Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Over the past week, I’ve been careful to reserve the most visible table at Davino’s.
A table where the whole dining room can see us.
One that puts us on display. Due to his own battle with the tabloids, Davino Fiorella has a strict no camera policy in all of his restaurants—but that doesn’t mean that people don’t spot us and rush back to their rooms and report on what we ate or whether or not Dean held my hand across the table.
This time, when the Ma?tre D leads us through the restaurant, it isn’t to a table for two in the center of the room.
“Doesn’t this defeat the purpose a bit,” I say when it becomes obvious where we’re being led to.
“It might defeat your purpose, McEnroe,” Dean tells me. “But it serves mine perfectly.”
I need you to think about where we were and what we were doing a few hours ago and then I need you to decide if wearing this dress to dinner with me is a good idea, or not…
I look straight ahead, doing my best not to look at the other patrons while they discreetly watch us as we walk past them.
“People are staring at us,” I whisper, feeling myself wobble in my heels a bit when Dean’s palm presses against the small of my back, fingertips brushing past the loose drape of my dress to skim along the curve of my waist.
“They aren’t staring at us,” he informs me, making no attempt to lower his voice. “They’re staring at you. They’re trying to decide if you’re wearing panties or not.” When he says it, a man in a nearby booth nearly chokes on his Porterhouse.
I let out a soft, indignant huff. “Seriously?”
“Don’t blame me, Maraca—” He leans into me to whisper the rest in my ear. “you dressed yourself, remember?”
“You’re insufferable,” I whisper while pushing back against the bubble of laughter bursting against the back of my throat.
“Uh oh…” Dean says softly, his fingertips digging into my waist. “That sounded an awful lot like an insult, Princess.” Our host stops in front of a set of decorative pocket doors and opens them with a flourish to reveal one of the small, private dining rooms that line the perimeter of the restaurant. “One you’re going to have to pay for.”
Heart knocking in my chest, I shake my head on my way past the Ma?tre D. The room itself is small, no bigger than 10x10, with the leather upholstered, U-shaped booth taking up the majority of the space. Next to the table is a silver champagne bucket, an uncorked bottle already on ice.
Stopping in front of the booth, I turn to watch while Dean has a short, whispered conversation with the Ma?tre D before he gives him a brief incline of his head and pulls the pocket doors closed. “What did you say to him?”
Undoing the single button on his jacket, Dean shrugs out of it before tossing it onto the booth.
“I told him that if he or anyone else in this fucking restaurant even thinks about opening those doors without a clear, verbal invitation to do so—” Unbuttoning his cuffs, one after the other, he starts to roll up his sleeves, revealing tan, tattooed skin. “I‘m going to murder them.”
“Murder?” Licking my lips on a soft, breathless laugh, I shake my head. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Considering what I’m about to do to you?” Dean flicks me a quick look, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a look that can only be described as predatory. “No.”
“Dean—” Trying for scandalized or maybe disapproving, I fail miserably while I watch him cover the short distance between us in a couple of long, purposeful strides.
“You called me insufferable.” Dean fits his arms around me, his hands immediately sliding over my ass. “Rules are rules, Mills. It must be done.”
Looking up at him, I feel my nipples tighten under the thin silk of my dress.
“It wasn’t an insult,” I tell him, a soft whimper escaping my lips when I feel his hands slide over the curves of my ass cheeks.
“It was a statement of fact and—” Breath caught in my throat, I feel the floor tilt slightly when his hands slide even lower to catch the hem of my dress.
“and I don’t believe for a second that you were insulted by it. ”
“I’m beyond insulted, Mills.” Lowering his head, Dean licks his way up the side of my throat while he skims his fingertips along the outside of my thighs to my hips.
“My feelings are hurt...” Finding the waistband of my panties, he hooks them into it, pulling them down over my hips.
“I just might cry myself to sleep over it.” Letting them fall, he whispers it in my ear, the end of it caught in a deep, rumbling groan when I step out of them and widen my stance in invitation.
“You’re at least two insults ahead of me,” I remind him, my knees wobbling when I feel his teeth scrape across the soft skin of my neck while his hands slip under my dress and between my thighs, his fingertips teasing over the seam of my bare pussy.
“Maybe we should call it even and—” My attempt at negotiation ends on a sharp gasp when his fingers push themselves inside me on a hard, deep stroke that has my hands sliding across his shoulders and into his hair.
Lifting his free hand, he hooks his fingers around the strap of my dress like he did earlier, pulling it off my shoulder to expose my breast. Feathering the pad of his thumb over my stiff, swollen nipple, he groans against the side of my neck when my pussy clenches around his fingers.
“Those weren’t the rules...” Sliding his fingers out, Dean pushes them higher to slick them over my throbbing clit, dragging me to the edge of release before he pumps them back in.
“And it’s not my fault if you’re not willing to collect. ”
“You’re right...” Resisting the urge to let my head fall back on my shoulders to give Dean room and permission to do whatever he wants to me, I loosen the grip I have on his hair. “Are you ready for your mission, Dean?”
“If my mission is to make you come so hard, everyone on this fucking island will feel it—” Fingers still fucking me from behind, Dean pinches my nipple, plucking at it almost hard enough to hurt. “Then yes.”
Dropping my hand to his wrist, I pull on it, signaling him to stop. “Sorry to disappoint…”
Lifting his head from the crook of my neck, Dean makes that warning sound in his chest even as the hand between my legs goes still. “Mills—”
Finally managing to muster the strength, I push his hand away before taking a step back. “Rules are rules, Dean,” I tell him, letting him look at me while I try to catch my breath. “You owe me.”
“I swear to God…” Raking his heated gaze over me, Dean laughs in spite of himself. “If you’re about to make me run naked through this restaurant…”
For a second, I feel my resolve waver. This afternoon was different.
All I did was follow where Dean led. Let him take me to a place where I wasn’t me anymore.
I wasn’t Melisandre Blackwell. Uptight and repressed.
Awkward and unsure. Rational and Unfailingly appropriate.
I was someone else. Someone I don’t think I can be with anyone else but him.
Someone I don’t want to be with anyone else but him.
Lifting a trembling hand, I hook my fingers under the strap still holding my dress up on one side and slide it over my shoulder. Letting it slip down my arm, the silk of it pooling around my waist before I sink to my knees in front of him.
Looking down at me, Dean’s laughter dies in his throat. “Millie…”
“I’ve never done this before,” I confess quietly, fighting back the embarrassment over how inexperienced I actually am. “You’re going to have to tell me what to do…” Swallowing hard, I nod my head. “I can do it. I want to do it. I want to—”
“Be my good girl.” Dean finishes for me, his gaze pinned to mine. Lifting a hand, he cups my chin, brushing the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “Is that what you want, Princess? Do you want to be my good girl?”
“Yes. Please….” I whisper it on another nod, licking my lips, the tip of my tongue brushing against his thumb. “Make me her… make me your good girl.”
I see something that looks very close to panic flash in his eyes—there and gone before it even fully registers, shuttered away behind one of his unreadable expressions.
“Rules are rules, Mills…” Slipping his thumb past my slightly parted lips, he groans softly when instinct takes over and I run my tongue over the length of it.
Pulling his thumb from my mouth, he cups my chin again, tilting my head upward so I can meet his gaze. “You have to say it first.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I look him in the eye and lie. “Not if we don’t make it a big deal.”
When I say it, Dean makes the warning sound in his throat again and for a second, I think I’m wrong. That I said the wrong thing but then his hand falls away from my face. “Undo my belt.”
Still looking up at him, I reach for it without hesitation. Gripping its buckle, I pull it loose, unhooking the prong from its hole to let it fall open.
“Good…” Stroking the back of his hand over my cheek, Dean skims his fingers along the underside of my jaw. “Now the rest of it.”
Nodding, I drop my gaze away from his so I can focus on my next task because my hands are shaking.
I can hear them outside the door. People dining.
Eating dinner. Making polite conversation.
A few weeks ago, I would have been one of them.
I would have been listening to Allister drone on about his golf game or some bit of trivial society gossip I don’t care about while I worried about work or whether or not I remembered to pay the wedding photographer.
Never in my wildest imaginations would I put myself where I am now but there’s no other place I’d rather be.
When I finally manage to get his pants open, Dean strokes my cheek again. “Look at me, Millie…” he says quietly. When I lift my gaze to meet his, a muted growl rumbles deep in his chest. “Be a good girl and take my cock out.”