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“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to feed you.”
Her eyes were a bit fuzzy, which made his cock pulse. “Feed me? Is that a code for something debaucherous? Please say yes.”
His hands were still in her hair, and he kept them there, because it felt good to have control of her. To hold her like this. To have her right where he wanted her.
Another subject they were going to have to cover, but he’d get there.
“That depends how you eat.” He tilted his head a bit as he gazed down at her. “Are you feeling gluttonous?”
Her gaze sharpened at last, but she was looking at his mouth. “Yes. I believe that’s the perfect word.”
“We need to make sure you can keep up your strength,” he said. Then he reached down and helped himself to her hand, threading her fingers through his.
She stared down at their hands, clasped together like that.
“You’reholding my hand,” she said, with a certain reverence. Or more of that awe, or wonder, that was one more way she was going to kill him. “Dylan Kilburnisholding my hand.”
He opened his mouth to say something wicked, or offhanded. Something to dispel the tension a bit. But she gazed up at him and the words died on his tongue, unsaid.
Because even their hands fit together perfectly, and her taste was still flooding through him, and she wasn’t being silly. If anything, he would have said that look on her face was sacred.
And for once, he didn’t have to pretend.
For once, he could meet that gaze of hers with his own, and acknowledge this thing that was between them. This thing that had been in him, and a part of him, and a defining characteristic of his, for so long now he didn’t know who he was without it.
And it was only holding her hand. But it felt like the world. It felt right. A key into a lock.
Coming home at last.
Dylan could have stood there for another lifetime, but she wasn’t here for his feelings. She was here to fuck. And he had every intention of living up to his promises.
So he made himself look away, gripped her hand harder and led her away from that dark railing and the bright crowd at the Opera Bar.
He led her around the quay, climbing up into the narrow, cobbled laneways that rose up opposite the opera house, and comprised the oldest part of Sydney.
“Are we really stopping for food?” she asked as they climbed a set of stairs between two buildings. “Do I get a vote?”
He slanted to gaze down at her. “No.”
“Just...no. No explanation. Just straight up, no debate,no.”
“I don’t think I stuttered, did I?”
Jenny was laughing as he escorted her toward a deceptively old-looking building that was only accessible down a long, cobbled alleyway. The door was painted a bright red, and that was its only distinguishing facet. That and the keypad next to the door. Dylan punched in the code, and the door clicked open, instantly giving away the fact that the building had been gutted and refurbished inside, though it looked quietly historic from without.
“What is this place?” Jenny breathed. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, her fingers still wrapped up tight in his. “Is this some kind of secret club? For sex?”
“I don’t need a secret club for sex.” He shook his head at her. “Sex is a group sport for some, sure. More power to them. I’m more of a singles player, myself.”
He ushered her inside. Then he led her down a set of stairs, lit up with a buttery golden light. At the bottom was a discreet welcome desk staffed by a smiling attendant.
“Good evening, Mr. Kilburn,” the man said in a plummy British accent. “Will you be dining with us tonight?”
“A table with a view,” Dylan replied. “And we’ll make our own way up.”
“Very good, sir,” the man said, and typed something into the tablet in front of him.
Dylan led Jenny farther into the building, making his way through the various lounges, bars and nooks and crannies alike that made up this particular club.
