She fidgets beside me but takes a sip of the Cristal.
The waiter returns with the oysters on ice. “I think you liked oysters last time you tried them.”
“Only time I’ve tried them.” Her breathing stalls. She’s…eager.
“Oh, Miss Steele—when will you learn?” I tease, taking an oyster from the dish. I lift my hand from my thigh and she leans back in anticipation of my touch, but I reach for some lemon.
“Learn what?” she whispers, as I squeeze lemon juice over the shellfish.
“Eat.” I hold the shell up to her mouth. She parts her lips and I rest the shell on her bottom lip. “Tip your head back slowly.”
With a smoldering look, she does as she’s told and I tip the oyster into her mouth. She closes her eyes in appreciation, and I help myself to one.
“Another?” I ask.
She nods, and this time I add a little mignonette sauce, and still I don’t touch her. She swallows and licks her lips.
“Good?”
She nods.
I eat another, then feed her one more.
“Hmm…” she says, and the sound resonates the length of my cock.
“Still like oysters?” I ask, as she swallows the final one.
She nods again.
“Good.”
I place my hands on my thighs, flexing my fingers, and I’m gratified when she shifts beside me. But as much as I want to, I refrain from touching her. The waiter tops off our champagne and clears our plates. Ana squeezes her thighs together and rubs her hands over them. And I think I hear a frustrated sigh.
Oh, baby. Craving my touch?
The waiter returns with our entrées.
Ana eyes me with suspicious recognition as the food is placed on the table. “A favorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”
“Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it was cod at The Heathman.”
“I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts.”
“Happy days. This time I hope to get to fuck you.” I reach for my knife and she fidgets beside me. I take a bite of sea bass.
“Don’t count on it,” she mutters, and I know without looking that she’s pouting.
Oh, playing hard to get, Miss Steele?
“Speaking of contracts,” she continues. “The NDA.”
“Tear it up.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure I’m not going to run to The Seattle Times with an exposé?”
I laugh, knowing how shy she is. “No. I trust you. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Ditto,” she says.
“I’m very glad you’re wearing a dress.”
“Why haven’t you touched me, then?”
“Missing my touch?” I tease.
“Yes,” she exclaims.
“Eat.”
“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”
“No.” I hide my amusement.
She looks outraged.
“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” I add. “I can’t wait to get you home.”
“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor.” She sounds pissed.
“Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out.”
She narrows her eyes and takes a bite of her supper. The sea bass is delicious, and I’m hungry. She wriggles in her seat and her dress rides up a little, exposing more of her skin. She takes another bite, then puts down her knife, and runs her hand up the inside of her thigh, her fingertips drumming as she does.
She’s toying with me. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I know that you know, Mr. Grey. That’s the point.” She takes an asparagus stalk between her fingers and, with a sideways glance at me, dips the spear into the hollandaise sauce and swirls it around and around.
“You’re not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele.” I take the asparagus from her. “Open your mouth.”
She opens her mouth and runs her tongue across her bottom lip.
Tempting, Miss Steele. Very tempting.
“Wider,” I command, and she bites her bottom lip but complies, easing the stalk into her mouth and sucking.
Fuck.
It might as well be my cock.
She moans quietly and takes a bite and reaches for me.
I stop her with my other hand. “Oh no you don’t, Miss Steele.” I brush my lips across her knuckles. “Don’t touch,” I scold, and place her hand on her knee.
“You don’t play fair.”
“I know.” I raise my champagne glass. “Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele.” We clink glasses.
“Yes, kind of unexpected,” she says, looking a little discouraged. Does she doubt herself? I hope not.
“Eat.” I change the subject. “I am not taking you home until you’ve finished your meal, and then we can really celebrate.”
“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”
Ana. Ana. So easily distracted.
“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and we’ll entertain the other diners.”
She shifts in her seat, making me think a spanking might be welcome, but her pursed lips tell a different story. Picking up an asparagus stalk, I dip the head into the hollandaise. “Eat this,” I tempt her.
She does, keeping her eyes on me.
“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight since I’ve known you.”
“I just want to go home and make love.”