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“You’ll still be hungry after you eat me alive, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be eaten,” I said, my nails digging into his flesh. “Take me downstairs. Romance me, kiss my neck, play with my pussy under the table. But when we get back upstairs…fuck me the way you wanted to fuck me that night you came to my room before we were married.”
Both his hands came up, curling around my throat and holding it reverently. Like I was something sacred.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You are a goddess.”
“Then be my god,” I said. “Make me believe it.”
He swallowed, stepped back. “Bring me the plug and the vibrator and bend over the bed.”
I obeyed and slid into position. Palms flat, cheek against dark satin. Skirt up around my waist and panties down around my ankles. His hands were gentle, but firm as he knelt behind me. His mouth grazed my ass, kissing the back of my thigh.
“You’re already wet,” he said reverently.
“How can I not be?” I wondered aloud.
He was quiet and I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of him uncapping the lube. The smooth, oval vibrator slipped into my pussy and he settled it inside me, against my G-spot. Then he worked the plug into my asshole and wiped the lube from me before replacing my panties and giving me a little slap across the backside.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “Now, let’s go down to dinner.”
We were seated in the far corner of the room. It was semi-private, half concealed by a sheet of black glass with water running through it. I was surprised we weren’t in a private room. Usually Lucien liked having me to himself.
“Couldn’t get a private room in your own hotel?” I teased.
He looked at me over the flickering candles. A shadow cut halfway down his handsome face, accentuating his aquiline nose. There was a hint, a fragment, of amusement in his eyes. At least, I thought I saw it…but perhaps it was a trick of the candlelight.
“Maybe I want the world to see you,” he said.
I cocked my head. “Why is that?”
Our waiter appeared, bringing us a bottle of red wine and a glass of whiskey so expensive it was barely more than a splash. Lucien accepted it, running the tip of his finger over the fine edge.
The waiter left with our order. I shifted, growing warm beneath my husband’s unbroken gaze. Finally I had the courage to look up—there was a single emotion visible in the depths of his eyes.
Lust.
I took a sip of wine, my wrist weak. It was dawning on me I was the main course tonight. The wine burned down my throat and my stomach fluttered. I trusted him and I could safeword him if I needed to, but he was still so fucking intimidating.
Deep inside, a faint whir started. Pleasure surged and my hips lurched. A splash of wine hit the tablecloth as I put my glass down with difficulty. The buzzing stopped as quickly as it had come and the pleasure died down to a low simmer.
“Lucien,” I hissed. “Behave yourself, please.”
His lids flickered. “You wanted to play, Liv,” he drawled. “Let’s fucking play.”
“I’m at a severe disadvantage,” I said.
He shrugged once. “You always have been.”
I sighed. “You could at least lie to me sometimes, a little white lie to make me feel better.”
“Why? You know there’s always been a power imbalance between us and you love it. It keeps you desperate and wet and I like you desperate and wet.”
The Lucien who sat beside me tonight reminded me a lot of the man who had come to my room a decade ago. That night when I’d woken and found him watching me like a hungry wolf from his chair across the room.
He’d demanded I spread my legs for him.
Memories of what happened next flooded my mind. The thrill of him seeing my pussy for the first time. The shock of him bending over and spitting onto it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Face red, I glanced up, pulling myself back to reality. He was smoking, which I found odd.
“You can’t smoke inside,” I said hoarsely.
