"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."
"Is that a good thing?"
"A very good thing," she purrs.
"I'm glad because there's more where that came from," I say, looking down at the chilled platter.
She reaches for another, repeating the process. As she does it, my eyes travel down the length of her body, savoring every inch of it. What's her motive for meeting me tonight? Something tells me that she has a hidden agenda, but I don't know what.
"You're awfully quiet," she says, turning her attention back to me. "Is that why they call you The Shark? Are you a silent sort of predator?"
I don't answer her right away, but instead I smile. Finally, I say, "Just admiring … that's all. I could certainly eat you for dessert."
"Still hungry?"
"Starving. You have no idea."
"I like a man with a big … appetite," she coos.
As if my cock wasn't hard enough already, now it's as stiff as stone. And as much as I want to bend her over this bar, I know we should talk business.
"About your company," I say, "I'm interested in investing."
"I appreciate that, but how can I trust you? You're the Shark of Wall Street. You eat companies for breakfast."
I place my hand on top of hers. "You can trust me, Natalie. I want to help. Tell me about your toys."
She smiles. "They're more than just toys, and there's nothing else like them on the market."
"So you've said. But what do they really do?"