“Alrighty,” Milo said, holding up the menu with his free hand. “I know what I want, but I’m about to butcher the pronunciation of everything.”
I lightly laughed, following Milo’s lead, and ordering the simplest-seeming dish I could. Milo went for extravagance. Which, to be fair, was pretty much everything on the menu, but I wanted something without a thousand different flavor palettes. I also wanted something I could sort of pronounce. Steak was universal, though the additions that came with it…not so much.
Still good food. Probably the best I’d ever had in my life. Seriously, one bite of this steak and I was ready to propose to the chef next.
“Not a fucking chance,” Milo said, practically reading my mind.
“How do you do that?” I tilted my head, wondering how Milo glimpsed my thoughts with such ease.
“I see potentials, sometimes mid-conversation. The possibility of a funny joke or a bad joke flutters in my mind.” Milo shrugged. “If I’m lucky, I can line it up with what I think someone else is thinking.”
“So, there was a possibility in some version of the future where I made a joke about proposing to the chef because of this dish?”
“Yep.”
“Well, is there a future where I put out for the chef?” I teased. “Because this steak is pretty damn good.”
“Watch yourself.” Milo pointed with his utensils. “Or I won’t put out.”
His mind flashed with images of all the things he planned on doing to me once we left this restaurant. It took everything I had not to convince him that the private balcony might make for a nice enough place for a little after-hours celebration.
The fact that our server arrived again with a dessert menu was probably the only reason I kept my hands to myself.
“I think we’re going to skip dessert,” Milo replied, retrieving his card.
“I don’t think so.” I slapped mine on the table. “My treat.”
Milo smirked as our server left.
“Well, how will I ever repay you for such a generous night out?” Milo pursed his lips playfully, running his foot up my leg from under the table.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I said with a slight chatter in my teeth.
I wanted to blame the cold, but the embers kept us nice and toasty on the balcony.
It didn’t take long for us to leave. I went to retrieve my car when Milo grabbed me and pulled me back.
“Pick it up tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear, wrapping an arm around the small of my back. “I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”
I growled in response, unable to form words, but eagerly holding tight as Milo lifted off into the night sky.
The flight home was made easy by Milo’s magics. I allowed him to carry me while I focused my attention elsewhere. It was impossible to keep my hands off him, my lips. Wind chill hit hard, so I buried my face in the crook of Milo’s neck, kissing him, licking him, tasting him.
I unfastened his belt, unzipped his slacks, and gripped his cock midflight, nearly sending us off course. As his attention rose, his levitation floundered.
“What happened to those perfected roots?” I whispered in his ear, teasing him, nibbling on his lobe too.
“The roots are perfect, the witch using them—not so much.” Milo grinned, bucking and letting his hard shaft rub against my hip. “But the witch I’m with is quite perfect.”
“Careful.” I kissed his collarbone. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
It took everything I had to hold myself back once we landed on the balcony. A much easier route to return home than passing through the door attendants, the lobby, the elevator ride. Still, I had to practice patience as Milo punched in the security code. After all, anyone could fly through the balcony route, so the alarm dinged the second our feet reached the mat in front of the sliding glass doors.
Milo slid open the door, and I pushed him inside, practically riding his ass with each step. No way would I make it to the bedroom at this rate.
“Dorian,” Milo groaned as I pushed him against the couch.
“Yes.” I kissed his neck, running my fingers down his back, lightly clawing at his silk shirt.
