Chapter 44
Sabine
I’m nervous—butfor the first time, it makes me smile. It’s because I care so much. Because there’s passion and pride behind the dinner I’m preparing for Astor.
I spend the morning meticulously planning the menu. This is difficult as I don’t have access to the Internet to confirm ingredients. Around noon, Cillian appears at my doorway, demanding the grocery list, which, I assume, he passes to Astor.
I fix myself up the best I can with what I have, using every cosmetic in my possession. I even line my eyes and gloss my lips.
When I woke this morning, a stack of size large sweatshirts sat outside my door, each a different color. At first, I was confused, but when I smelled him embedded in the fabric, I realized they were Astor’s clothing—not his late wife’s—and that he’d delivered them personally.
I assume Prishna has been relieved of this duty. Thank God.
I choose the black sweatshirt, and instead of letting it hang limply around my hips, I knot the side, allowing for a sliver of exposed skin. Very ’90s grunge.
I haven’t seen Prishna all day—whoever the hell she really is. I’ve decided to push her out of my head because at the end of the day, what business is it of mine? Astor is my sole focus. He is what I want.
As usual, the lord of the manor has been locked in his office all day. Clearly, he’s a workaholic. This doesn’t surprise me. In fact, now that I know about his humble roots, his tireless dedication makes me proud.
I prep and prepare our dinner while dancing to old-school hip-hop, something with a fast beat to dispel the nerves. Also, wine helps.
I spend no less than an hour experimenting with place settings, wanting to choose the perfect set. I decide to go with black-and-gold plates and beveled drinking glasses. And instead of using the same long-stemmed candles from the evening before, I light an assorted dozen, placing them all around the room.
Dare I say, I’ve had a blast doing it all. The most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
Low, sexy instrumental jazz music hums through the speakers now, and I have just enough of a buzz to not have a care in the world.
It’s 6:50 p.m., ten minutes before our arranged meeting time. I’m ahead of schedule.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
Twenty.
Finally, quick, heavy steps echo down the hallway.
Butterflies burst into flight in my stomach.
Astor breezes into the dining room and subsequently takes my breath away. The billionaire CEO resembles a bronzed Greek god in a tan linen suit that clings to his broad, muscular shoulders. Though the long work day is heavy on his face, his gaze immediately drops to the exposed skin peeking out from above my waistband.
“You’re late.”
“You look good in my clothes.”
“Thank you. You’re still late.”
“I apologize. I had a call; it went longer than expected ...” He sweeps a strand of hair over my shoulder, his gaze scanning my face like he’s memorizing every line of it.
I look down in a feeble attempt to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “Are you ready to eat?”
His brow cocks.
“Food, I mean.” I grin. “Food, Astor.”
“Ah.” He smirks. “Yes. I’m starved. I missed lunch.”
“Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Astor removes his jacket and settles into his chair at the head of the table, I slip into the kitchen and grab the first course.
“Caesar salad.”
I slide the plate in front of him, admiring the shaved parmesan that is perfectly arranged on the lettuce. Each carving is the exact same size, placed equally apart. Next to it is a small serving of dressing, and next to that, two slices of garlic bread, fresh from the oven.
“Before you ask, yes, I made every bit of it—from scratch.”
“Even the dressing?”
“Even the dressing.”
This impresses him.
“I thought you didn’t like salad.”
“This isn’t just about me.”
He looks at me, our gazes lingering.
“Eat.”
Astor waits until I’m seated. I pause until he takes a bite, desperate for his approval.
“That’s all I get?” I squint. “Just a nod?”
“I haven’t had the full course yet.”
I stab my fork into the air. “You’re lucky you’re hot, do you know that?”
This earns me a chuckle, a deep, masculine sound that reverberates up my spine. I want to hear it again and again.
Astor devours the salad before I’ve taken my third bite. He wasn’t kidding that he was starving, and it exhilarates me to know that I am able to remedy that need for him.
When I clear the plates and bring out the main dish, Astor looks up at me, a baffled expression on his face.
“What the hell is this?”
“Lobster mac and cheese.”
“Macaroni and cheese? I thought you said you could cook. A seven-year-old could make mac and cheese.”
“I’d be careful talking to me like that when there are knives within reaching distance. Just try it.”
He sniffs, then picks up his fork.
“Make sure you get a piece of lobster in the first bite.”
“Don’t tell me how to eat.”
“Then stop being such a pussy.”
“That dirty mouth will get you in trouble, young lady.”
“Here’s to hoping. Try it.”
I hover over him as he chews, on pins and needles.
“Holy shit.”
“I know, right?” I beam. “It’s delicious. You owe me an apology.”
“I already apologized once within the last fifteen minutes.”
“Do you need to stretch before your second?”
Around another bite, he mutters (almost inaudibly), “Sorry.”
Smirking, I return to the opposite end of the table and dig in. It’s damn good. I did good.
Astor and I fall into an easy, comfortable conversation. Surprisingly so.
He has many questions about my education and accolades. I can tell he’s impressed, and I feel proud talking about it.
I ask about his business and learn that it was built on the coattails of his mother, using her contacts and reputation to get his foot in the door. He has high respect and gratitude for her. A mama’s boy, and I find this extremely endearing.
I also learn that Astor served in the military but left when he realized how many opportunities were missed by rules and regulations, restrictions written by politicians while sitting in their air-conditioned offices, most of whom have never served a day in their lives. Red tape, he calls it.
So, determined to fix a flawed system, Astor started his company when he was only twenty-seven years old, with the purpose of handling what the government is too inept to. He’s driven by patriotism, greed, and an intense desire to honor his mother.
Astor has two helpings of my mac and cheese before dinner is over. For dessert, I serve a simple but classic chocolate layer cake with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Between us, we’ve split a bottle and a half of wine, and I am comfortably buzzed—bordering on drunk.
“Thank you for cooking,” he says, glancing up at me as I refill his wine.
“Thank you for enjoying it.” I set down the decanter. “You should know that you make me feel alive. Not again—but for the first time ever.”
He stares at me for a moment, and I can’t quite read the expression. Then he removes his napkin from his lap, places it on the table, and pushes out his chair.
When he turns to me, his gaze is so intense that, instinctively, I take a step back.
“Make a decision right now, Miss Hart.” His voice is deep, throaty. “I cannot take another second without being inside you.” He closes the inches between us. “Consent or no consent.”
I blink, thrown off by the brazen declaration. My pulse skyrockets.
“Right now,” he growls. “Make a decision right now?—”
“Yes,” I breathe out, barely audible. “Please. I want it. I consent—I consent.”
Like two magnets, our mouths collide. Frenzied and unbridled, his tongue thrusts between my lips. My clothes are thrown across the room.
With one sweep of his arm, he clears the table, sending food, plates, and priceless crystal shattering onto the floor.
My head spins as I’m grabbed by the waist and lifted onto the now-cleared table. He pushes himself between my legs, grips my thigh, and with one hand pinning me in place, wraps the other hand around my neck. His eyes are feral.
Goose bumps fly over my body.
“I will not ask for permission again. I will take you whenever I want you. I will not go gentle on you; this will not be sweet, soft, or sensual. I will fuck you exactly how I want to and for how long I want to do it for. Do you understand, Miss Hart?”
“Yes,” I whisper, his words like gasoline to the heat already raging between my legs.
“Good.” He releases me. “Now lean back and spread your legs.”
My heart roars as I lean back on my elbows, lift my bare feet onto the table, and open my legs for him. There is no thinking, no questioning; I don’t care if this is crazy, or wrong, or whatever. I have completely lost myself in this moment, in this man, and it feels so freeing.
He begins undressing. “I want to watch you finger-fuck that beautiful pussy like you did two nights ago.”
Like an obedient puppy, I lick my finger, spread my legs wider, and slowly begin stroking back and forth. I’m already painfully throbbing, my body literally screaming out for this man.
His neck flushes with heat as he kicks off his shoes.
“Fuck it harder.” His voice is now shaking.
He’s as crazed as I am, and I love what I’m doing to him. I feel powerful, wanted, needed. Sexy as hell.
Watching him, I dip my finger in and out, shocked at how wet I am. I add another finger, and another.
The vein down the side of his neck throbs as he slides off his shirt, revealing a chiseled, tanned chest and an insanely sculpted six-pack. His hands tremble as he lowers his pants, then his boxer briefs. His erection springs out, long, thick, and veiny.
“Dear God,” I whisper, thrusting harder now, unable to control my own fingers. I’m already going out of my mind, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
Gloriously naked, Astor picks up the silver dish of chocolate sauce and hovers it over me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
I bite my lip as he dribbles a thin line onto my chest, between my breasts, down my belly, to my lips where it drips down my hand. The warm, thick liquid spreads over my body, sending tingles rippling over my skin.
The silver dish is tossed over his shoulder. Chocolate splatters across the wall.
“Stop,” he demands, pulling my hand away from between my legs.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“Everything.” He shoves me back against the table and pins my wrists above my head. “To start, I want to taste you before I fuck you.”
Folding over me, he licks the chocolate from my aching breasts. With the hand that’s not pinning my wrists above my head, he gently rolls my nipple between his fingertips.
I begin whimpering. “Fuck me, Astor. Please fuck me.”
“I’m not done with dessert yet.”
I groan as he licks down my sternum, my stomach, and finally between my legs. But he teases me, circling the outside of my folds, driving me absolutely wild. I am physically aching for him to be inside me. Just when I can’t take another minute of the torture, his tongue slides over my clit.
It feels like an electric shock. My entire body jolts as he suckles the swollen nub.
Writhing against the table, I pull my hands from his grip and plunge them into his hair, moving my hips to the strokes of his tongue. I feel as though I am having an out-of-body experience, having never felt this kind of pleasure in my life.
Astor devours me like it’s his last meal.
“I’m going to come,” I whimper in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
“Not yet.” He lifts his face, licking the chocolate from a pair of beautifully swollen, glistening lips.
My God, he is everything.
“Astor, please.” My pulse is roaring, my vision wavering. “Please?—”
Before I can finish begging, he grabs my hips and yanks me to him, and off the table. I’m spun around like a rag doll, shoved face-first against the glossy surface, my ass exposed to him.
I cry out as he spears into me. Tears spring to my eyes, the sudden rush of emotions too intense not to release. The pain is exhilarating, and I can feel myself stretching around him, greedily taking in every inch. His nails dig into my hips, and before long, my body gives in, relaxing into his strokes and pushing back into him as he thrusts.
“Good girl. That’s a good—fuck, Sabine.”
He folds over my back, dips his finger in the bowl of whipped cream, and rubs it on my lips. I open for him, sucking the sweet vanilla from his fingertips.
We’re both sweating, panting, molding together as one.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he breathes into my ear. “You make me crazy.”
He lifts off my back and presses so deeply inside me that I cry out, and then he wraps a hand around my stomach, pressing his thumb against my throbbing clit. With his other hand, he lubricates his fingertips with whipped cream and slides a finger between my ass cheeks.
Filled by his erection, I gasp as one finger rubs my clit while the other gently begins to circle my asshole.
I am floating. There’s no other word for it. The sensation coursing through my body is the most intense I’ve ever had in my life.
I whine his name helplessly, unable to take another second of whatever the hell this man is doing to me.
“Say my name again,” he demands.
I do, again and again.
“You are mine, Sabine Hart. You belong to me.” The snarl in his tone is both terrifying and sexy as hell.
He’s fucking me so hard now that with each thrust, the table inches forward and my forehead bangs against the polished wood.
“No man will ever touch you again. Do you hear me? You’re mine, Sabine, mine, mine. Mine.”
“Yes, I’m yours, Astor. I’m yours, I’m yours ...”
“Do you want it, baby? Tell me. Do you want it?”
The pressure increases at my opening.
“Yes, please, I want it,” I cry out. “Do it.”
“Say my fucking name!”
“Do it, Astor! Do it!”
His finger slips into my asshole.
I come instantly, screaming his name as he screams mine.
I am unable to move or speak as I lie sprawled out, facedown, my upper body on the dinner table, my feet on the floor. My body is languid, loose, satiated beyond my wildest expectations. I am completely drained of energy and coherent thought.
The sound in the room slowly begins to register and I push myself up by my palms and turn around, still gripping the table for support.
Astor stands a few feet from me.
I watch as he gathers his designer suit and priceless shoes.
I watch him dress.
I watch him round the table and head for the door, not sparing me a single glance.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I never stay with a woman after, to be clear.”
“I didn’t ask it of you.”
“Good. Now go clean yourself and go to bed.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute at his back as he exits the room.
Grinning, I slide onto the table, dip my finger in the chocolate, and suck it off.
Yes, sir, I think. The tables are turning, aren’t they?