lls. I glance up at him again,
and his eyes blaze bright gray. Parting my lips a fraction I
run my tongue across my lower lip. Christian smiles and his
eyes darken further.
“Wider,” he breathes, his lips parting so that I can see
his tongue. I groan inwardly and bite my bottom lip, then
do as he asks.
I hear his sharp intake of breath—he’s not so immune.
Good, I am finally getting to him. My inner goddess fistpumps
the air above her chaise longue.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in my
mouth, and suck, gently . . . delicately . . . on the end. The
hollandaise sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaning
quietly in appreciation.
Christian closes his eyes. Yes! When he opens them
again, his pupils ha一ve dilated. The effect on me is
immediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To my
surprise, he uses his other hand to grab my wrist.
“Oh, no you don’t, Miss Steele,” he murmurs softly.
Raising my hand to his mouth, he gently brushes my
knuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.
“Don’t touch,” he scolds me quietly, and places my
hand back on my knee. It’s so frustrating—this brief
unsatisfactory contact.
“You don’t play fair.” I pout.
“I know.” He picks up his champagne glass to propose
a toast, and I mirror his actions.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele.” We
clink glasses and I blush.
“Yes, kind of unexpected,” I mutter. He frowns as if
some unpleasant thought has crossed his mind.
“Eat,” he orders. “I am not taking you home until
you’ve finished your meal, and then we can really
celebrate.” His expression is so heated, so raw, so
commanding. I am melting.
“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”
He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, but
narrows his eyes at me just the same.
“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and
we’ll entertain the other diners.”
His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He
and his twitchy palm. I press my mouth into a hard line and
stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he
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