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“Really,” I breathe huskily. “In fact, it’s pretty difficult not to tear it off you right now.”
I walk around the table and pull her chair out, nodding down.
She giggles and drops into the seat, shifting with me as I help her to push the chair in.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, moving around to my seat.
“It’s not funny, exactly,” she says. “It’s just that I’ve dreamed of this so many times. The rose petals, and the candle, and everything … It’s just perfect, Solomon.”
“I’m glad I can satisfy my little dreamer,” I smirk, threading my hand between the vase and the candle and take her hand.
She squeezes onto me, sending tingles up my forearm and into my chest, pounding into my heart.
“Satisfy?” she murmurs. “I don’t think that quite does it justice.”
She looks around at the vast emptiness.
“It’s very private, too,” she notes.
I can almost hear her adding, That’s good because then nobody will report back to Caitlin.
But she decides to remain silent about that, and even if it’s unfair, I’m damn glad.
Tonight is about me and my woman.
I believe that Caitlin will understand when she finally knows the full extent of what Sophia and I are becoming.
I just hope I can convince Sophia of that fact soon.
“Of course it’s private,” I say. “I don’t want anybody else seeing how incredible you look in that dress. Jesus, Sophia. My mouth is watering right now. And not for the food.”
Her cheeks glow in the candlelight as she picks up her menu and starts scanning it.
I withdraw my hand and do the same.
“Shall I order us some champagne to start?” I ask. “Non-alcoholic, of course.”
She grins. “Yeah, that sounds really nice.”
I reach under the table and press a button.
A moment later, a waiter opens the door from the kitchen and strides across the cavernous room, his footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor. They get louder and louder until he’s standing next to the table, smiling politely down at us.
I scan his eyes for any sign that he’s checking my woman out, but thankfully – for his safety – he keeps his gaze on her face.
“A bottle of your finest non-alcoholic champagne,” I tell him.
“Of course, Mr. Sky,” he says, inclining his head and then returning to the kitchen.
“Wow, secret buttons,” Sophia smiles. “Have you got any more tricks up your sleeve?”
I smirk. “You’ll just have to hang around long enough to find out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Solomon,” she murmurs.
Even if I should, I imagine her adding afterward, a phantom sentence on her lips.
“Good,” I growl. “Because I’d chase you to the ends of the earth if I had to. I’d never stop chasing you. You belong to me.”
“Always,” she moans, shifting in her seat.
My smirk widens, and my balls tighten even more in their need to explode inside of her, to fill her with my seed until she’s overflowing with it.
She’s getting horny now, I can tell by the way she shifts in her seat.
My little virgin really is insatiable.
“We can cancel dinner,” I tell her fiercely. “I can take you to the best hotel in town right now.”
“I want it, Solomon,” she murmurs. “But—”
She pauses.
But Caitlin, she was going to say.
“Do you think maybe we can have our date?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “You can’t blame a man for trying when you’re wearing that dress, Sophia.”
She bites her lip and I let out another snarling noise.
I can’t help myself.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you do that?” I growl.
“When I do what?” she asks.
“Bite your lip like that.”
She laughs, a sweet, musical sound that goes right to my core.
“I didn’t even know I was doing it,” she says.
“That just means you’re sexy without even trying,” I smirk.
Our conversation is interrupted when the waiter emerges with our champagne. I watch Sophia as he lays down the glasses and starts the pour, tracking her smile and letting it infuse me with soothing warmth.
It’s a smile that says she’s never experienced anything like this before, and she loves it. She’s been waiting her whole life for somebody to treat her like the princess she is.
I’m just so glad no other man ever saw how special she is.
I lift my flute once the waiter has left us.
“To us,” I declare.
“To us,” she toasts in return, and we bring our glasses together and clink them.
She sips, and then quickly puts the glass down and clasps onto her belly.
“That’s really—uh—bubbly,” she murmurs. “It’s …”
She clasps her hand over her mouth as a small burp escapes, and then stares at me wide-eyed as though she’s terrified, as though she’s just flipped the table over or started a fire. The pain in her expression shimmers and she moves in her chair as if she’s going to leave.
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
I bolt to my feet, moving with such savage conviction that she flinches.
