Page 82 of Undisputed Player
A surge of anger I’d never felt before rushed through me. Anger at my own fucking reputation.
“Estelle,” I murmured, stopping near our table and forcing her to face me. My hand found her chin, tilting her face up until she had no choice but to meet my gaze.
“You’re the first woman I’ve brought on a proper date,” I soothed, my thumb stroking across her cheekbone. “Only you.”
It was true—I’d gotten quick drinks at bars with women, all transactions that ended in hotel rooms and forgotten names. But I’d never brought anyone to dinner, never reserved a table, never cared enough to make it an event.
“You won’t ever have to share, princess,” I promised, voice rough with sincerity. I wanted to curse my own fucking reputation. She’d never, ever have to fear sharing any part of me.
I watched war play out across her pretty features, the doubt battling with the trust I’d been nurturing. I studied her as her expression shifted, that newfound princess-attitude I’d glimpsed in the bathroom surfacing.
“Then promise,” She said quietly, gripping my arm just a bit tighter. “I’m only doing this if you promise you won’t forget me.”
Her demand stole the breath from my lungs. Forgetting her was impossible, not when she’d already carved herself into every corner of my soul, when the taste of her skin lingered on my tongue, or when I spent hours touching myself to grainy security footage of her.
Her grip on my arm, small fingers digging into my suit jacket with surprising strength, made me close my eyes in bliss.
This was it. This was my princess learning to make demands, learning of the power she had over me. She was transforming into the princess I’d known she could be, and it was fucking intoxicating.
“Forget you?” I repeated, my voice dropping dangerously low. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”
I didn’t give a fuck we were standing in the middle of a five-star restaurant.
Before she could even breathe, I swept her into my arms and dipped her low, claiming her mouth possessively with mine. The kiss was everything I’d been holding back since I’d first seen her, conveying to her how much I was entirely hers.
She gasped against my lips, and I could taste her surprise, her desire, the way she melted into me despite our audience. The emerald dress showed off my jewel more as I held her suspended, completely at my mercy.
Around us, the restaurant had gone silent. Crystal glasses paused halfway to lips, and conversations died mid-sentence. I smirked against Estelle’s smaller lips. The whole world was getting to see what was fucking mine, and mine alone.
And much more, for her, the world now knew I belonged to her. Publicly, intimately, and every way in between.
I finally pulled back, and she panted against my chest, fingers fisted in my suit. Her eyes were glazed with desire, and my cock ached in anticipation of seeing that very look when we finally got out of this place.
“There’s your promise, princess,” I whispered against her lips, my voice carrying in the hush of the restaurant. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. And we both don’t share, yeah?”
She nodded mutely, cheeks flushed and movements stiff. I curled my arm tightly around her waist, guiding her to our table. It was in a secluded corner with a bay view, and I helped her settle in before sitting across from her.
"Well?" I asked as I took my seat. “Does it meet my princess’ standards?”
She looked around, taking in the crystal, the art on the walls, and the soft murmur of conversation slowly resuming after our little show. Her fingers traced the rim of her water glass idly.
“It's beautiful,” she answered, still breathless. “I've never been anywhere like this.”
“Good. You only get the best.” I reached across the table, pushinghe menu towards her. “Let me help you pick, half of this shit’s in French.”
She nodded, pulling the leather-bound menu closer, but I caught the way her eyes flicked up to meet mine, as if calculating or assessing something.
What was my princess thinking?
The sommelier appeared with the wine I’d pre-selected, going through the whole presentation and tasting. I didn’t pay attention, entirely focused on how Estelle watched everything with wide, intelligent eyes, absorbing the world I was introducing her to.
“The duck confit is a good one,” I murmured, leaning closer to point at the menu. “And the lobster?—”
Something brushed against my ankle.
My eyes snapped to hers, but she was studying the menu with perfect innocence, lashes shadowing her cheeks in concentration.
“What about the crab cakes?” She asked sweetly, and there it was again—she was sliding her heel along my calf.
