Chapter 13 #2
The patrons all look so smart, I feel bare without any makeup and with my hair down. But that’s nothing compared to having my pussy exposed. I walk with mincing steps to avoid having some of the diners look up my skirt.
Our hostess seats us, giving Leith heart eyes and addressing him as if I’m not even there. “If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to flag me down.” She rests a delicate hand on his shoulder, reminding me painfully of Galiene.
He gives her a cool look, dropping his eyes to her hand, which she quickly removes. “If you could bring the drinks and food menus, we’d be obliged.”
“Yes, sir. Coming right up.” She swishes her hips, clicking away on sky-high heels, and returns a minute later with the menus. She hovers a moment, but when Leith levels her with a forbidding glare, she hurries away at last.
Leith takes a cursory glance at the drinks and food menus, folds them up, and sets them aside. He observes me with an intensity only he is capable of. Swallowing, I set my menus down.
“You know what you’d like?” He takes a sip of water.
“I’ll get what you’re having.” I don’t feel confident ordering off this sophisticated French menu.
“I’ll be getting the Chef’s Signatures and a shot of the Tepextate mezcal.” A wicked light enters his eyes. “Can you remember that?”
Biting my lower lip, I nod. “Aye.”
He flags down our waitress, another bombshell in a tight mini-dress and platform heels. She tucks a strand of gold hair behind her ear. “What can I get for you?”
I open my mouth to repeat what Leith said, when a jolt of electricity lights up my arse, shooting me off the chair. “Aagh!”
The anal plug vibrates! And Leith is controlling it remotely.
Everyone in the restaurant stares at me as I shoot him a death glare. The vibrations continue, making me writhe in my seat.
“Is everything all right, Iona?” Leith’s amused look makes me want to plunge my butter knife through his carotid artery.
Our waitress tilts her head. “You look uncomfortable, miss.”
No shit.
“I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth. “I’ll have?—”
The anal vibrator kicks into high gear, and I moan, clapping a hand over my mouth. There are teens in this restaurant, and the sounds I’m making are porno-worthy.
Some of said teens are giggling off in the corner. A staid older man clears his throat, and an elderly lady spears me with a chastening look over her spectacles.
“Can you repeat that, miss?” Our waitress taps her foot.
I might as well be broadcast in Piccadilly for all the world to see. I’m so hot—so embarrassed, radge, and turned on at once—I want to roll in ice to cool down.
I’ll be damned if I let Leith win this one. Jutting my chin up, I persist. “I’ll have”—oh, hell, what was it Leith said? Everyone must hear the vibrator inside me. It’s all so mortifying! “I’ll have the Chef thingy?—”
“Which Chef thingy, miss?” the cruel waitress prompts.
“The thing with the, ehm, signatures,” I jerk out in the middle of bursts of the vibrator.
I’m going to kill Leith.
“The Chef’s Signatures? Right. And to drink?”
Oh, fuck it. What was that called again?
“A tempest thingamabob.” I scrape the recesses of my memory, dredging this up.
She covers her mouth, as if dying to laugh. “Which category is it under, miss?”
“I have no idea,” I force through gritted teeth, shooting Leith another murderous scowl. Now on top of it all I look like a half-wit.
Our waitress flutters her lashes at Leith. “Do you happen to know, sir?”
Leith settles back in his chair, pocketing his phone. “She means the Tepextate mezcal. The Lalocura. I’ll have the same.”
She makes a flirty moue at him. “And for your dinner?”
“The Chef’s Signatures as well.”
“Thank you, sir.” She cocks a voluptuous hip, taking our menus. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
As she turns on her heel, the restaurant buzzes with murmurs. No doubt everyone is speculating on the odds I’ll land in the loony bin by morning.
“Thanks a lot,” I growl under my breath, reaching for my handbag.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Leith slides his hand along my thigh under the table. “You’re here with me for the duration.”
“After that performance?” My cheeks blaze as he squeezes my thigh, turning me on even more.
“Part of your punishment is to see the whole night out, under my terms. You’ll stay put.” He opens his phone and taps it, zapping me again. I let out a groan, gyrating in my chair.
“This is cruel and unusual, even by your standards,” I hiss.
“You’ll learn to beg for it, Flame.”
Riiight. It’s all I can do not to jump up, make a beeline to the ladies, and rub one off.
“Everything I ask you to do is good, because your lord and master demands it.” His fingers trail delectably up and down my inner thigh. “Remember that.”
Fuck, if those aren’t hot words and even hotter moves under the table. My pussy thinks so too, spilling more arousal.
Our waitress returns with two glasses of clear liquid.
Leith clinks his to mine. “Slàinte mhath.”?2
“To surviving.” I knock back a gulp and start coughing. It burns much more than I expected.
A tickled smile curves his lips. “This isn’t tequila, it’s mezcal. Also made from agave, but smoked.”
It’s spicier, earthier, less sweet. But it reminds me of a grassy single malt, and I like it. At this point, I’ll take any spirits to lift my own.
During the first course of caviar, Leith goes easy on me, turning off the vibrator.
I ask him something I’ve been wondering ever since last night. “How long have you been planning all this out?”
“This?” He lifts a devilish brow.
“Well, not this, but the marriage.”
His brows dive down, and he drains his drink. “Ever since Aaron died.”
“You mean you arranged for me to interview you that day?”
“I did.”
“And you knew I’d come asking you for a favor two weeks ago?”
“If you hadn’t come, I’d have lured you in some other way.”
“But isn’t this a major upheaval for you as well?” I know it is, but I want to hear him say it.
He catches our waitress’s eye, then leans in, facing me. “That’s why you’re going to make every minute worth it for me, Scheherazade.”
A gulp trudges down my throat. “Or I die.”
“Or you die.”
Our flirty waitress returns, and Leith orders two more mezcals.
When she’s left, I lean in too. “Is it even true you had to marry me to convince the Crew you’re staying with them?”
He gives a short laugh. “That’s a helpful by-product of being with you. But it’s by no means the main reason.”
So it’s revenge, pure and simple.
A shiver rolls through me. “Tell me another part of your memoir that’s fictionalized.”
His gaze dips to my lips, and my nipples bead behind my halter neck. “I had to fight to get my inheritance after Annand died. My not knowing contract law nearly cost me what was rightfully mine. I had to teach myself on the fly. That’s why I went into contract law at university.”
“You faced a lot of struggles in your youth.” With each new facet of his life story I feel more humbled.
He hitches a shoulder. “I wouldn’t trade any of them for a life of ease.”
As staff arrive to replace our empty plates with Scottish cod, Leith turns to questioning me. “Did you tell the police about the third man who arrived at the last minute and stopped the assaults that night?”
My hands tremble. “N-no.”
His all-seeing gaze bores into my very soul. “Why not?”
I attempt a lie. “What if he hired the two assailants to assault us? He must be powerful enough to come after us. I don’t want that for Grizel or me.”
Leith gives a warning half-shake of his head. “Don’t slige to me, Iona. You’ll earn an even worse punishment.”
How does he know?
“I—he reminds me of someone,” I fumble. “Someone I saw a photograph of eight years ago.”
“Who?” Leith grills.
“I think it may have been my biological father,” I rush out, taking a much-needed pull on my mezcal.
“Ah.” Leaning back, he considers me thoughtfully. “Why do you suspect as much?”
“The photo was among my maw’s things, and he looked so much like me.
Then P.M. was written on the back of it.
Skye just found out recently that Phyfe MacGilson is our father.
” I work to steady my breaths, though my voice shakes.
The idea that my own father aided in my assault sickens me.
“The photo looked a lot like the third man that night.”
“So you’re afraid to look into the third man because he might be your father,” Leith sums up.
I nod. “But I could’ve imagined the resemblance. I was kind of out of it.”
“The way you may have imagined the resemblance between Aaron Frye and the man who actually assaulted Grizel?” he bites out.
I bow my head. “Mibbe.”
He’s clearly an excellent lawyer.
Leith points an index finger into the tablecloth. “If, as you recall, the third man really said they had enough information for the experiment, he’s the one we should consult to find out who assaulted you and your friend.”
“I was feart you’d say that.” Queasiness rises in my stomach, and chills race down my arms. “If it turns out my own father . . .”
“Was involved in your assault? We have to face that possibility head-on,” he reasons.
“We?” I lift my eyes to Leith’s.
His jaw muscles jump. “I’ll help you find all three men. But while we look—and after we’ve found them—you’ll work to preserve your life. Not a single breath you take is free, Iona. It all belongs to me now.”
“I’m your slave,” I murmur.
“Aye. You are.” He holds my chin between his thumb and forefingers. “I own every hair on your head, every beat of your heart, and every drop of your blood. Understood?”
I can barely hold his piercing gaze. “Aye.”
The thought of being his slave excites me even more than the anal plug inside me. This is perhaps the most astonishing part of the evening. That I can accept being controlled by him without freaking out.
“Good.” His eyes regain their warmth. “After we’ve finished dinner, I have a surprise for you.”
My eyes round. “Another?”
His smirk is devastating. “Tonight will be full of them.”
1?backside
2?Cheers.