Her already drenched panties got another thorough dousing at the prospect.
Damn, damn, damn!
Stop it already and pull it together. Focus on the food, the room, the atmosphere. Think about anything but Diskant’s body, mouth and the impressive size of his cock…
“Just wonderful,” she muttered. “I’m officially on the ballot for slut of the year.”
She ripped the Styrofoam containers from the paper bag in careless jerks and tugs. Diskant would be back at any moment and at this rate she wouldn’t have to beg him to do squat. His impeccable sense of smell would tell him all he needed to know the minute he took a seat at the table, poured the wine and smelled the air.
By the time he returned she’d managed to calm down, place the now-prepared dishes on the table and take her own seat. She intentionally put as much space between them as possible, situating her plate on the other side of the circular table. Sometimes the only thing a woman could do was play defense and hope for the best. If he sat next to her she’d be too tempted to hop up on the wooden surface, drop trou and ask him if he wanted dessert before his meal.
A dark brow arched over one of his luminous gold eyes and she knew he’d picked up on her childish scheme. Instead of voicing disapproval, he placed the wine on the table, retrieved his plate and plopped it down on the empty space beside her. Then he snatched the bottle, walked to the ivory counter that ran along the side of the wall and opened a drawer.
“I scent your arousal, which tells me you’re as attracted to me as you’re supposed to be, but I also scent your fear,” he said as he retrieved a bottle opener. “Do you mind telling me what has you rattled?”
Shit.
He would know if she lied. Shifters always seemed to know when she fibbed at the bar.
Fidgeting, she decided to go for broke and tell him the truth. “One of the patrons at the club went into the women’s restroom with a shifter a few months ago. She almost bled out in the sink after he ripped open her jugular while he fucked her from behind. Since I’m being wined and dined by someone just like him, and I think we’re both well aware of where this is headed, I’m understandably concerned.”
He stilled, broad shoulders going taut as he absorbed and contemplated. “This happened five months back?” He didn’t turn to face her when he opened the bottle and returned the opener to the drawer.
“Yes.”
“Did you witness this yourself or hear about it?”
“I heard about it. By that time security had the bathroom blocked off, no one could get inside. But I saw the mess that was left behind. There was blood all over the place.”
“And the person who found them inside the bathroom and came screaming for help, was she a shifter?”
Frowning at the odd question, she thought about it for a moment before she answered, “No.”
“Then how do you know the woman in the bathroom wasn’t a shifter?”
“Because we all saw her when she exited the bathroom.”
He turned and leaned against the counter, glasses in one hand and wine bottle in the other. “And?”
“And she looked like a corpse and was obviously in shock.”
“Shifters will display the same symptoms after a large blood loss.”
“She wasn’t a shifter.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, Mr. Can’t Be Wrong, her mind was—” She snapped her mouth closed and cursed her short temper.
Oh crap.
She was revealing things she’d sworn not to without a second thought. If she didn’t watch it, he would know anything and everything about her.
He moved away from the counter and prowled across the distance, each step accentuating the long, sinewy lines of his thighs. As her gaze drifted up, she encountered the outline of his cock and testicles through the black leather, the bulge prominent and shifting to the right. Lust surged through her blood at the sight, causing her entire body to heat from the inside, and a deep craving and intense desire worked their way through the remaining erogenous zones of her body.
“Her mind was what?”
The absolute domination and control he exuded was compacted into those five short words. It was as if she knew better than to answer but couldn’t seem to find a way not to. The cadence of his speech, the alluring dip in that baritone tenor, encouraged her to jump haphazardly into the sky and trust in his ability and readiness to catch her.
“Her mind was a mess.”
He hesitated. “You could hear her thoughts?”
Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him…
“Yes.”
“You’re telepathic, Ava mine?”
She closed her eyes as the endearment sent unexpected ripples of fire scorching through the nerve endings beneath the surface of her skin.
“Yes.”
“Can you read my mind?”
She shook her head nervously and whispered, “No.”
“Good girl,” he purred in approval, as if he sensed her desire to please, and she felt her insides wilt and curve.
A simple form of praise and she was reduced to putty and a mash of quivering parts. She wanted him to tell her how proud he was of her, to hear the adoration in his voice as he rewarded her with nothing more than verbal accolades. If he spoke to her like this during sex, she’d do anything he told her to.
Anything at all.
God, if he didn’t get her blood pumping. Her clit felt as if it were being chafed by her lace panties, the swollen nub throbbing relentlessly against the agonizingly stiff material. She considered shifting in her seat but worried a new angle might make things worse. She had never wanted to climax so badly—her entire body was keyed up and ready to go over—and couldn’t decide if achieving orgasm by excitement alone would be exhilarating or mortifying.
Mortifying, most definitely, she concluded dismally. It might feel like heaven as she came but when all the wondrous sensations disappeared she’d be left gasping for air and facing one horny shifter.
Resigned to her sexed state, she tried to refrain from squirming like a fish on a hook.
After placing the glasses between them, Diskant poured the wine and took a seat. He kept a respectable distance, but distance was the last thing she wanted. Her body was shaking, her skin was flushed and the dampness between her legs was becoming ridiculous. The room was stifling too, the air so thick it was impossible to breathe.
Was it possible to suffocate on sex?
Damn, was that a hot flash?
The questions swarming through her mind stopped without preamble when he started eating. She sat in silence, confused by this strange yearning within, and watched as he cut strips of steak before he brought a piece to his mouth. His tongue darted out, lush upper and lower lips parting and then closing oh so slowly over the four-pronged fork. Millimeter by millimeter, she watched the lucky-ass piece of metal as it exited the confines of his mouth.
Expertly, he cut another piece, only this time he guided the fork and a small portion of the still-red meat toward her. Her focus shifted from the fork, locking on to pools of shimmering gold. Her breath lodged in her throat, sexual hunger simmering within her stomach, causing the walls of her womb to spasm.
“Open.”
A fresh gush of wetness soaked her underwear at his order and she did as instructed, opening wide and accepting the steak. He removed the fork from her lips just as slowly as he had from his own, and as he did she tried to taste not only the steak but the essence that remained from his mouth. As she chewed he studied her, watching as she slowly worked the tender meat between her teeth. When she swallowed, he already had another piece waiting, and she accepted it before he asked her to.