Page 25 of The Situation
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?”
I nod, holding his gaze. “I am.”
“We’ll see.” He pulls his attention to the plates before us. “This does look good.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Always start with oysters.” He lifts one from the bed of salt. “You’ve never had one before?”
“No.”
He smiles as if this makes him happy. “Let me introduce you to the world of oysters. You usually eat them with a little lemon or mignonette sauce, but oysters Rockefeller already have a topping on them. You can add a little lemon, but I usually don’t.”
“What’s in the topping?” I ask, peering at the shell in his hand.
“Honestly? I have no fucking idea.”
I giggle as he picks up a spoon.
“You can either scoop out the meat and sauce and eat it with a spoon or slip it straight into your mouth.” He slides a spoon along the shell. “But either way, you have to loosen the oyster first.”
I nod, watching him guide me through the process.
He’s deliberate, not rushed or shaky. It’s as if he has all the time in the world to sit with me and teach me about shellfish.
His hands are huge compared to the tiny utensil, and his adeptness at handling the oyster makes me wonder what other things he can manipulate as effortlessly. My thoughts instantly switch to his fingers grabbing my thighs and pulling them apart, his face nestled between them, and his tongue licking me instead of his lips.
Who knew watching this could be foreplay?
“Now you eat it,” he says, holding my gaze.
A quick breath flows between my lips as my heart pounds, and his eyes darken.
He brings the shell to his lips and tips it up, sliding the meat into his mouth. His eyes never leave mine. He chews slowly, watching my reaction, before swallowing.
Fuck.
“Want to try one?” he asks, returning the empty shell to the salt bed.
“Absolutely.”
He reaches for a new oyster and loosens the insides. “You don’t want to swallow right away.”
“Says every man I’ve ever met.”
He laughs. “If you chew a few times, it’ll help you savor the flavor.” He leans toward me, holding the shell across the tabletop. “Come here.”
I hitch a breath as chills race across my skin.He’s going to feed me?
The candlelight casts shadows across Tate’s face, making him look even sexier. But now, with his proximity and attention squarely on me, his attractiveness is potent.
There are no distractions and no secondary storylines. His phone is out of sight. He hasn’t looked at his watch once. He’s here with me in every way, and that’s intoxicating.
I part my lips as his eyes blaze. My mouth waters, but it’s not for the food.
Tate slides the oyster onto my tongue.
The hit of flavors and textures is powerful and unexpected, as is the warmth of the dish. A rich, creamy sauce mixes with a soft brininess, adding layers of flavor to the buttery topping. But the biggest sensation, the one that steals my breath, comes from Tate’s fingers brushing across my bottom lip.
