Placing the heavy menu onto the table, I said, "You order for me. I have no idea."
Q chuckled. "You know, letting me order for you is a turn on. Knowing you trust me enough to give me control over what you eat makes me hard."
I crossed my legs, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sharp clench at his voice. "Behave. You're the one who wanted to do this. Not me. I would've happily dined on you all night." In the safety of our hotel room.
Hearing how prolific Q's business was on the news unsettled me. I didn't want to be in public anymore. I didn't feel incognito or unimportant. I felt watched.
His eyes narrowed, fingers gripping the menu harder. "You're the one who has to behave, esclave. I'm more than happy to have you as my entrée."
A waiter appeared from nowhere, interrupting the rapidly budding lust between Q and I. "You ready to order?"
I smiled, glancing around the fine-dining restaurant. It wasn't large and each booth ringed the perimeter of the room-a red velvet curtain draped on either side of each seating area, giving patrons the sense of dining alone. The hypnotic piano and violin serenade plaited effortlessly with the ebb and flow of diner's voices. Not to mention the amazing scents of garlic, herbs, and fresh pasta filling the space like a tastebud-tempting haze.
Q gave me a glance before reopening his menu and reeling off in perfect Italian.
My core tingled at the lyrical tone of the man I would marry. So accomplished. So distinguished. So very, very different behind closed doors.
The waiter nodded, jotting down what seemed like copious amounts of food. Once finished, he bowed, took our menus and left to relay the order.
Q surveyed the restaurant, his shoulders tense.
I leaned forward. "Exactly how much food did you order?"
He focused on me. "I ordered every starter available. I figured we can share and taste a bit of everything." His gaze flashed on the word 'taste'. I crossed my legs, trapping the ripple between them.
Something rubbed against my ankle; I jumped.
Q chuckled under his breath. "Subtle, Tess. Really subtle. How am I supposed to play footsies with you if you leap a fucking mile?"
I laughed-I couldn't help it. "Did you just say footsies?" I flung up the tablecloth, pretending to search. "Where's my sadistic master-what have you done with him? He would never utter such a word."
Q leaned forward, stealing my hand. His face darkened. "I'm right here, esclave, and you'd faint again if you knew the things running through my head."
"What sort of things?" I whispered, caught in his web like a stupid butterfly who stared death directly in the face and didn't do a thing to stop it.
"Things like laying you on this table, throwing up your dress, and eating you in front of everyone."
My throat snapped closed; heart went wild. I tugged my hand away. Q's fingers latched around my wrist, keeping me prisoner. "Tell me. I've seen every inch of you. I've been inside most of you-and soon to be all of you-and I've murdered men who dared steal you away." His thumb drew little circles on the underside of my wrist disrupting my ability to concentrate. "What exactly is conversation etiquette for a first date, if we already have … history."
Our drinks arrived.
Q leaned back, letting me go reluctantly. We waited for the waiter to place a tumbler of whiskey for Q and a fancy cloudy martini for me. Q nodded in thanks as the man left.
Swallowing away the desire Q had conjured, I pretended to be heavily interested in my drink. Peering at the liquid, I asked, "What did you order?"
Q grabbed his glass, swirling the whiskey, sending fumes of malt and alcohol in my direction. He took a sip, visibly relaxing as the spirits hit his tongue. "I ordered you a lychee martini. Drink up, Tess. I plan on taking advantage of you tonight and you need to be sufficiently intoxicated-as first date rules tend to imply."
Once again his eyes cast around the restaurant, subtly, quickly, but now I'd noticed his awareness every nuance was obvious.
I took a sip, surprised at the sweet but very strong concoction. "You don't have to get me drunk to have me in your bed tonight." I fluttered my eyelashes, enjoying the game he'd started.
His gaze was deadly serious, boring into mine. "What if I want you drunk? So I can ease you into accepting another part of what I want to claim?"
Holy hell, I couldn't think when he looked at me like that. It didn't matter a thrill of fear darted into my stomach, spreading, shivering with apprehension.
Anal.
Q wanted to claim all of me and that was the last part unconquered. I took a gulp of the martini, not to obey, but to steady my nerves.