He’s been hunching towards me. Now, he stiffens his spine. I draw my eyes over his outfit and click my tongue disapprovingly.
“Black on black. What are you, a mortician?”
“It pays to be prepared.”
I stifle a laugh. It comes out as a derisive snort instead. “Do you think you’re funny?”
“On occasion.”
“If you really want to make her laugh, you should take off your pants. Really give her something to giggle about.”
He doesn’t budge, but I see his breath pick up, chest rising and falling a little more rapidly. He loves it when I’m mean to him. And me?
I’m having way too much fun.
I lean forward. “Here’s the plan,” I tell him. “And you’re going to listen to me. Word for word. Understand?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Let her get whatever she wants. Don’t let the waiter take your plate while she’s still eating. Hold your plate until she’s done. She’s going to say she’s too full for dessert but get her dessert anyway. Pay for her meal. Tip 25%. Minimum.”
The candle flickers between us. His hand rests on thetable and I put mine next to his. Discreetly, I draw a single finger up and down the side of his pointer finger. Slowly. Barely touching him. The way I did with his cock earlier.
The muscles in his jaw tightens.
I take his wrist in my hand. I push his sleeve up, rolling it back. Exposing his forearm and the spidering veins underneath his skin.
“Are you going to read my palm?” Dorian asks.
I flatten my hand over his palm. “Let’s see…is Dorian going to be a good boy tonight?”
I lift the tea candle from the table. I tilt it over his forearm. The flame flickers as liquid wax pools against the side of the glass.
My eyes connect with Dorian’s. He’s gone very still, but he’s not safe wording.
He’s bracing. Green light.
I tilt the candle a little more. The wax dribbles out and drips onto his forearm.
He jerks back instinctively, but I have my hand around his wrist, holding him into place. He sucks in a quick breath as the wax drips onto his skin, rolling in thick, white drops down his arm.
I watch him. He’s watching the wax drip. Then those blue eyes lift to meet mine.
“Don’t make her take the subway,” I continue. “You buy her a cab. Take her home. What are you going to do if she wants to have sex?”
“I’m going to be a gentleman,” he says. The low, hungry brass in his voice is like catnip to the dominant predator inside of me.
“A gentleman?” My voice pitches. “Women don’t want a gentleman. They want a man who can make them come. Your body is mine. And you’re going to use it to renew thatwoman’s faith in men everywhere. You’re going to give her the best night of her life.
“You’re going to kiss her until she’s weak in the knees. Touch her. Slowly. The back of her neck. Her thighs. Her face. I want her dripping wet before her panties even come off, understood?”
His eyes are dark. Unfocused. I let another sliver of wax fall and he winces as it splatters across the soft skin of his wrist. “Yes, boss.”
“Then you’re going to lick her cunt. You’re going to feast until your jaw hurts and then you’re going to keep going. Make her come on your tongue. Only after you’ve given her a nice, shuddery-leg orgasm, you’re going to fuck her. You’re not going to bang her like some college freshman rutting for his orgasm. Your orgasm is going to be the furthest thing from your mind. You’re going to give it to her slowly. Let her feel every inch of that monster. Are you taking mental notes, pup?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Good, because here’s the important part. You’re not going to come. Fake it if you have to. But your orgasms are mine. I know it’s going to be a challenge when she’s all whimpery and clenching around your cock. But good boys hold it in. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Say it.”
