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“I got us the spaghetti, bambolina. That is what you are craving, no?” I can feel my accent growing thicker now that I am in what feels like a restaurant in my hometown.
“What would your girlfriend think of you kissing another woman and bringing her out to dinner?” she says to me, crossing her arms across her chest, looking a little vulnerable even with her sharpened body language.
“Girlfriend?” My brow quirks as I lean back in my chair, taking another sip of my wine. What the hell she is talking about?
“You know, the Italian woman who calls you.” There it is. Someone’s almost just as jealous as me.
“Ahhh… my darling Sofia.” I sip my wine and nod. “Well, she won’t be happy, of course,” I say, trying to stifle my grin. “But she is my sister, so she will do anything for me as long as I am happy.” I watch her as she comes to the realization that I am, in fact, single.
“So what is this, then? Do you kiss all your employees before feeding them pasta on a Wednesday night?” Grabbing her wineglass, she raises her eyebrows at me in a challenge.
“Kissing you was the only way to shut you up.” I shrug, not able to hide my smirk. I’m still not certain she has lost her fear of me, although the way she was yelling at me in the car just now, I feel like she is certainly more comfortable in my presence.
“Are you sure this isn’t a date, Nico?” she asks in a teasing tone, before flicking her hair behind her shoulder, giving me a great view of her ample breasts.
I take my time looking at her. I know what she is doing, and my dick really, really likes it.
“I don’t date, Bambolina.” I relax into my chair and rub my chin, waiting to see what she does next.
“This sure feels like a date...” A small grin comes to her face. “Although what was it that you said outside, that you wanted to fuck me? Yes, I am sure that is what you said. Mhmm.” She loves pushing me. My eyes follow her hand as it lifts her wineglass, bringing it to her lips again and swallowing.
I wait until she places it back on the table, and then reach forward, grabbing her chair and pulling it across the timber floor, directly to me. Her legs now in-between my thighs and I lean on her chair, my arms now on either side of her body, caging her in.
“You keep teasing me like you are, and I will make good on my promise sooner rather than later, Emilia,” I grit out to her, really wanting to empty out this restaurant and fuck her right here, right now. Her hands rest on my thighs, and the feeling of her fingers as they grip into my muscles is almost enough to send me over the edge.
“I bet you are the kind of man who keeps all his promises, aren’t you, Nico?” Her flirtatious tone might as well be casting a spell on me. All it does is make me want to rip her fucking dress off and spread her legs wide on this table and eat her for dinner until I am satisfied.
“You want me to show you, bambolina? Because I am so fucking hard for you right now that all I want to do is put my mouth on your pussy until you come on my tongue.” My words are a deep whisper, and her breath catches when my hand moves to caress her arm. Biting her lip, she straightens her back, only effectively putting another inch of space between us.
“I’m just hangry.” That brings my thoughts back from the dark side.
“Hangry?” I ask her, brow furrowed, not sure what she is referring to.
“Yeah, I get angry when I don’t eat. Hungry plus angry means hangry,” she explains, and I look at her, perplexed. Here I am, falling into her trap, telling her exactly what I want to eat, but she is talking about actual food. Goddamn.
And then she smiles, because she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“So I need to make sure you are always well fed. Good to know,” I say, huffing a laugh, entertained by her quirks and still so fucking turned on.
“What is with that smirk?” she questions with a sigh. I pick up the bread basket, offering it to her again.
“Hangry?” I ask, which makes her laugh. I watch as her whole face lights up, and I wonder how this woman has remained single for so long.
“Ahh… a pretty rose for the pretty lady?” an older man says, walking up to our table with a basket of individually wrapped long-stem red roses. Emilia fixes her seat, sitting back to face the table, and my eyes flick to the man. I see him around here during the nights, selling roses to all the restaurant guests, and I nod to him and he passes one to me. Pulling a $100 from my pocket, I slip it to him, knowing he needs it more than I do.
“Gracias, thank you so much,” he says quickly with a big but surprised smile on his face before he turns and leaves us in peace.
“A pretty rose for a pretty lady.” I repeat the man’s words and give the beautiful rose to Emilia. Only, she looks baffled.
“Nico, you just gave that man $100 dollars for one rose! Are you crazy?”
“It isn’t enough to change his life, but it might just make his week a little easier, bambolina. Here, take the rose. It is for you.” She takes it, lifting it to her nose, where she takes a sniff of the petals before putting it to the side of the table.
Guillermo takes that moment to return with our spaghetti, before leaving us to enjoy.
“You didn’t get them to poison this or anything, did you?” she asks me with humor as she picks up her cutlery.
“Maybe.” I shrug and give her a grin, one which she returns before shaking her head and digging in.
