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The sudden, highly visual image was so unexpected and vivid she couldn't summon an immediate response. Our home. He'd really said that. She was stunned. "You can picture that?"
"Yes. I usually treat all the staff to some sort of traditional event. Partners are invited, of course, so it'd be appropriate for us to share the news about how we first met then, if not before."
Naomi was still adrift. Never mind Georgio being teased. He was teasing and testing her right now. It was a yearly thing he did for his staff, he'd qualified that, but he'd put her at the centre of the image ahead. How could she reply? If she asked if he thought they would still be together at Christmas it would sound flippant, and she didn’t want that. She took a sip of her wine and chose her response carefully, smiling as she spoke. "Georgio has a partner?"
"Several." Lucas grinned. "Not all at the same time, of course. I think he's what they call a serial monogamist. He falls deeply in love every time."
Naomi laughed. She hadn't heard that phrase before. "That's an interesting way of putting it…is that what you are, Lucas, a serial monogamist?"
His expression grew serious. "No. I think I'm much more traditional than that. I'd like to wake up in bed with the same woman every morning, the woman I love."
It felt a lot like their first dinner date, where he tested her by being suggestive about dominance and submission. This time his comment made her feel unsure of herself. Is that what he was trying for with Clara, his ex-wife? And if so what did he really want and where did she fit in?
"Is that the ideal?"
"You're my ideal," he murmured.
Her chest felt tight.
Thankfully the waiter approached. "Can I get you something for dessert?"
Lucas continued to stare at Naomi. "I know what I'd like."
There' was no doubting what he meant by that. Butterflies loosed in the pit of her belly.
"Just coffee, I think," Lucas said to the waiter. "Naomi? What do you want?"
You. Sexual need made her shift and wriggle in her chair.
"Coffee," she agreed.
The waiter left.
"Naomi?" He spoke in a low whisper, his gaze locked with hers.
She swallowed. "I wanted to say…you."
Their mutual desire was total, honest and blatant.
"You're making me hard."
"You're making me wet."
His leg moved against hers under the table.
"You weren't quite so shameless on our first dinner date."
"I blame you for that. You're a bad influence."
He grinned. God she loved how he looked when he gave that broad, unrestrained smile. "We can't have you wet and wanting, can we? Open your legs."
His commanding tone left her no choice. Her legs parted. She trembled, afraid of what was coming – but longing for it too.
"Reach under the table and touch yourself."
The force of his will compelled her to act.
She put her hands under the tablecloth. Hitching up her skirt, she put her fingers inside her panties, resting them over the curve of her mons.
