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Her nostrils flare a fraction, and she forces herself to swallow.

Then she does something I don’t expect.

She moans.

"Mmm." She closes her eyes. "Oh, that's good."

It is not good. She knows it. I know it. The cannelloni knows it.

But the sound she makes. That low, soft moan of fake pleasure, and the way her lips press together like she's savoring something worth savoring … fuck.

My cock punches against my zipper.

"Delicious," I say.

Her eyes open. She searches my face for the lie. "It really is, isn’t it?"

She’s daring me to say something.

"The best."

I take another bite. Force myself to chew. Force myself to swallow. The texture is worse the second time because now I know what's coming.

Sunny takes another bite and makes that sound again. Softer this time, a tiny "mmm" in the back of her throat, and I bite back a groan because that sound is going to be a problem for me.

A significant, ongoing, below-the-belt problem.

"You should try it with the salad," she says, punching salad onto her fork. "The acidity really brings out the flavors."

There are no flavors.

She takes another bite, closes her eyes, and moans again. This time she goes for it with her head tilted and her lips pressed together.

"So good," she whispers.

My hands tighten on my knife and fork because now I’m imagining her kneeling in front me with my cock in her mouth as she makes those sounds.

She opens her eyes and catches me watching her, and a flicker of victory crosses her face, the tiniest pull at the corner of her mouth.

She knows exactly what those sounds are doing to me, and she's using them against me.

Fine.

I cut a large piece, put it in my mouth, and groan. From my chest. A deep, primal groan. My eyes close, and I hold the sound longer than I need to.

When I open my eyes, a flush on her neck matches the pink of her cheeks.

She punches her fork into the soupy cannelloni, then leans closer and spreads her thighs wider on the chair. The blood pounds so hard through my cock I can feel my pulse in it.

Sauce drips down her lips, and her tongue slides across them to lick it off.

I swallow hard.

"More wine?" she asks.

"No."

"More cannelloni?"