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He smirked, wiping his hands before taking it. “How can I help you, Sebastian?” he questioned.
I wished I could hear him on the other side.
“I’m going to have to stop you right there, because we had this conversation already. What my girlfriend and I do is none of your business.”
I walked around the counter to Eli. He looked at me oddly as I squeezed between him and the counter, kissing up his neck. He pressed up against me.
“Eli…” I moaned, louder than necessary.
Eli placed his thumb on my bottom lip, his eyes never off of them. “Sebastian, if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend is begging for my attention.”
“I’m begging for a lot more than that,” I said to him, and I was sure that was the last thing Sebastian heard before he hung up.
I watched Eli’s hands go on either side of me after returning my phone to my bag. “You called me your girlfriend.”
“Aren’t you?” he asked, gripping my breast. “You are only seeing me, aren’t you?”
Licking my lip, I nodded.
“Then by definition, you are mine. Just like I’m your boyfriend. Now I am tempted beyond measure to take you right here. But, I promised you dinner.” He moved his hands back down. “So you are safe until then.”
“Are you sure?” I said, reaching for him.
He bit his lip, glaring at me.
“Because what your body and mouth are telling me are two different things right now.”
“Thank God,” he muttered to himself when the timer went off.
Laughing, I backed away, allowing him to finish with his cooking. “Saved for now, but the night is still young,” I said, moving to get the wine.
“When I first kissed you, I thought my appetite for sex might put you off. Yet, you are enjoying yourself as you tempt me every step of the way,” he said, grabbing plates.
“Would you prefer me to be nervous? Pretend I don’t like the way you bend me over and—”
“You are evil.” He kissed my lips. “I like it.”
I kissed him back, and bit his bottom lip. “Good. I’m too stubborn to change now.”
“Let’s eat, we can talk about that later,” he said, moving to the dishes.
I watched as he took his time, like the perfectionist he was, putting everything together elegantly on the table. It looked better than if we had ordered it off a menu at a five-star restaurant and tasted just as good.
“Grab the salad?” he said, moving toward his dining room.
“We are eating in your dining room?”
“That is where people usually eat dinner, Guinevere,” he said, placing my plate on a silver mat on top of his black wooden table. The whole table was already set up for two, with wine glasses and a pitcher of water in the center.
“You really went all out,” I whispered when he took the bottle and salad from me, placing them on the table before pulling out my chair.
“There is even vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”
“Don’t you hate it?”
“But you believe it is the cornerstone of ice cream, remember? And this isn’t really going all out. When I go all out, you will know.”
“Honestly, I thought you would make hamburgers and we would watch Animal Planet together again. What is this? It smells good.”
