Page 45 of Sinful Sacrifice

Finger-fucking me in the car sure as heck wasn’t gentle.

Blame it on my environment and how he can’t go gentle or rough with me at the moment, I grow a little ballsy.

“What if I don’t want gentle?” I ask, that ballsy-ness turning a little shyer.

He raises a brow. “I’ll gladly arrange that … after we leave here. As much as I’d love to fuck you on this table, I can’t have other men seeing your beautiful body. I’d have to slit their throats with my steak knife.”

So romantic. So violent. So dreamy.

So something is ridiculously wrong with my head.

“Welcome to L’ultima Cena.”

I jump at the server’s masculine voice.

He’s a tall, middle-aged man wearing a white button-down shirt with L’ultima Cena stitched into the left corner of his chest.

“Hello, I’m Tony, your server for tonight.” He smiles, his teeth an overbleached bright white. “Have you dined with us before?”

Damien nods.

I shake my head. “First-timer.”

“Welcome.” Tony bows his head in my direction. “May I interest you in our wine selection?” He hands the booklet to Damien without waiting for a response.

Damien takes it from him and passes it to me. “We’ll have a bottle of whatever she orders.”

My eyes widen at being put on the spot. I nervously flip through the wine list, pretending to know what I’m looking for.

I have no freaking idea.

I don’t drink fancy wines.

I drink stuff I can buy in the grocery aisle or in small bars during girls’ nights.

Tony taps his pen against his notepad.

Swear to God, I’m so close to just blurting out I’ll take a bottle of Capri-Sun when I think to ask, “What are your recommendations?”

He pauses his tapping. “I recommend our Petrus 2018 or Dom Pérignon Magnum.”

Dom Pérignon.

I’ve heard about that in enough songs and episodes of Cribs.

But I don’t want to order it and sound cliché either.

“We’ll take the Petrus 2018.” I hand him the wine list, feeling more self-assured.

Tony’s gaze whips to Damien, his mustache furrowing. “Is that okay, sir? It’s one of our highest-priced bottles on the menu.”

My stomach sinks.

Of course. Leave it to me to choose the highest-priced bottle on the menu. I should’ve ordered a damn Capri-Sun at this point.

I gulp, crossing my legs and then uncrossing them.

“Why are you asking me?” Damien snarls at Tony, but his tone is relaxed. “I told you, we’ll have what she orders. That’s what she ordered, so that’s what we’ll have.” He leans back in his chair while fixing his harsh stare on Tony. “For the rest of the evening, if she orders it, you bring it. I don’t give a fuck if she asks for the entire menu. Understood?”

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