Page 129 of Forget Me Not

“Real surf and turf,” he corrects, pulling the towel off his shoulder and wiping his hands off. “I hope you’re hungry.” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him and pressing a kiss to my lips that leaves me breathless. Abruptly, he lifts me, depositing me on the table and stepping between my legs. His hands slide up my thighs, over the material of my skirt, and higher to grip my hips and he presses his lips back against mine.

My body reacts to him almost like he flipped a switch, my stomach clenching and my breath hitching in my throat.

I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back eagerly until I feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. I’ve always considered myself to be sexually moderate when it comes to my needs. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, but I’ve gone four years with nothing but a vibrator and I’ve been just fine.

Until he came along.

Since I got his hands on me, it seems like all I’ve been able to think about is how to get him to do it again.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs against my lips and I let out a small laugh, my toes curling at the deepening of his accent. “I look the same as I did earlier.”

“And I couldn’t do this at the school.” He nips the line of my jaw, then sucks on the flesh just below until I let out a shaky breath.

“Ready to eat?”

“You really went all out. Lobster, steak. And a candlelit dinner? Some might say that’s romantic.”

“Don’t forget the flower.” He holds out his hand to me to help me jump down.

“Yes, can’t forget that.”

“You know, this is almost romantic.”

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warns, a dark glint in his eyes. “I’ll be showing you a different kind of romance.”

“What kind?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“The kind that ends with me eating you instead of the food on our plates.”

Holy shit.

As if I can’t get any hotter, he winks at me and I swear part of me melts into a puddle on the floor.

“You put Red Lobster to shame,” I say, taking my seat and shaking my head.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he says, pouring me a glass of dark red wine. “You won’t ever go back again, once you’ve had homemade lobster.”

“I’ve actually never had it all. I can’t handle their poor little faces.”

He chuckles, taking his seat across from me.

“Why is that funny?” I ask, popping a potato in my mouth. It practically dissolves on my tongue and my mouth waters for more.

“Because I specifically removed the head and legs because I knew you’d freak out.”

He’s right. There’s only a tail on my plate.

“I just hate that they have to be boiled,” I murmur and he shakes his head.

“You’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“I know,” I murmur. “But doesn’t it bother you?”

He shrugs. “It’s my job. Everything has to eat, including us. It’s a part of the food chain.”

I look down at the lobster tail and poke the hard shell with my fork. I’ve watched everyone around me do this hundreds of times. I’ve just never been brave enough to do it on my own.

“How the hell do I eat it?”

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