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Caviar. Lobster. Rosé. Tuna tartare.
I take small bites, not wanting to appear overindulgent. That’s not becoming of a Queen, and because I’ve never eaten at a restaurant of this caliber before, the last thing I desire is to seem as if I’m not sure what I’m doing.
The caviar is so rich and buttery I can’t comprehend it. The lobster is succulent and rich, even more so when I dip mine in the butter sauce. Rook cracks my lobster tail for me, which is so romantic.
The escargot makes me laugh my ass off at first, because how the hell am I supposed to get my damn fork in that shell? That’s when Rook lifts a special pair of tongues from the table, grips a shell, and lifts the tiniest fork I’ve ever laid eyes on. I slide it into the snail, then bring it to my lips.
Wow. Just wow.
Snails have never featured on my own personal dinner menu before at Dad’s house. We typically ate frozen pizzas or pasta because they were so cheap.
I’m living a better life because of Colt, Brock, and Rook.
"This is wonderful." I blush as I dab my lips with a napkin, unsure of how to express myself. The rosé is so bubbly, the food is divine, and if I don't get myself under control, I'll sound like a blubbering idiot.
Rook holds my hand from across the table. Before he speaks, I stare at him in the flickering candlelight that bathes our table in the milkiest of whites. Rook is… beautiful today in the manliest sense of the word. Ripped muscles bulge out of his suit coat, each toned and defined. His jaw is sharp enough to carve the princess diamonds on theSlutnecklace that lurks under my dress. His powerful, immense frame takes up all the space in the restaurant, making the inferior couples at the surrounding tables nervous. I’ve never thought I could fall for a man with a buzz cut, but tonight, I want to run my fingers across his head. It makes him look powerful like an unwavering soldier who shoots first and asks questions never. His fresh neck tattoos only heighten the sense of danger.
My eyes flit down to his oversized hand, and the sight of it wrapped around my tiny, oh-so-breakable wrist does something to me. My pussy clenches when I recall how it stroked me in the limo, and how it held me down the last time the three Sinners had their way with me. This hand is capable of monstrous acts. It could crush my wrist with a single twitch and end a man’s life just as easily. Rook could murder me in two seconds flat with this hand. Instead, he’s using it to hold my wrist as if it’s the most delicate object in the universe.
Rook’s showing his true romantic side. That’s what I read on the Saintswood online message boards. Out of all the Sinners, he’s the only one who’s sensitive.
The demon who lurks inside Rook has taken a night off. He wants to romance me. Woo me. Sweep me off my feet like the men do in the novels I read.
"You have a funny way of showing it."
My brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
Darkness fills Rook’s face where tenderness existed only moments earlier. My chest heaves, my breasts pushing in and out as fear bubbles up in the depths of my soul.
"If this is so fucking wonderful, you should be showing me. Not just running your fucking mouth like you love to do, Olivia."
My vision blurs as tears threaten behind my eyelids. "I love everything about this."
"Get your ass under the fucking table and give me head as a reward for being kind."
Vicious Rook is back.
The gentleman who took his place moments ago has faded into the candlelight that currently makes his face appear menacing.
Or maybe that other Rook never existed at all.
Maybe the only Rook that exists is this one.
The feral one.
I glance around the restaurant, not wanting to cause a scene. Other couples are gazing into each other’s eyes, their faces so tender and loving. That’s how Rook was looking at me until something shifted the atmosphere.
Slipping out of my chair, I sink under the table and hide myself beneath the tablecloth. I trust that it envelops me, doesn’t let anyone see what I’m about to do.
Like a whore, I crawl to Rook and bring my hands to his zipper. His mighty, thick thighs take up the entirety of the space beneath the table. I’m not even sure how they fit down here, or how the table isn’t lifting off the ground, teetering and tottering when he moves.
My fingers shake as I tug at his zipper. His enormous cock twitches under his suit pants, a viper of pain. I force myself not to shrink away, because my punishment will be even worse. I’ve taken his cock before. I know what he needs.
I unzip him. His hardness springs out, snaking to its full length in the darkness. The tip smacks my chin, and I stifle a cry as it leaves a bruise, so strong and powerful. This is a warrior’s cock. On the battlefield in ancient Rome, this mighty thing would be flopping around with his balls as he charged at his enemies, a spear in hand, wriggling between his unflappable knees.
"Suck it, little slut. Be a good girl and show your gratitude for the gift I’ve given you this evening."
Rook thrusts his hands under the table, grabs my cheeks, and rams his cock into my throat so hard it batter-rams my tonsils into my esophagus, then yanks mySlutnecklace with his left hand, using it like a dog collar as he forces himself deeper, deeper into my body, barreling out halfway because he can’t fit the full thing down my throat, his baseball-sized nuts smacking against my collarbone.
