I don't know who he thought he was kidding.
He's outmatched. It's almost too easy. He's a naïve kid trying to maneuver in a grown man's game. The sooner he realizes this, the better off he'll be.
He'll quickly see that he's playing a losing strategy.
My hand is still resting on Natalie's leg, and I move it to her hair, brushing a few blonde strands behind her ear. "Where were we?" I ask, smiling.
"We were talking about something … Dirty," she smiles back.
"Of course, Dirty Lil' Angels."
I watch as she takes a careful sip of her wine, but before we can talk business, our waiter approaches, placing a half dozen chilled, raw oysters in front of us.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she asks.
"I like secrets."
"I've never eaten a raw oyster before."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It's true. I'm a little … nervous," she laughs. There's an innocence hidden in her laugh and it makes my heart kick in my chest. I want to pull her close to me and allow myself to get drunk on her smell alone.
"You know what they say about oysters …" I smile, and she nods. I squeeze a wedge of lemon o
n them and watch their flesh ripple from the acidity. I reach for Natalie's hand. It's delicate, smaller than I remember, and the realization of it makes my cock twitch. "Here, take this fork."
She grabs it tenderly and follows my lead.
"Move it around like this, in its own juice," I say, her hand still in mind, and together we give the oyster a gentle swirl. "So that it's not still attached to the shell."
"It looks so weird," she says, scrunching her nose. For a split second, I see her as a child again.
"Trust me," I reply, locking my eyes on hers. "Tasting this is an experience you won't soon forget."
I take the fork from her hand and replace it with the shell of the oyster.
"Here, hold it." I watch as she grabs it with the tips of her perfectly manicured fingers, the scarlet polish on her nails flashing against the cold grey of the shell. I lean in close, speaking just above a whisper, making sure my breath brushes against her neck.
I know, from some corner of this building, that Sloane is watching, and for a reason that I can't exactly explain, the thought of that makes me fucking hard.
"Go ahead. Slurp it down."
She begins to part her lips, bringing it to her mouth, but I stop her. "Not that end," I say. "Turn it around. That way, it slides right in."
"Do I chew it?"
"Just once. But you really just want to take it down your throat," I say, a grin forming across my lips.
She returns the smile, and raises it back to her lips. I watch as her pink, moist lips part again, and she places the edge of the shell to her mouth. She tilts her head back, exposing her slender throat to me, and for a second, I imagine dragging my tongue across its soft surface, and resting it against her pulse. I wonder how fast her heart is beating, and what she tastes like.
Fuck, I really hope Sloane is watching.
Just as I instructed her to, she slides the oyster into her mouth and gives it one quick chew. I watch as her throat undulates.
"So?" I ask, as soon as she finishes.
She smiles. "That tasted like I got slapped by the ocean."