Chapter Thirty-Two - Cullen
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CULLEN
“ A h, you caught that, did you?”
“Hard not to. We are the only people here.” There’s a little sass in her voice, and it brings light to my chest.
This past week has been everything I wanted. Each day that passed, she spoke to me more and more until we finally hit the same rhythm we’d been in before Celine came in and threw it all into a volcano. Having my girl back has the world feeling right again.
“When I called to rent the place out, I needed to give them a reason. Anniversary felt the most fitting.”
“Cullen, seriously.”
“If you want to get technical, it is our seven-week anniversary since meeting, give or take a few days.”
“A seven-week anniversary celebration? You’re ridiculous.”
“Charming is the word you’re looking for.”
Her lips purse as she tries to keep herself from agreeing with my statement.
“I’m surprised you had to call. Don’t you know the owner or someone?”
“Contrary to your belief, I don’t know everyone in the city.”
“Disappointing. I don’t think I can agree to date you if that’s the case.”
“I’m sorry I don’t meet your expectations.”
She hums, picking up the highball glass before her and giving it a sniff. “What is it?”
“Cornerstar Toast. It’s a vodka-based cocktail with champagne, grapefruit, and other stuff. I thought you’d like it.”
She takes a small sip and instantly smiles. “It’s good.”
God, I’ll never get over that rush. I love seeing her reactions. There is an unbridled sense of satisfaction I get whenever I buy her something that she enjoys. It feeds into my ego, puffing it up.
“Here, do you want to try mine?”
“Sure.” She takes my glass and gives it a taste, a thoughtful look passing over her eyes. “Ooh, that tastes like a Manhattan but better. I freaking knew the cocktails at this place would be amazing.”
“Just wait till you try the food.”
“I’m actually so excited. It was my one regret the last time I was here. I was so pissed at coming all this way and only drinking tequila shots.”
“Yes, but those tequila shots are how we met.”
“True. You could have bought me a cocktail.”
“Your emotional state at the time said otherwise.”
“I was really done with the night,” she laughs.
The server returns and drops off three plates of various appetizers.
When I called to rent the restaurant out for the evening, they’d inquired about how I would like to go about the meal.
I asked if they would be able to do a chef’s recommendation menu, which wasn’t listed anywhere, and they’d been more than happy to oblige.
When you give people enough money, they become very accommodating.
It means that I am able to give Verity an experience that no one else has and to rewrite the failed date she had here with one that will never be topped by anyone except me.
Call me possessive, but I don’t want her to ever think of another man when I am around. And if, by chance, it does happen, I want her to realize that they pale in comparison to anything I can offer.
I don’t throw my money around often. Flaunting the millions I’ve poured my sweat into making isn’t my style.
I come from a middle-class family and got to where I am today because I am smart about investing and am damn good at what I do.
I have more than most people, but I am also surrounded by some of the world’s top one percent, so what I do have pales in comparison to them.
When it comes to Verity, though, nothing seems like too much. I am more than happy to cash in every favor I am owed, pull every string at my disposal, and spend all I have to make her feel special.
The meal flies by, an array of tastes so out of this world that even I’m kicking myself for never properly dining here.
I came to The Brass Stop because they have one of the best bartenders in the city and they aren’t far from where I live—taking the extra time to eat here had never been a priority.
I am quickly learning that if Verity is involved, I want to try everything. Things that seemed so minor or negligible are suddenly becoming chances to spend time with her.
We take the time to chat about our week, and Verity rolls her eyes more times than I can count as she complains about the project she is working on with Bridget’s fiancé.
Even I find Frankie to be annoying and avoid having to interact with him unless necessary.
His relationship with Bridget has always felt lecherous and surface level, but as someone who had been in a toxic relationship myself, I know that nothing I say would make a difference unless Bridget wants to see it for herself.
Verity nods along as I explain to her the deal I’m trying to close with the Clifton Bank, her confusion over why the man refuses to give me the listing a mirror of my own frustration.
“Maybe he doesn’t really want to sell it.”
“I’ve considered that, but for someone so high profile, why lie?”
“Hmm, true.” She reaches across and spears a raspberry off the top of my lava cake. “Why does this deal matter so much? According to the web, you’re a pretty big hotshot. Shouldn’t people be fighting to have you work with them?”
“You Googled me?”
Her fork freezes millimeters from her lips, eyes darting to me before she promptly chomps on the raspberry and shifts herself away from me.
“Verity.” I reach out and grip her chin, angling her back. “Don’t be shy.”
Her breath hitches, heat turning her eyes as dark as the ocean.
Fuck me.
“How many times have you looked me up?”
“J-just the once.” Her voice stutters on the lie.
“Really?” I slide my hand along her jaw until my fingers curl around the back of her neck, my thumb caressing her cheek as I keep her focused only on me.
“Tell me, how many hours have you spent thinking about me? How much of your day is taken up with your mind wandering to memories of my hands on your skin? Because for me, a second doesn’t go by without thoughts of you. ”
“I—” She swallows thickly. “I can’t even think when I’m around you.”
She whispers her breathy confession, pulse pounding under my fingers. The corner of my lip quirks up, my cock stirring at her hazy expression. I angle my head down, keeping my grip on her neck as our breaths dance closer and closer.
“I’m obsessed with you, and I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life.”
Her small hand lands on my thigh, searching for stability as she fights to not succumb to my touch. But her attempt at creating distance is a failure because I can feel the heat of her fingers through the fabric of my pants, and it shoots right to my heavy cock.
“Be careful where you touch, angel.”
My warning seems to melt the last of her icy hesitation as her fingers tighten on my thigh.
Fuck .
I groan at the sensation, desperate for more of her.
The last few weeks have been pure torture.
Nights of beating myself off to thoughts of her, but none of them are as satisfying as the knowledge of what it would be like if it were her hands wrapped around my dick instead of my own.
That night after the ballet was the closest to pleasure I’d come, the smell of her arousal still heavy on my fingers as I pumped myself and came all over my chest.
I match her, my free hand coming down on her leg and teasing the skin just below the hem of her short dress, like I had earlier in the car.
“Cullen,” she warns, just as she had before.
“Don’t play with fire unless you’re prepared to get burned.”
This time, I’m a lot quicker as my fingers dip under the fabric and skim the inside of her thigh. The feel of her heat so close has my lungs constricting with the need to touch her, to feel her slick want for me.
“We aren’t alone.”
I graze my lips along her collarbone, murmuring, “I paid them enough to look the other way.”
“Cullen.”
“Didn’t you say later?”
“I meant at your place.”
“Oh?” I smile against her soft skin. “You were planning on coming home with me tonight? What an assumption.”
“I—” Her thighs squeeze together as I trace the pad of my middle finger against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her other hand suddenly grips the center of my shirt, straining the fabric against my shoulders with the force of her desperation. “Shit.”
Her curse sends a wave of thick desire through my blood. Carnal pleasure pulses within me at the way I have her unraveling so wholly under my touch.
“Come on, Verity. Don’t you want me to make you feel good? Don’t you want me to take away that ache?”
She whimpers, thighs releasing their tension so I can slide my fingers down her cunt.
“Don’t you want to see how well this pussy can take my cock?”
“Yes.” Her confession rips out of her throat as she finally gives in.
“How is the desser—never mind!”
Verity lets out a shocked squeak at the server’s intrusion, her hand that had been so desperately clutching my chest pushes me back with such force that, paired with my surprise, it has me falling completely against the cushion on the booth seat.
My patience cracks.
“That’s it.”
I’m fucking over people ruining this every damn time.
I sit up and grab Verity’s wrist, tugging her out of the booth and through the dark restaurant.
“Hey, wait.”
Her protests ring against my silence as I stalk out of the restaurant and onto the busy street.
“Cullen, stop. Where are you going? We didn’t even finish dessert.”
I stop at the end of the road, pulling her close to me, our hands trapped between our chests.
“I’m leaving so I can finish my dessert without any interruptions.”
“What?”
I use her confusion to lace our hands together and continue my mission, weaving us through the throngs of people littering the sidewalk.
“Hang on for a second.” She squeezes my hand tightly and yanks me back, stalling our progress. “Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”