Page 11 of The Ballerina

“I don’t think so, mister. You promised me a date.”

Atlas frowns but nods. “Give me a couple of minutes to get ready and we can leave. But I won’t promise to keep my hands to myself. I only have so much control.”

A giggle escapes me at his sullen attitude. The man doesn’t like when he doesn’t get his way. I can honestly say I won’t be keeping my hands to myself either.

****

An hour later we pull up to the most expensive Italian restaurant in the state. My stomach flutters with excitement. The valet opens the driver’s door, and Atlas rounds the car to open mine. Inside, the hostess eyeballs my mate with clear interest, and I must hold my wolf back from ripping her throat out.

“Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Green,” Atlas says to the woman, but he isn’t looking at her. No, his gaze is firmly locked on my cleavage.

The fact that he doesn’t pay her the slightest attention helps my wolf settle down. It is also the first time he has referred to me as his wife. He leads me past the hostess to a booth in the far-left corner of the establishment, a secluded, almost dark area, with his hand on the small of my back. The booth seats are covered in a dark red fabric and the wooden table is stained so dark it is almost black.

The hostess leaves us with menus before heading back to her post. Atlas allows me to slide in before following, sitting beside me instead of across from me.

“I’m going to put someone’s eyes out before the end of the night,” he grumbles, the hand on my thigh absently tracing circles beneath my hemline.

“Meaning?” My question is breathy.

“All these men stare at you with lust in their gazes.”

“I only want you.” I allow my thighs to fall open in invitation. “Feel what you do to me.”

I never thought I would be into exhibitionism, but it makes sense. After all, I take my clothes off for a living. Atlas runs his index finger along the sopping seam of my lace underwear.

“Fuck.”

I know I’m pushing his buttons but it’s so much fun to rile him up. Besides, I’m the one that will be reaping the rewards later. He pushes the lace aside before sliding his finger into my heat. My nipples pebble visibly and I fight to hold back a moan. For long minutes, I allow him to play with my pussy before pushing his hand away.

I point to the other side of the booth. “Go sit there.”

He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked when my words register.

“You don’t want me beside you?” The words are soft, like my actions have actually wounded this massive Alpha. The male ego is a strange thing.

“I want you beside me, inside me. But I also want to have this date. I want to talk to you,” I explain softly. “And I don’t think a little anticipation will hurt either of us.”

A dumbfounded expression crosses his face before he gives me a devilish grin. “Whatever you want, sweetness.”

Atlas slides into the other end of the booth before taking my hand in his. The waitress chooses that moment to approach, and I want to smack her. She puts more effort into flirting with Atlas and trying to flash her tits at him than she does trying to take our order. She is a pretty, petite blonde with a stunning rack and I suddenly feel self-conscious.

“Do you mind if I order?” Atlas asks, his gaze locked on me as he rubs his thumb along my pulse point. “I know this menu like the back of my hand.”

When I nod, he speaks to the waitress. “We’ll both have the Alfredo. And your best Chianti.”

“Will that be all?” the woman asks, leaning further into my mate, offering him a perfect view down her blouse.

He turns his gaze in her direction, his glare deadly. “I know the owner of this establishment and if you disrespect my wife one more time, I will have you fired.”

“Excuse me?” the waitress stutters.

“Take your cleavage elsewhere. I’m not interested.”

Swoon.I never thought I would be into the overprotective, jealous, alpha-type guy, but Atlas is all those things and is ticking all my boxes. I’m already aroused and his asshole attitude toward her is just making me hornier.

I mean, how can I not want to jump the man when he does shit like that? It may not have been nice, but I appreciate the gesture. And it placates my wolf and the little green monster running rampant inside me.

“Sorry about that,” he says, tangling our fingers together. “Do you want a wedding ring like a human?”

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