A dark smile tugs at my lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? How about I tell you what happened?” I lean in, my voice deepening as I murmur, “There you were, in the middle of the night, all alone in your bed and unable to sleep. Maybe you’d read a sexy story in the evening… or maybe, just maybe, you’d had a dream.” Her hand twitches in my grasp, and my smile grows more wicked. “Ah, yes, it was a dream. Was I in it, kitten? What was I doing to you? Fucking you? Licking your sweet pussy? Fingering your tight little asshole? Or maybe all of the above?”
As I speak, her color heightens further, and a visible pulse appears in her neck. “Hush,” she hisses, her eyes darting to the partition separating us from Wilson. “He’ll hear you.”
“Then tell me if I’m right.” I bring her hand to my mouth and brush her knuckles back and forth across my lips. “Was I what you were dreaming about that night? Was I—”
“Yes!” She’s now flushed all over, her breathing fast and uneven as she yanks her hand away. “You’re right. Okay? You’re right. Happy now?”
Fuck. Me. Hearing her admit this is like having Viagra injected straight into my cock. I’m so hard it’s as if I hadn’t had sex in years, instead of mere minutes.
If it weren’t for the fact that I promised Emma dinner, I’d tell Wilson to take us to my penthouse, so I could go straight for my dessert.
“Yes,” I say hoarsely when I’m able to talk again. “Very happy.”
And as she turns to stare out the window, her cheeks bright red, I take deep breaths, trying to cool the raging fire in my blood.
32
Emma
“Oh my God, this is so good,” I moan around a mouthful of cheese that was on fire just a few moments ago. I’d never tried halloumi before, and I’d been seriously missing out. Not only was it fun to watch the waiter set flame to the block of cheese as he brought it out, but the result is beyond delicious—rich, salty, a little crispy on the outside, and gooey-melty on the inside.
Probably a million calories in each bite, but so worth it.
“It’s one of my favorite things here,” Marcus says huskily, his blue eyes intent on my face, and a fresh wave of color washes over me as I realize that my near-orgasmic reaction to the food is turning him on again.
The man is a sex fiend, clearly—and so am I when I’m around him.
Still, after he got that embarrassing confession out of me, we’d somehow managed a normal conversation for the rest of the ride, with me babbling about my job at the bookstore and Marcus attentively listening. I don’t know if he was really interested or merely indulging me, but I can’t deny that it felt good to have his undivided attention. And I still have it—despite at least two women in this place doing their best to get him to notice them.
I have no idea if they know who he is or if they’re just responding to his commanding good looks, but either way, I don’t like it.
To his credit, Marcus seems oblivious to their existence—even when the supermodel-hot blonde purposefully drops her purse in front of his chair, so she can bend over and show off her tiny, toned ass in her skimpy dress. I gape at her, stunned by her brazenness, but Marcus doesn’t so much as spare her a glance. Nor does he look at the gorgeous brunette two tables over, who’s already paraded in front of our table twice, flipping her long, straight locks over her shoulder each time and smiling at Marcus like he’s Thor reincarnated.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask, stifling the urge to trip up the brunette when she walks by our table yet again, swaying her slim hips like she’s on a catwalk. “To this restaurant, I mean.”
He nods, cutting into his own portion of the halloumi. “It’s only a few blocks from my place, so I’m here at least once a month.”
That explains it. I bet those two have found out that a billionaire frequents this restaurant, and they’re here specifically to meet him. Maybe they’ve even bribed a waiter to learn about Marcus’s reservation.
Why else would the blonde be sitting at a table all by herself? Women—especially gorgeous women—don’t go to nice, sit-down restaurants on their own. The brunette, at least, appears to be with a friend—who, come to think of it, is glaring at me as if she’d like to ask the waiter to set me on fire.
I look away, the last bite of cheese turning bitter in my mouth as I realize she probably thinks I’m like her friend—a gold digger.
Eeenie, meenie, miney, moe, everyone knows your mom’s a ho!