Tell Me You Want Me

There’s a pause, a tension that gathers between us before Adrian pulls out my chair and tells me, “We can discuss it later, but I’m telling you, I don’t want you to worry.”

“As if I can just stop.”

“You can. And you will.”

“It’s just hard to believe right now.”

“Let me help you with that.” His gentle smile is as confident as his touch. “You need to eat. Sit.” He takes my wineglass from my hand, only a few sips gone, and helps me to my seat.

It’s a bit chillier now than it was earlier and even with the beautiful double collar Mackage jacket Noah was gracious enough to have rush delivered before the boat set sail, it’s brisk.

“May I?” Adrian asks, still standing as I take my seat. He moves the remaining chair around the table, dragging it to sit beside me.

“You’d rather sit next to me?”

“I’d rather have my arm around you.”

There’s comfort that’s unexpected, in the way he simply wants to be with me. Next to me, with me, touching me. I crave it without realizing it.

The waiter comes by with appetizers: oysters on ice, bruschetta, and marinated olives with feta. Where we’re seated, the chatter is muted and drowned out by the water, the breeze is comforting and it feels like the city has stayed awake just for us.

We’re finished with our appetizers when Adrian orders two glasses of ice water.

“I’m all right with the wine,” I tell him.

“I thought we could play a game,” is his reply. “To keep your mind off work.”

“What kind of game?” My cheeks are instantly flushed and hot, though no one seems to be paying attention to us, tucked away back here. “Would it be … discreet?”

“Very,” he says and his gorgeous pale blue eyes rest on mine as he smirks, “as long as you can keep quiet.”

“I have no problem with that.” The suggestive game is enticing, and there’s no doubt I would much rather get lost in this man’s touch than ruminate on matters I cannot control.

Just as I rest my hand on Adrian’s thigh, the waiter returns and a hot blush creeps to my cheeks realizing I’m the one caught. The waiter only offers a polite smile, not saying a word as he sets down the goblets of ice water and then uncovers dinner: filet mignon and lobster tail with mashed potatoes and asparagus, all neatly arranged in a tasteful way.

My mouth waters instantly.

Adrian’s quiet and commanding as he tells me, “Pick up your fork and make sure you appear to be eating, no matter what I do.”

“Appear to be eating or actually eat?” My fork hovers over the plate.

“You should eat,” he decides. “I’ll try to be fair and give you time to chew and swallow.”

Adrian looks down at his own plate and says, “Enjoy dinner. That’s all you need to do.”

Small talk ensues. About the city, the ever-changing neighborhoods and real estate. Nothing heavy, yet it chips away at who each of us is and what we want.

“Why am I not surprised that you live in Tribeca,” I comment offhandedly knowing how damn expensive it is. Yet another checkbox on tonight’s elite list that I could never fulfill.

That’s when I feel his hand on my thigh underneath the table, pushing my dress up. My fork scrapes against the porcelain, giving away my surprise until I can steady myself. His touch goes up and up until his knuckles brush against my clit through my panties.

Cold shocks me so suddenly, I gasp.

“With a sound like that escaping those lips of yours,” Adrian scolds, his tone teasing, “people will wonder if something happened to you.”

He doesn’t let up with the pressure against my clit and I struggle to perfect my expression.

“Keep your thighs apart,” he murmurs. “That’s the only way to play this game.”

Circular motions of his knuckles make me hotter, increasing the heat until all at once he removes his hand.

My initial reaction is to object, but that’s quickly silenced as he plucks a piece of ice from his glass and, with his eyes on mine, his hand disappears under the table. My lips part with a hiss as the cold hits my inner thigh first. He doesn’t stop, slowly trailing it up.

I let out a breathy laugh. “That’s freezing,” I admit. “It’s so, so cold.”

“Sensitizing, isn’t it?” he says quietly and casually spears a stalk of asparagus with one hand, while his other slips the ice up and down my slit until slowly he presses it inside of me. Goosebumps dance along my skin as I focus on my breathing and simply staying still.

Adrian repeats this process, bringing me to the edge and then stopping me with the freeze of an ice cube. Abruptly, he stops.

“You’re going to give us away,” he warns lowly, his lips at the shell of my ear and his warm breath tickling my neck.