Page 68 of Rectify

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It takes just under an hour to perfect the seafood risotto, and keep an eye on dessert. I refused to let Sasha help, so she got creative in her revenge. Teasing me with little flashes of the underwear she so proudly purchased for today. My dick has been rock solid for an hour, and she’s going to know about it later.

Ready to bring out my next surprise for the night, I switch all the burners off, and lead Sasha back to the dining area.

“So, you’re not plating up dinner.”

“Just trust me, will you?”

“You’re so bossy, do you know that?”

“Baby, you haven’t seen nothing yet.”

I walk a few steps ahead, and pull out the chair of the already set up table. Adjusting her dress she sits down, and lays the cloth napkin across her lap.

Grabbing the wine from the ice bucket, I pour us both a glass before taking my own seat.

She looks relaxed, and carefree, and I’m glad I convinced her to come out with me. She deserves to shine, to have someone dote on her, to know her worth and walk proudly with her on their arm.

Her soft, gentle and unsure nature is the perfect match to my brazen, and determined one. She’s a giver and I’m a taker, but when I’m with her I want to give her all the things. I want her to take till her heart is full and her mind is content.

The sound of doors swishing open, shifts our attention. The dressed up waiter walks towards us with our meals in hand. He meticulously places each plate in front of us, and then the cutlery.

“This is so fancy,” she squeals.

“You deserve fancy, Pretty Girl.”

Her cheeks turn my favourite shade of pink, the main reason I still call her that after all these years.

“Oh my God, Jay. You’ve been holding out on me.” She takes a few more spoonfuls and then washes it down with the wine. “I might never let you go, now that I know how well you can cook.”

It’s her turn to drop the bait, make the next move on our new favourite game.

“I’ve got a lot more than just cooking skills.”

A bare foot slides up my thigh, and lands on my cock. “Oh, I know.”

Taking hold of her foot, I lift it off me, and begin massaging. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

She looks at our empty plates. “Can we go now?”

“I could take you, but you’ll regret it once you find out what I made you for dessert.”

“What is it?”

“It's a surprise.”

“Go get it. You know dessert is my favourite meal.”

Winking at her, I stand so I can head to the kitchen. “It's mine too.”

It's stupid to be nervous about a dessert, but this is her absolute favourite, and I want it to be just perfect.

It's become our thing, and I think it's the perfect time for me to lay it all out on the table.

It's a small gesture, but it's significant.

Walking out, I make sure to be slow and steady. The cake sits perfectly, centred on a bed of choc chips. If it tastes as good as it looks, she might just agree to keeping me.

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