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“No, I’d want to enjoy my evening with you,” she replied honestly.
She heard a rumble of satisfaction in his chest. “Hmm.”
“We’d eat, of course, after our drink. You’d have a steak, rare, I’d think about having something more ladylike, like the seafood risotto or the salad... but you’d encourage me to get what I wanted, so I’d go for a steak, as well, with a side of fries.”
She smiled and he was smiling now, too.
“The restaurant would be playing some sort of jazz music…” she continued.
His fingers came up and gripped the edge of the table. He was making a sound in his throat, a growling. Impatience.
“We’d be at opposite sides of a small table, just like this one, leaning in to talk to each other. Your hair would be down, framing your face, our legs would be brushing under the table…” she purred now, too, her nipples hardening. She picked up the knife in her right hand, the vague thought of cutting the noodles up to make them easier to eat, but she also reached out a leg to find his, under the table. She let her shoe slip off her foot. She made contact, skimming her foot up the inside of his thigh. She nearly stopped, but screw it, she went all the way, finding the soft bundle of his balls between his legs. She playfully, lightly bunted him with her foot.
He made a muffled noise in his throat, his face suddenly going thunderous.
Crap, had she pushed too far?
He sat straighter in his chair, and brought a hand up. She blinked, what the hell was he doing?
With one swipe, he knocked the table away from between them. The candle went flying, the flame flickered out landing behind him, leaving them in semi darkness. The table clattered, the plates smashed, the food splattered.
He held up a hand, palm up. And in the stuttering light, he flicked his fingers, beckoning her forward.
She blinked. The meaning was clear. She still had the knife in her hand.
She smiled. Her confident biker boy lover was back. Fed and watered and in the semi darkness. He was sprawled in the chair, his legs out in front of him, spread wide. She took a deep breath in and out, steeling herself. He might have the confidence but this was all relatively new to her.
She’d done more, sexually, with him than she had with previous boyfriends over the course of their whole relationships. It had always been very ordinary in bed. Him on top, or occasionally a different position. His orgasm was the thing it all centered around. If she was lucky, she’d come, too. In a chair, God knows what time of the night in a shop, with glass windows, was very new to her. Anyone could see. She immediately felt her panties flood at the thought of that.
She stood. She reached for him. Closing the gap between them. She stood in front of him now. He looked up at her, beckoning her over, inviting her closer, his lips parting, his breathing shallow. She put one hand on the top of his head. He purred and moved his head around. She felt bolder and laced her hand into his hair. She tugged, a little short but firm tug backwards. His eyes widened with surprise but he smiled at her. He opened his mouth and bit her T-shirt where her boobs were nestled inside. She felt the warmth of his mouth on her chest. The wetness on her clothes. She bent to the side to throw the knife down onto the boxes on the floor.
She felt him shake his head. “Keep the knife,” he husked out. She blinked with surprise. At him speaking. At his request. She looked down at him and his hands moved to his waist. He snapped open his jeans, yanked them down, thrusting his hips up to get his pants over his butt. He reached in and pulled out his cock.
Sophie widened her eyes. There it was, hot and hard. Pierced boldly. Wickedly glinting at her. Pain and pleasure rolled into one. He gripped it with one hand. And beckoned her closer with the other. She whimpered. She was already wet, she was ready for him. She wanted this.
“Climb on, Sugar Plum Fairy,” his gravel voice whispered.
She swallowed loudly, reached under her skirt and slipped her panties off. She stepped out of them and straddled his lap. His hands immediately rucked up her skirt, pushing it up her waist. Then went to the T-shirt she was wearing and shucked it off her shoulders, peeling it off her around the knife in her hand, and dropping onto the floor. He purred, his hands and eyes roving over her, in the semi-darkness. Her body in her pale pink lace bra. She rested her weight against him, her bottom on his thighs, but kept her toes under her, and she pivoted her hips a little, rubbing herself against him.
He groaned with unsheathed desire.
“Knife on me,” he demanded. She obeyed instantly, holding it under his chin, at his throat. She had never done anything like this before. She hadn’t even tried handcuffs or whipping or… and here she was straddling a murderer with a knife to his jugular. She rested that hand on his collarbone.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Eli, I will never hurt you,” she breathed out, gently keeping her gyrations going at her hips. Her naked clit and his hard cock rubbed together between their bodies.
“But you could,” he replied, looking straight into her eyes. She understood. It was foreplay to him. It was thrilling. It was what he wanted. Who was she to judge, to tell him no? She put her other hand down to his cock, and squeezed the head. Pre-cum oozed out of the slit. He shuddered. Okay, she’d play along.
She held the knife more decisively at his throat. His beautiful throat, covered in dark stubble. She held it there like Eli had held his to her throat, that time. She held it like she intended to use it. Hell would freeze over before she ever hurt him.
She wrapped her other arm around his neck, and leaned in for a kiss. They had not kissed. He seemed unsure at first. She sealed her lips around his, first his bottom lip, then his top, then she focused on slipping her tongue into his mouth. His lips were unbelievably soft. For a hardened killer. He was flesh and blood after all. It was a humbling reminder of his humanity. She deepened the kiss. His mouth hot and wet, her body flaming, her skin on fire. She thought she heard him whimper. He responded then, finally kissing her back, devouring her, his lips crushing hers, artlessly at first but hungrily. So raw, molten lava. He was ravenous. He moved forward, she was conscious of the knife at his neck, she inched it away a fraction. His hands came up then. One to her breast, sheathed in a pink lacy zip up bralette. His hand went to work, unzipping then ripping it off her arms, his fingers immediately cupping, squeezing, the other to her head, tangling in her hair, holding her head in front of his. She tore her face away an inch.
“Wait, but we’d have dessert, too...” she said, hearing her own voice slurring a little as desire flooded through her.
“Hmm,” he made a sound and began to grind up against her, pushing the base of his hard cock into her clit, the friction both a relief and a tease at the same time.
She gasped, but tried to keep it together.
“Maybe we’d sneak off to the bathrooms, skip dessert?” She smiled but shook her head, answering her own question. He dipped his face forward and mercilessly sucked and nibbled her nipple. She felt her wetness between their groins, he kept dry humping her, but it was getting wetter and wetter down there. Her hand grasped his shoulders, encased in his black T-shirt. She found herself scoring her nails against the cotton, wanting to feel his skin. She felt herself gush a little and clench. It was almost enough to make her come. She was reaching the edge, did he know how close she was?
