Chapter 12

Stella

The chocolate tart with cherry liquor sauce is totally to die for. I’ve eaten in some impressive restaurants, but this is really something else.

Maybe I’ve gotten a new perspective, I don’t know. There’s warm glow in me that wasn’t there before. As I take another dainty bite with the charming little silver spoon, I flutter my eyelashes and take a glance at my lover.

Oh my god. I have a lover now.

No freaking way.

He catches my eyes, even though I didn’t want him to. I blush a bit. It’s not the first glance I’ve shot him today, and it probably won’t be the last.

He answers my blush with a little knowing grin that pulls at his lips until his teeth show but just a bit.

Well...fuck. Now I’m getting wet right here at the table.

It’s not just that grin that does it for me either. It’s the way that it lingers on his lips and turns feral—like he’s part-civilized man, part-savage. It’s the way his eyes slide knowingly down my body because he does know me, sometimes better than I know myself.

It’s those icy blue eyes staring at my dress like he’s tearing it off me. The way he looks at me, I know he wants me naked. Right here, right now.

Michael might look like the picture of class, but I can tell he sees my naked body in his mind’s eye.

What’s worse is that I’m thinking the same thing about him.

How is he not getting hard right now? Maybe he’s more experienced than me. Or maybe he still retains some modicum of self-control.

But then, he licks the spoon of his affogato with more skill than necessary. I almost jump to the ceiling when I feel him touch my hand.

Michael’s eyes light up, and he laughs. “Something bothering you, honey?”

“Not at all,” I say with a strained smile, the taste of sweet cherry sauce still on my tongue.

But even as I say it, I know my cheeks are flaming.

I squirm just a bit, trying to relieve the pressure between my legs, but it only makes it worse. I never even knew I had a clit before I met this guy, and now the damn thing won’t behave! How do other women deal with this?

Then I realize: maybe they don’t. Maybe this is just what being with Michael is like. Feeling insatiably horny and nothing else.

I take a little glance around, and I see it firsthand. Other women aren’t dealing with this because they aren’t being ravished by a sex god with a massive dick and a brain to match.

I was expecting a hard cock for sure, but I honestly didn’t think hard cocks went with the kind of fierce, cold control a doctor has.

I can almost imagine it: the things he’s going to do to me when we get home. The way he stares into my eyes as he slides into me, telling me I can’t move yet, I can’t look away—

“Stella,” Michael calls. “Where are you right now? Look at me.”

I clear my throat a little and look up brightly. I know my grin is just a bit naughty. It can’t be helped.

“I’m just thinking about you.”

I wouldn’t have believed his grin could turn me on even more, but now he’s rubbing my hand slowly with his thumb, too. Shit, what is this doing to my brand new dress and designer panties? Next time the waiter pops by, I’ll ask for a bucket of ice.

‘Champagne, madam?’ he’ll enquire, and I’ll say, ‘No my good sir, it’s for my crotch.’

“So, did you want to hit the theatre for a late show? I know we’ve done a lot today, but I think I’m starting to like spoiling you.” Michael dips his spoon in the creamy sauce and chases a bit of ice cream around the bottom of the dish. “It’d be even more fun if you weren’t spoiled rotten already, of course…”

I squeeze his hand back firmly and smile. “You like me spoiled rotten.”

I put everything I’m feeling right now into this smile. When we fucked this morning, I was a stunned virgin. Next time, I’m going to rock his fucking world.

As it turns out, you don’t need experience—I’ve seen all the celebrity sex tapes. It’s not about the moves.

It’s about owning yourself and your desires. It’s about being greedy, hungry, and doing anything your body tells you.

That’s what I liked about it, I think. I’ve never felt so free.

Last time, he fucked me. This time, I’m going to fuck him. I’m going to climb on top of that massive man stick, and I’m going to ride him home just like my old show pony, Monty.

I’ve got the thighs for riding this man, and if I don’t exactly know how to use them yet, I’ll figure it out soon enough.

“No,” I say, deciding on the spot. “I don’t want to see a show.”

“No? Not a theatre girl?”

“I want to go home and rip you out of those clothes.”

His grin is even more feral now, and I know he’s thinking about what he wants to do to me. My own smile jumps up a notch, thinking about how I’m going to surprise him.

Look at us—the two of us sitting here at dinner, grinning at each other like horny idiots.

“I’ll pay the bill,” he says eagerly.

He even gets up and heads for the maître de. And yeah, there’s a nice bulge in his pants while he does it. I’m totally into it, too.

But gawking at Michael turns out to have its setbacks, too.

As my gaze tracks him across the room, I see a young woman pulling an adorable little newborn from a designer pram. This is an upscale place to bring an infant, but seriously, when you’re loaded, people don’t give a fuck.

The woman cuddles the baby close and talks to it gently. It’s really sweet…until I start thinking about it too much.

Michael didn’t use a condom. I could be pregnant right now.

I’ve never thought about having kids. Ever. I don’t know what to think.

I know I feel, somehow, even more turned on by the idea that he has left something of himself inside me. It’s kind of cool, in a way. If I’m pregnant, then we’re forever connected.

Except that if this relationship moves any faster, we’re going to start breaking speed limits. I don’t even know that we’re in a relationship yet—and here I am, already eyeing up designer baby labels.

I feel Michael’s hand on my shoulder, and I look up at him. I get up, and he slides an arm around my waist, trailing his fingertips over my hip.

“Watch it,” I whisper, even though I love his touch. “We should get out of here before we rip each other’s clothes off.”

Michael is perfectly composed, nodding, smiling, and waving to people he must know there on the way out.

But as he leads me out the door, he leans in and whispers, “I’m not going to rip them off you this time.”

“No? Not the ripping type?”

“This time, I’m going to strip you slowly. One piece at a time. And I’m going to enjoy every single inch of that gorgeous skin while I do it.”

We step out on to the street, and Michael’s face darkens.

“Car should be here already,” he says with a frown.

The car isn’t here, and it’s raining.

Gross.

He steps over to me, cradles my cheek with his big warm hand.

“What’s wrong, princess? Don’t like getting wet?”

Before I can answer, he leans in and gives me one deep, amazing kiss that I can feel from my lips all the way to my pussy.

The horn toots behind us, and we dash to the car, sliding in across the smooth seats. I wipe my face instinctively and a smear of white, black and red comes off.

“Oh, no!” I exclaim before I can think, “My makeup!”

I’ve never been without makeup before. My heart is hammering. It’s like being naked on the street.

Michael gently takes my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face.

“Let me see.”

Lip trembling, desperately wanting to cover my face, I look up. I know I must look like a mess. Smeared makeup, dripping hair.

He just looks at me, icy blue eyes flashing, as we pass beneath street lights and signs. He rubs my lower lip with his thumb.

“You’re prissy, Stella. And you really are spoiled rotten,” he says, looking at me intently. “But I think you have never looked more beautiful to me than you do right fucking now.”

He leans in and presses his hot lips on mine. It’s more than sensual. My heart is opening for him…and so are my legs.

This could be an interesting ride.