Page 36 of Tempting Frankie
“When the hell did you order?” I hiss, realizing I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn't even notice.
Alexander's lips quirk up in that infuriating smirk. “I didn't. There is no menu here, Francesca. Every night is a different culinary experience, carefully curated by the chef. It's the only thing served.”
Of fucking course. Leave it to Alexander to bring me somewhere so fancy they don't even let you choose your own damn food.
The waiter places our plates down with a flourish. “Tonight, we begin with a deconstructed Caprese salad featuring heirloom tomato spheres, buffalo mozzarella foam, and basil-infused caviar, accompanied by a balsamic reduction painted on the plate.”
I stare at the dish, trying to make sense of the colorful blobs and squiggles. It looks like something a toddler would finger paint, only with food. Expensive, pretentious food.
“Enjoy,” the waiter says with a bow before disappearing.
I pick up my fork, poking at one of the tomato spheres suspiciously. I bring it to my mouth and bite. It bursts, releasing an intense flavor that floods my taste buds. Okay, I'll admit that it's pretty fucking delicious.
Alexander watches me with amusement, his eyes dark with something that makes my heart beat a little faster. “So,” he says, his voice low and husky. “What do you think of my proposition?”
I take another bite, buying myself time to think. The flavors explode on my tongue—creamy mozzarella, tangy tomato, the pop of what I guess is the basil caviar. It's good, but my mind is racing with the implications of Alexander's offer.
“I think,” I say slowly, licking a drop of balsamic from my lip and watching his eyes track the movement, “that it's a dangerous game we're playing.”
He leans in, his knee brushing against mine under the table. “I like dangerous games, Francesca. Especially when playing with you. Every time I fuck you raw is a dangerous game.”
My panties are already damp, and we haven't even gotten to the main course. I shift in my seat; the movement causing the slit in my dress to ride up dangerously high on my thigh.
Alexander's eyes darken as he notices. His hand disappears under the tablecloth, and I have to bite back a gasp as his fingers trail up my leg, teasing along the edge of my thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his fingers inching higher. “What makes this game so dangerous?”
I struggle to keep my voice steady as his hand creeps toward the junction of my thighs.
“It's dangerous because...” I trail off, biting back a moan as Alexander's fingers brush against my already soaked panties. “Because I want the job. I want it so fucking bad. But there's no way I can keep it after our deal is up.”
His fingers still, and I whimper at the loss. “What makes you think that, pretty girl?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Come on, Alexander. The second our arrangement ends, I'll be out on my ass faster than you can say 'nepotism.'”
Alexander's eyes flash with something dangerous. In one swift motion, he pulls me onto his lap, my dress riding up tomy hips. I gasp, acutely aware of how exposed I am, how easily someone could see us if they looked our way.
“Listen to me very carefully, Francesca,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “The job is yours for as long as you want it. It has nothing to do with our arrangement.”
His hand slides between my thighs, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he pushes my panties aside and slides a finger inside me.
“You're brilliant,” he continues, his voice low and intense. “Resourceful. Determined. I want that mind of yours working for me, deal or no deal.”
He adds another finger, and I grip his shoulders, struggling to focus on his words and not the pressure building inside me.
“But—” I start to argue, but he cuts me off with a particularly skillful twist of his fingers.
“No buts,” he says firmly. “The job is yours, Francesca. For two months, two years, or twenty. It's up to you.”
His thumb finds my clit, and I bury my face in his neck to muffle my moan. “Fuck, Alexander,” I pant. “You can't just–oh god—you can't just fingerfuck me into submission every time we disagree.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Can't I?” He increases his pace, and I feel myself teetering on the edge. “Come for me. Show me how much you want this job.”
It's too much—his fingers inside me, his words in my ear, the thrill of possibly being caught. I come apart in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
As I come down from my high, I realize I'm trembling. Alexander holds me close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Okay, I'll take the job. But I swear to god, Alexander, if this is just some power play…”
