Page 107 of Taste of Addiction

The waiter walks over and doesn’t even act like it is unusual that we are sitting at the same side of the table. Glued at the hips. I watch as he places two plates on our side of the table and refreshes our drinks.

“Would you like fresh ground pepper on your chicken, ma’am?” he asks, holding up this wooden device that I am assuming has some sort of black peppercorns inside.

Graham vibrates behind me with amusement as I struggle to make a decision. I clear my throat to try to mask his reaction, discreetly elbowing him in his chest to get him to stop.

“I, um, I’m fine,” I answer.

Graham’s lips tickle my ear. “That you are.”

“Sir?”

With the wave of his hand, Graham gets the waiter to retreat back into the building through the door. I guess he is willing to gamble that his food is seasoned correctly from the chef.

“So, we are just going to sit here like this and eat, while your cock is stuffed deep inside me?”

“Sounds like the perfect way to spend a Thursday night,” he answers jollily.

“You are insane.”

Within seconds, I am swung around, hoisted up, and carried over to the edge of the building. My ankles clutch at his back for fear that he will get weak and drop me.

“You want insane? Well, I’ll give you insane. I hope the buildings surrounding us get their fill of your beautiful ass as I fuck you for anyone to see. He lifts me and thrusts deep inside, while pulling me back down onto him. Over and over, he takes. And takes. And even when I think I have nothing left to give, he takes just a little bit more.

My hands reach back and grab the cement wall behind me. I arch my back. “Graham!”

His growl is in my ear. “Do not come.”

But it is too late. My thighs clench and my inner walls spasm. I twist and turn in his arms as my treacherous body disobeys.

“I was hoping you would do that,” he says, satisfied.

My eyes open to his twinkling ones.

“You can’t be serious.”

19

Graham’s eyes twinkle with possibility.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“Right now? Finish dinner.”

I swallow hard at his brooding and edgy mood. He did not get off. But I did. And while he seems quite pleased with himself, I know it is only a matter of time before he reveals his hand. He sets me back on my feet, and I teeter nervously on my too-high heels. His hands steady me and help put my dress back into place. He is tender and loving, despite being mysterious.

He walks me back to the table where our stuffed chicken and mashed potatoes with creamed spinach wait for us—along with my panties. I cross and recross my legs. I can feel my moisture leaking into the silk of my dress. I start to feel chilly after the high Graham had me on and slip my arms into the fur of my coat.

I stare at my food and rake my fork three times through the potatoes. I swirl into the spinach and poke at the chicken.

“Eat, Angela.”

I look up at him across the table. He places a piece of chicken into his mouth and chews. Using his fork, he points it toward my plate and reminds me again to eat.

“Here, I’ll give you a clue, since I can already tell your brain is working overtime.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a shiny silver device that has a rounded point at the end. He sets it down onto the table, flat side down with the rounded tip up. “There. Now eat.”

I stare at it but dare not touch it. “How is a doorknob a clue?”

Graham quickly grabs his cloth napkin and covers his mouth with it.

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