Saverio.”
“Yes or no?”
“I—Yes.”
Yes.
That sweet little word. A word that gives me permission. And I don’t let her invite me twice.
I stand, come around the table, and pull her to her feet.
“What are you doing?” she whispers when I drag her by the hand down the narrow hallway past the kitchen.
A glance over my shoulder assures me the front area is getting busy. Customers are trickling in for lunch.
It doesn’t matter.
I open the bathroom door and push her inside. She spins around to face me when I lock the door.
“What are you doing?” she asks again, this time with a hint of panic in her voice.
I’m on her in a blink, wrapping my hands around her middle and lifting her onto the vanity counter. It would’ve been easier to bend her over and take her from behind, but that’s not how I want it. I want to look at her face when I sink balls-deep inside her. I want to see her eyes when I make her come.
“Saverio,” she cries out when I scrunch the hem of her dress into my fists and shove it over her thighs up to her waist.
She grabs my shoulders for balance when I spread her knees and step between her legs.
Shooting an anxious look at the door, she asks, “Are you crazy?”
“For you,” I admit, already unzipping.
I shove my briefs and jeans down just far enough to free my cock.
She drops her gaze to my hard-on and drags in a shaky breath. “Oh, God. We’re really going to do this.”
“You bet. And yes, I’m going to be your god. You’re going to worship every inch of my cock when I come inside you.”