Page 62 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
I blush as I open my mouth but silently revel in the intimacy of being fed like this.
The flavors burst across my tongue, and I moan as I chew, buttery potatoes and whatever tart berries are in the sauce and tender meat melting across my palate. My eyes meet Nick’s as I swallow, only to find him grinning at me, resting his cheek on his closed fist as he watches me.
“Good?” he asks.
“Incredible,” I answer with a breathless laugh. “You said your mom likes this wine, right? What’s she like?”
I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good idea of what Nick is like as a person, at least around me, but I’ve been wanting to know more about him. He’s not much of an open book, and he spends so much time asking about me that I rarely get a chance to find out about his life.
Who is Nicholas D’Amico when he’s not with me?
“She’s a strong woman,” Nick says after a moment of hesitation, scooping up another bite of food and carefully feeding me. “Dad passed away years ago, so she handles the family. I’m closest to her out of everyone.”
The look in his eyes is softer than I expected for someone who’s avoided questions about his childhood like the plague so far, and it makes me smile.
“My mom’s like that too. Always taking care of everyone else,” I say fondly, giggling a bit as I spear a bite of steak and hold it out to him. “She lives in Florida now, so I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but she’s who I got my work ethic from. Is Marcus your only sibling?”
The easy warmth in Nick’s eyes fades a bit at that, and he takes a sip of his wine to wash down the steak before answering me.
“I have an older brother too. We don’t see each other often.”
I can take a hint when I see one, and his clipped tone tells me that Nick obviously doesn’t want to talk about his siblings. His mom might still be a safe topic to prod about, but I’d rather just enjoy our night. Whatever his reasons for not wanting to talk about his family, he’ll tell me about them when he’s ready.
“Where’d you go to school?” I switch topics easily as I spear a stem of asparagus and nibble on it.
“NYC Stern,” he answers, the tension melting out of his shoulders as he swirls his wine around in his glass. “Got my bachelor’s there, then Columbia for my MBA. Spent about half of college partying, then figured I should take it more seriously. I took over the company when I graduated and turned it from a little financial consulting firm into the stock market giant we are today.” He pauses and winks at me. “Not to brag or anything.”
“You? Brag?” I tease. “I’d never believe such a thing.”
I really am just poking at him; he’s never done much bragging around me. Some of the things he says mayseemlike bragging, but it’s just him being honest about his own skills. He’s confident, intensely so, but it’s not unearned.
Nick has put his money where his mouth is every time he’s promised me something outrageous.
Every orgasm I’ve ever had at his hands can speak to that.
He smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about as he feeds me another bite of steak. Comfortable silence falls between us as we eat, sharing forks and sipping at wine that seems to get better with every sip.
It’s nice to just enjoy his company like this and not worry about whether I’m interesting or pretty enough to keep his attention. I never really worried about those things with my past partners, but it wasn’t out of confidence in my looks or ability to keep them entertained. I just… didn’t carethatmuch, and if my natural self wasn’t enough to keep them around, I could keep myself busy with other things.
With Nick, it’s not even a thought in my mind.
He’sthe kind of guy I should be nervous around—rich and gorgeous and capable—but one look from him soothes all my concerns. It helps that he never takes his eyes off me, either. He watches me like he can’t get enough of the sight of me, and it draws me in like a moth to a flame.
“You mentioned when we met at the gala that you liked to read,” I say as we polish off the last bit of mashed potatoes. “What kind of books do you like?”
“I recently came across a new author that I’m rather fond of, actually,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “You might have heard of her. Riley Morgan, mostly short-form, all hand-written pieces —”
I cut him off with a hand over his mouth, glaring at him past a raging blush as his muffled laughter echoes from behind my palm.
“That’s enough out of you,” I say, squeezing my fingers over the rough stubble lining his cheeks. “If you answer the question, I’ll let you read more from my journal.”
He tugs my wrist down and hooks his foot around the leg of my chair to pull me closer in one smooth movement. My breathhitches in my chest as he ghosts his lips across my jaw, chuckling softly in my ear.
“Miss Morgan, we both know you’re not in charge here,” he croons. “I’ll do what I damn well please, and you’llletme do whatever I want. Isn’t that right?”
I whine in defeat and drop my forehead down on his shoulder, my face flaming with arousal along with embarrassment now.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
