Page 50 of Bound

Knock. Knock.Knock!

He freezes, growl rumbling up the back of his throat, teasing along my tongue, vibrating against my chest, sensitizing my nipples and making me want to seal my mouth to his all over again.

In fact, I almost give in to the urge to do just that when?—

Knock. Knock.Knock!

“Sir,” a voice echoes through the wood and it takes me a moment to place it, to remember that we were sitting down for dinner before I freaked out, ran off, and accosted my date in the bathroom.

Oh, God. We’re making out in the bathroom of an extremely fancy New York City restaurant and?—

“Is everything okay in there?”

“It fucking isn’t,” Jackson mutters, glancing down and I follow his gaze, mouth dropping open at the?—

“Is that your penis?” I exclaim softly.

“Yup.”

“It’s huge,” I say, genuinely aghast.

“The tent I’m sporting makes it look bigger than it is,” he says and the anger’s gone from his voice. Instead, there’s amusement and humor and…

Heat.

“It’ll fit, kitty cat,” he murmurs, sealing his lips to mine for a brief, scorching kiss. “I promise.”

“How?” I ask, even though I know logically he’s telling me the truth. People have sex all the time and my toys?—

His rough chuckle shouldn’t gather between my legs, should have me wanting to be back in my hotel room, draining the battery of my vibrator and?—

“Hold that thought,” he mutters, dropping his head again, flicking his tongue over the expanse of my throat, nipping lightly with his teeth. “Because, fuck, I need to know exactly what it was that put that look in your eyes.”

“I—”

But he presses his thumb to my bottom lip, spins us both to the door, wrenching it open as the waiter knocks again. “Hey,” he says. “We’ll take that pinot now.”

Then he’s guiding me down the hall and back through the dining room, totally ignoring the fact that the waiter is gaping at us, that I’m sputtering about explaining that we weren’t boning in the bathroom, that I’m?—

Jackson pulls out my chair, nudges me down into it, and then settles across from me.

“Wine?” the waiter asks, making me jump.

Full circle.

I’ve come full circle.

And this time, I’m determined not to ruin it.

“And then you just roll your hands like this—” The chef, Kurt, who happens to be one of Jackson’s old friends, reaches around me, his arms guiding mine as we drag the pasta dough over the specially carved wooden board.

“Oh!” I say as a perfectly formed piece of pasta emerges. “That’s so cool.” Jackson growls, and I just pick up the tiny shaped noodle, grinning at him. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing,” he mutters, sounding very far from astonished about my noodle-crafting skills.

Especially since his gaze is not on the noodle I’m holding up, but instead is murderous and fixed on Kurt.

Who coughs and steps back, saying, “I’ll let you two keep going with that. I’ll finish up the sauce.”

---