Page 82 of Until I Own You

Bridget giggles and covers her mouth. “Sorry. Force of habit, I think.”

“Well, in public, Seth works just fine.”

“Yes, Seth.”

My cock jumps. When she is submitting to me, Sir sounds amazing, but so does my name. In all the years we’ve known each other, my name has come from her mouth either in trepidation or in frustration. Now it’s said with respect, even enjoyment.

How can something make me so horny and so content at once?

To me, sex and domination have been a way to fill a void inside me. Not make me content.

Dominating Bridget does more than fill that hole. It adds a cherry on top of this fucked up sundae.

A server appears beside our table dressed in a tailored suit. “Good afternoon, can I get you something to drink to start with?” The server gives us both genial glances.

Bridget hops to attention, opening the skinny, leather clad drink menu in front of her. “Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to–”

I grab the menu, snapping it closed and snaking it out of her hand. “We’ll have a bottle of Dom Perignon. 1975, please.”

The server glances at Bridget for a brief moment before assuring me, “Very good choice, sir.”

He scuttles off quick to retrieve our champagne.

Bridget’s eyes widen. “Do I want to know how expensive that bottle is?”

I chuckle. “Probably not.” Close to fifteen thousand. But that’s a drop in the bucket for me. Not to mention, she is worth every penny. “You will never order around me, Bridget.”

She cocks her head to the side. So adorable. So pure.

“It is my duty to feed you. Is that clear?”

She gnaws on her lower lip.

“Don’t be scared.” I hold out my hand to her across the table.

Bridget places her palm in mine.

The small gesture makes my insides sing with something separate from deep, carnal desire. It’s…sweet.

I don’t crave sweetness.

I might now, though, as long as it’s Bridget’s.

“This is something I need as your Dom. You understand, right?”

“Yes, I understand, Si-Seth.”

I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, then remember we are in a restaurant in the middle of the day.

Sure, a hand hold and a kiss on the cheek are innocent enough. But anything more might be misconstrued.

I squeeze her hand, then retreat, pressing my hands to the tops of my thighs to avoid doing anything more stupid.

Her eyes skitter across the restaurant. Everyone here is engaged in their own business dealings, from the literal to the figurative. I doubt they’re concerned with Bridget and me in the corner.

“If we go out to dinner with friends, that will make for some weird conversations with our friends,” she says with a gentle giggle. “Especially if you do it in front of Sonia.”

Fuck our friends. Fuck Sonia.

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