46. SCARLET #2
We clink glasses again. His eyes sparkle, making it clear that he knows the state of horniness my body is in. Bastard .
I'm also in a dilemma. I can't spend the evening not drinking; that will make Antonio even more suspicious.
He's already threatened to call Doc again after my latest puke fest this morning.
I don't think a small sip of champagne will harm jellybean—But I'm getting more seriously attached to the idea that there is, in fact, a jellybean floating inside my body.
So I pretend to take a long sip, which in fact is only a tiny amount, and even that is enough to make me feel guilty as hell.
All the while, he's watching me like a hawk.
"Stomach problems?" He asks, concerned, when I place the glass back. Funny though, the sip tasted more like Martinelli's sparkling apple cider than champagne. I guess my taste buds must be taking a nosedive, because the bottle clearly states, Dom Perignon .
"No, I'm good," I assure him and warn jellybean to behave tonight.
The car stops in front of a very elegant, French-looking restaurant.
We repeat the process of him holding his jacket over me until we enter the restaurant, where my breath stops.
Literally stops. The entire restaurant is empty.
Only one table in the center is covered with a white linen tablecloth.
Tealights are lit everywhere, and I mean everywhere.
There must be hundreds of them on the shelves, the floor, and windowsills.
"My lady," Antonio bows and takes my arm to lead me to the single table. Pulling a chair out, he helps me sit before he takes a seat himself. A bottle of my favorite mineral water is already open and waiting for us. He pours us two glasses.
"Where is everyone?" I whisper.
"In the kitchen. They'll leave as soon as they prepare the food." He holds out a black menu.
My hands shake when I take it. The lines on the menu blur as my eyes tear. He did this. He did all this for me.
"What would you like?" His voice is deep and raspy.
You .
"Uhm… why don't you choose?"
"Alright. I'll be right back." He moves out of his chair and walks to the kitchen area.
My eyes follow his every step, and now I notice the fairy lights draped around vines decoratively spread where the ceiling meets the walls.
I take in the many shelves filled with wine bottles, baskets, clay vases, and so much more.
Where there aren't shelves on the wall, there are pictures. Black and white images of different French landscapes. Paris, Lyonne, Marseilles. A beach, a field, a forest. This entire place has so much atmosphere, it’s breathtaking.
Antonio returns with a red breadbasket on a small tray. He pulls the napkin back and exposes an assortment of croissants and rolls that make my mouth water. A small butter dish and an assortment of jellies in glass bowls surround the basket. I reach for a buttery-looking roll, and it's still warm.
"Oh my God!" I close my eyes as I bite into the delicious bread.
"Oh my God is right," he says roughly. And when I open my eyes, I stare into his hungry face. Flames dance inside his pupils. They're so glassy that they reflect the candlelight.
I break off a piece of roll and dip it in the butter. Reaching over the table, I say, "You have to try this."
His eyes never leave mine as he puts my fingers into his mouth. His tongue flicks around my skin. "Deliziosa."
Heat spreads over my face and between my legs, and a small moan escapes me.
He sucks on my finger before he swallows the bread.
Time stands still as we stare into each other's eyes, all while he never stops kissing my fingers.
A magic spell holds us captive, and I don't think I'll ever want to be free.
After a while, he hesitantly lets go of my hand and rises. "Let me check on the food."
He returns with a tray. "Madame."
He lifts the cloche, and the scent of something buttery and rich hits my nose. Antonio says nothing at first, just watches me with that infuriating, knowing look.
“Oeufs mollets Florentine,” he announces, “with Mornay, a hint of nutmeg, and Périgord Black Truffles.” His fake French accent may be the worst the world has ever heard.
I recognize the truffles; I’ve only had them once before, when Dad was invited to the governor's place. The lady to my right had filled me in that a pound of them can cost up to a thousand dollars.
"I didn't know you were going to be the waiter tonight." I hardly recognize my voice; it sounds raunchy.
"Mais oui, Madame, it's my pleasure." He winks.
It's a good thing I'm sitting, because my knees turn to mush. Drinking him in, I watch him use golden tongs to place two perfect soft-boiled eggs, nestled over velvety spinach and topped with pale golden sauce and the faintest dusting of cheese, on my plate before doing the same for his plate.
“This doesn’t exactly scream seduction,” I tease, moving my fork through the spinach.
“No,” he agrees. “But it does whisper nourishment .”
“That’s not remotely sexy,” I remark, wondering when he started paying attention to nourishment .
“I disagree. Feeding you is my favorite foreplay.” He winks sexily.
I cut into the egg. The yolk is soft but not runny. Just right. “Is this one of your weird little tests?”
“Maybe.” He takes a sip of sparkling water, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I’m just making sure you’re eating enough folate.”
The fork nearly drops from my fingers. “Excuse me?”
He grins, completely ignoring the question.
"Bon appétit," he grins, opening his napkin, "Eat up, passerotta. We have two more courses before dessert.” He exaggerates the way he fluffs out the napkin, and I take the hint, putting the fork back down.
I reach for mine and imitate his move, when something comes flying out.
"What?"
"I got it." Antonio is on his knees, looking for whatever came out of the napkin. Worriedly, I move my chair back, my eyes searching the red carpet. Something glitters, but Antonio snatches it before I can see what it is. He scoots to my side, rising until he is on one knee, and takes my hand.
"Scarlet."
My heart stutters—there is no other word for it. It simply stutters as I stare at him in disbelief. The weight of his presence wraps around me like a promise. It's way too late to look for an escape; that route burned down to ashes the moment he saved me.
"I've lived my life by two rules—never ask for permission, and never owe anyone anything. But for you, I'd break them both. You didn't just walk into my world; you own it now—whether you meant to or not. And the way I feel about you? It's not something I can fight, and believe me, I've tried.
"This life, the things I do... It's not easy. There are risks, enemies, and no guarantees. But if there's one thing I am sure of, it's that I don't want any of it without you. I'd give you anything—everything—and if anyone tried to take you from me, I'd tear his heart out and make him eat it.
"So I'm asking you, here and now—marry me.
Be my wife. Stand by my side. Because you're already my heart, my home, and my only weakness, and there's no going back.
" He winks at me and looks so fucking good, I feel like I'm having a hot flash.
He wasn't lying when he said I would know when he pulled out a real marriage proposal.
He opens his palm, and inside is the single most gorgeous ring I've ever seen. A blue sapphire, very close to the color of my eyes, sits in the center, surrounded by smaller diamonds, which are in turn surrounded by baguette diamonds. Every single stone sparkles in the soft lighting.
"Antonio, it's beautiful."
"Is that a yes?"
"What do you think?" I fly off my chair and tackle him to the ground.
The ring once again goes flying somewhere, but neither one of us cares.
His lips are on mine, muffling my moans.
There is no tender foreplay. We're both starving for the real thing.
His hands hike up my skirt, and mine are busy freeing his fully erect cock.
Precum on its head glistens in the candlelight.
"Scarlet," he moans as I take him into my hands. He's so thick that my fingers won't fit all the way around. He pushes my hand to the side. "Too much," he groans.
He grabs my wrists in a viselike grip and deposits them over my head while he uses his other to first rip my panties off and then to guide his cock inside me. My hips push up into him; I want all of it. Now.
He takes first one leg, then the other, and arranges them against his shoulder, rendering me completely unable to move while he pushes in and out of me, still holding my wrists hostage.
"So fucking sexy," he groans as he watches himself bury his cock into my folds over and over.
There's something unbelievably hot about not being able to move and having him fully in control. I've been soaking wet for him all night, and it doesn't take long before the first waves of climax hit me.
A loud, endless moan escapes me as his thrusts come harder and faster, filling and stretching me to the brink of losing my mind.
"Come for me, right fucking now," he demands between clenched teeth, and it's so freaking hot, a whimper escapes me, followed by a howl.
"MINE!" he screams as he stiffens on top of me. "MINE!"
"Yours," I manage to press out before everything explodes inside and around me.