My finger rubs the ring on my finger as if it will bring some comfort or solace. It doesn’t. My mother wouldn’t recognise the woman who stalked through the lobby of that casino three years ago, or the one I am today. I was every bit the high-class girl the men in the room paid to have on their arms. Everyone’s desire.
Including Benjamin’s.
That’s as far as my plan took me at the time—into the arms of either Cane or one of his associates. All I needed was to get close enough. And now I am.
* * *
Two dates in under a month.
Benjamin has taken me out for dinner on plenty of occasions, but he’s always stipulated who else was joining us, who I should speak with, what I needed to achieve. Tonight, there’s been nothing. It made me consider the jeans that were folded and hidden away in one of the drawers, but knowing Benjamin, he wouldn’t have liked the restricted access to my skin.
I’ve settled for a sparkling ombre cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and short hem. I had to work on the cover up, but the crystal embellishments are pretty and shine in the lights. Black diamanté straps crisscross my back and keep me in the dress, my go-to Louboutin heels making my toned legs look even longer.
“Do you plan all of your dresses with the intent of distracting men?”
“No. I thought we went over this. I only choose to wear things for your benefit.”
He looks me over, a brow raised at that answer, and strides away through the apartment without waiting for me. “Come. Otherwise, I’ll change my mind.”
He’s quiet and brooding all the way to the restaurant.It makes for a tense ride, making me question what sort of date this is. I just stare out the window until we finally reach the destination he has in mind. I’m used to all sorts of behaviour from him. Brooding is yet another version of normal for me.
The small bistro we end up in isn’t Benjamin’s usual type of establishment. It’s in an old part of the heights, a place he never normally brings me down to, and is much more intimate. I scan the room, confused by the venue and slightly on edge given my time with Andreas, as we’re shown to a small table at the back where only the wait staff will bother us. Nonetheless, the aroma of tomato, garlic and wine scent the air, making me hungry for pasta.
We take our seats, and I try to force the tension around us to dissipate. The waiter returns a moment later and fills our water glasses while speaking Italian directly to Benjamin. It's odd to see, something I barely ever get from him. Occasionally, when he's on the phone in his office, but I've never witnessed him actually talk in the language. A hint of his past, perhaps. It rolls off his lips, highlighting an already deep and intoxicating tone.
I watch on as a bottle of wine is poured a moment later, and the waiter hangs on Benjamin’s approval. He nods, nothing more, and my goblet is conservatively filled after his.
“It suits you, the Italian,” I comment, looking him over. His brow arches, a smile tracing his lips. “Makes me think I’ve seen something new of you.”
“Mmm.” He doesn’t speak further. Okay.
I lift my glass to him for a toast, smiling. He clinks our glasses but then lounges back in his chair and raises his hand to his lips. He’s thinking something over and isn’t worried about letting me know about it.
“I thought you wanted to come here on a date?” I ask, confused as to why he wants to spend the evening having dinner when clearly his mind is elsewhere.
“I do.”
“Okay. You seem to know this place. Anything you recommend from the menu?” I pick up the modest card and scan the options.
“Everything is good here but order the pasta.”
“Care to narrow it down? Most of the menu is a pasta dish.”
“Spaghetti con le vongole or the spaghetti alla puttanesca.”
I search for the items listed on the menu but don’t find anything to aid in my understanding of exactly what I’ll be getting with my spaghetti. “Sounds delicious. What if we have both? I can try some of yours?” My suggestion is firmly in date territory, but that is what we’re on, isn't it?
He rubs his chin before bringing his wine to his lips. “Deal. But I want us to have some fun first. We’ll order whatever you want. But you’ll fuck me, here, at the table, and get me off before the waiter brings the meals.”
He sets his glass down and looks over at me, eyes piercing through me in challenge. Date or not, though, it isn't a challenge. It's an order. My lips broaden into a smile, seeing the lust and power behind his gaze. It’s enough to set my pulse racing. Combine that with the Italian and the smell of the food, and I'm barely able to stop from drooling.
“Here? In the restaurant?” I ask to clarify, even though I understood perfectly well.
“Yes, Hope.”
“Are we ready to order?” the waiter interrupts.
It’s like the starting pistol to our own private race. Benjamin chuckles lightly as he delivers our request, still watching me as I stand and the waiter leaves our secluded area. My heels echo on the floor as I walk the few steps to him, swinging my hips to help start him off. He scrapes his chair back to give me a little more space.
