Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
W e were seated in a circular booth near the back of the restaurant at my request. As soon as the server left to fill our drink orders, I lowered my menu and cocked a brow at Grace. “I believe you have a task to complete, Ms. Copeland.”
Her lips trembled and she nodded.
I expected her to slip out of the booth and head to the bathroom, but instead, she shimmied a bit lower in her seat and flipped up her dress, working so quickly I could barely see her hands move.
After a moment, she drew out a swatch of purple lace—a darker shade than the day before—and fashioned it into a triangle.
Before I could fully process what she was doing, she’d whipped out the pocket square from my suit jacket and slipped the panties inside, fluffing the material until it looked like it had been made for that purpose.
“You caused me to be so hot and bothered,” she murmured close to my ear. “Only fair you should be reminded as often as I am.”
Reminded ? Hell, the heat from that square of fabric was branding a tattoo on my skin straight through my clothes.
And the scent of her. God, I had to be imagining it.
But just the mere idea that the lace had been against her pussy was going to kill me.
“Your wine, sir, madam.” The server poured the Muscadet I’d ordered into two glasses. He waited until I sampled and approved of the taste, then Grace held up a finger so she could do the same.
“Perfect,” she informed him while I smiled behind my menu.
She would never take a deferential role in anything.
“I’d like to order the oysters on the half shell to start,” I said, ignoring Grace’s sharp kick against my leg. Her heels today weren’t quite as lethal, but they were bad enough. “Then I think we’ll have the Chateaubriand for two, with a side of?—”
“I’d like the chicken,” Grace interrupted.
I cocked a brow. “The Chateaubriand here is excellent.”
“I’d like the chicken.”
The waiter gripped his pad. “I could come back, if you’d like more time…”
“No, this is fine. We’ll take the Chateaubriand and the Poulet aux Champignons, please. Thank you.”
The instant he’d taken our menus and left the table, Grace fisted her napkin. She’d started to unfurl it over her lap before the waiter had made the mistake of trying to take her order. “I didn’t want that fancy-ass chicken. I wanted the simple grilled breast. No champagne, no scallions, no cute little button mushrooms, just plain damn chicken.”
“The chicken I ordered for you is perfectly satisfactory. I’ve had it myself.”
“Satisfactory for you . And that’s just it. Ordered for me? Who does that?”
“I ordered you to remove your panties. Didn’t see you protesting there.”
Watching her flush was a revelation. “There is a difference.”
I smoothed my own napkin over my lap. I didn’t want her to know I was growing even more rigid from this conversation. Her panties had started me off, and her anger would finish me.
She was so fucking hot when she was pissed.
“And that difference is?” I asked, reaching for my wine.
“Sexy stuff is one thing. But when it comes to dinner, I make my own decisions. I’m my own woman. I can decide on my own wine and my own meal. And you know what else? I think it’s absolutely ridiculous to pay over one hundred dollars for fancy beef when there are people starving. It’s wasteful. It’s?—”
“On my tab, so I’ll take the karmic burden.” After taking a sip of my wine and setting aside the glass, I lowered my voice and spoke close to her ear. “Enough, Ms. Copeland. Or else I’ll order you to not only remove your own panties, but to take my cock out right here and not stop until your mouth is full of something else.”
Her chest heaved, her full breasts rising and falling against the bodice of her dress. “I’d bite it off.”
“I doubt it. Seems silly to harm something you enjoy making use of so much.”
She screwed up her mouth to the point that all I could think about was being inside it. “Go to hell.”
I brushed a kiss over the shell of her ear. “How wet are you right now?”
“I’m not.” Her chin came up. “I’m dry like the freaking Sahara.”
“Really. So, if I were to do this…” I slid my hand up the outside of her thigh, tugging her dress up until I could see she’d worn hose and garters again, just to drive me insane. I wasted no time in slipping between her tightly clenched thighs and drew my fingers through the moisture sealed between them. “You’re a liar, Ms. Copeland.” I nipped her earlobe, clinking my teeth against her large silver hoop earrings. “I don’t like liars.”
Her breathing sped, but she said nothing. Didn’t move at all.
“Especially because I’ve discovered if someone lies about one thing, they’ll lie about another.” I inched my hand higher. I’d never intended to go down this path here—not to touch her intimately in a public restaurant, and especially not to prod at the boundaries of her deception—but a wise businessman never refused an opportunity when it was presented. “Have you found that to be true, Ms. Copeland?”
“You’re a bastard.”
“I am. Undoubtedly. I’m the bastard who’s about to finger-fuck all your objections right out of your pretty head.” I slid my mouth down the side of her neck. “And maybe your lies too.”
Her thighs clenched around my hand, as if she intended to force me out. She tipped back her head and exhaled sharply, then she gripped my hand between hers and shoved it deeper, pushing my fingers right up against where she needed them.
Against an inferno of wet heat, all for me.
I obliged her, parting her swollen folds with two fingers. She reached for her wine and gulped it down as I circled her stiff clit, rotating the pad of my finger over it again and again until she started to squirm against the booth. This wouldn’t take long. She was so soaked that my fingers kept sliding along her folds, making obscene noises I knew she could hear even over the sounds of other people dining. Our booth was somewhat sheltered by a tall divider, but other diners were close by, close enough that if she gasped, they would probably hear her.
“You like to watch other people fuck,” I murmured against the side of her throat while my fingers worked her slippery pussy. “But how about others watching you?”
The waiter returned with our platter of oysters and Grace jolted upward, trying to get away. I clamped my hand over her center, holding her firmly in place with one hand as I spoke calmly to the waiter. Her clit was pulsing so hard I could feel the reverberations against my palm.
Little vixen was turned on by this. She liked me having my fingers on her while the awkward waiter stood by, making small talk with me for the sole purpose of heightening Grace’s arousal.
“I think we’re all set for the moment,” I said, sliding my index finger over her plump clit, gathering the wetness there and using it to fuel my caresses. “What about you, Grace?” I gave her a tight smile. She wasn’t the only one on the verge of combusting. “Do you need anything else right now?”
She shook her head, pressing her lips together until they were white.
The waiter left, and I used my free hand to pry one of the oysters from its shell with the seafood fork. I’d done it so many times that I could do it blindfolded. I pressed the oyster against her closed mouth while my fingers played over her flesh. “Open for me.”
She responded by separating her legs and opening her lips so I could simultaneously push my fingers all the way inside her pussy and slip the oyster onto her tongue.
With one hard thrust, she exploded, her eyes going wide as she fought to swallow the salty delicacy. She gripped her wine glass until I half expected it to shatter, her hips bucking against my hand as I sought to extend her pleasure with slow, deep strokes.
Then she turned her head as if to speak into my ear. Instead, she bit my earlobe hard enough to bruise. “You’ll pay for that.”
I withdrew my hand from between her legs and reached for another oyster, pushing it and the tips of my drenched fingers between her lips. Her eyes shot fire as she tasted it and herself, her sharp teeth scraping my skin. Then I did the same for myself, except I openly licked my fingers once I’d swallowed the oyster.
She shut her eyes on a moan.
“I can’t wait, Ms. Copeland,” I murmured.