Page 53 of Wilt

She moans again. “Nikolai.”

“Rose.” I smile slowly. “Do you want to order yours, or have me do it?”

Her eyes are a little glazed. “You.”

“Me?”

“I want you.”

I close the gap and part her thighs with my knee as I kiss her deeply. “You want me or me to order?” I’m a fucking bastard, I know, but the tease is too delicious to deny.

She blinks, that glazed look clearing a little. “You… to order.” She dips her head, just slightly, and I catch a small curve of a smile. She teased back, I know, but it works; she’s a fucking natural at this game. Those nerves are either gone or down so deep, they may as well not exist.

I need to order, so I do. Something light, I’m thinking. The duck mousse to start. Then their grilled oysters with slivers of avocado with mint, lime, and seared habanero chili oil. They have other light things, but my eye catches on something. I pivot for the entrée and order the steak au poivre. Rare. With their parsnip duck fat fries. That’s something darkly sexual and bloody, something I can feed her, bite by bite. I can lick her mouth of any juice. Or just because.

Then I order a Bordeaux. White. Red might be more traditional, but I want heavy yet unexpected, something that will suit all three.

As we wait, I lean into her. “You’re doing well, Rosalind. Keep it up.” With that, I slide my hand higher on her leg, between her legs, and stroke her pussy.

It’s obvious what I’m doing, obvious she wants more as she parts her thighs for me. It’s a show, a fucking award-winning one, too. I’m still here doing this and not dragging her into the back to fuck her senseless against the bathroom wall.

If this wasn’t about revenge, I’d take her over and over again in that restaurant bathroom. All positions. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her on her knees, my cock buried in the back of her throat. Rose bent over the sink as I pound her from behind. Rose spread flat against the wall and me, fucking her ass.

Instead, I sit and touch and tease and make sure it’s clear what’s happening. She moans, angling her hips to give me better access. Her hands knead the table, her lids low, but she’s a fast learner and that heated gaze is centered on me.

“Give me your wrist.”

She holds it out to my mouth, and I latch on.

“God… Nikolai…” Her moan isn’t exactly quiet.

Yeah, we’re still here and she’s still looking at me and begging for more with every move of her body. As I said, an award-winning fucking show. Let them take photos. Let them call Finnegan and give him a blow-by-blow account.

I want that.

I want that repulsive fuck to know and see that his precious Thorne, his flesh and blood, belongs completely and utterly to me.

Chapter19

Rosalind

He didn’t make me come.

At the restaurant yesterday. He didn’t make me come.

Nikolai brought me to that edge over and over again until I couldn’t see straight, until I couldn’t breathe. Until the world existed only of him and every electric, teasing thing he did to me. I can still feel and remember every single moment.

When he fingered me the first time, right before the waiter came over, he pulled his hand free to my inner thigh, let go of my wrist, and kissed the living hell out me.

After that, he just touched me, making it known we weren’t done. I burned for him, and most of it… wasn’t an act. The waiter set down the wine and the appetizers, some smooth meat thing he said was duck liver mousse.

“You’ll love it, Rose,” Nikolai murmured in my ear.

“I don’t like offal.”

“Eat it.”

He kissed me, licked my throat, my lips, and made me try it, fed me the wafer-thin slices of toast he topped with mousse. Yeah, I liked it. Loved it. After that, he picked up the wine and held the glass to my lips to drink, kissing and licking my mouth after. His hand stayed on my thigh, slid back to position, just where I wanted him. Craved him.

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