AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He stands behind me, his chest heavy against my back, his head bent to my height, his hands resting casually on my hips as we wait for someone to show us to our seats.
“I wanted to take you to the place where I first saw you. When you were standing there, pressed against me in your pink dress with those dirty words on your lips.” His eyes drop to my mouth and heat infinite degrees. “I think about that night a lot.”
“You do?” I ask, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
“I fucked up letting you go without getting your number. And then you showed up in my classroom and tortured me.”
“I wouldn’t say I tortur–”
“Tortured me,” he repeats. “Especially knowing I couldn’t have you.” He chuckles, the warm sound pressed into my hair. “I didn’t resist long, how could I?” He nuzzles my neck from behind, whispering in my ear, “I never stood a chance when it came to you.”
I blush at his words, but they also remind me of the risk he’s running bringing me here. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here? What if someone sees us?”
He drops a kiss on the top of my head. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”
“Hi, how can I help you?” A hostess asks, walking up to the stand. Her name tag reads ‘Cassandra’. She ignores me but gives Tristan a blinding smile, tucking her hair flirtatiously behind her ear and looking up at him from below her lashes.
He looks unbelievably handsome, dressed in a pressed and tailored black suit. His eyes are the color of the clearest oceans and his hair is artfully disheveled, rough strands falling loosely on his forehead. He looks almost otherworldly in his perfection, so I get her reaction — I’m still as awestruck by him today as I was that first night.
But Cassandra’s going to permanently lose that pretty smile if she doesn’t tone it down a couple hundred thousand notches.
“We have a reservation under Novak,” he tells her, looking down at me and giving me a small smile. His hand curls snuggly around my hip.
Something about him saying thatwehave a reservation under his last name makes my blood sing in my veins.
“Ah, yes,” she answers primly, mouth thinning into a flat line. “I see we’re celebrating a special occasion?”
“What?” I say. My gaze snaps up to meet his, but he looks at her.
“Yes, very special. We’re celebrating her finally agreeing to go out on a date with me.”
“Oh, my god,” I groan, flushing a deep shade of red and avoiding the hostess’ judgy looks.
“How lovely.” She says it like it’s anything but. “Right this way,” she adds, turning sharply on her heels.
“I’m going to murder you,” I whisper to him as we follow after her.
Tristan chuckles softly, his chest heaving behind me. “I thought we could celebrate this momentous occasion.”
I feel eyes on us, eyes onme, as we cross the bar towards our reserved booth.
It’s the dress.
I’m wearing a mini metallic dress that shimmers brightly when it catches the light. It’s completely backless and just barely covers the top of my bare ass. I paired it with matching dangling earrings and equally silver strappy heels. I shine bright as a diamond under the few but twinkling lights of the bar.
The dress is a showstopper and I wore it hoping Tristan would like it.
When I stepped outside to meet him, he’d been leaning against the town car, checking his phone.
He glanced up and back down, then did a swift double take that had to have hurt the muscles in his neck. He straightened, his hand coming up over the left side of his chest like he was trying to clutch his heart. He swallowed thickly as he watched me.
I twirled for him, looking over my shoulder at him as I showed off my bare back.
His stare had darkened to midnight, his pupils blown wide until the icy blue of his irises were no longer visible. He’d taken the steps three at a time to get to me, his hands wild with undirected desire as he grabbed my face, grabbed my waist, grabbed my ass. Grabbed any and every part of me that he could lay his hands on, all the while muttering how sexy I looked and how painful it was going to be for him to watch other men want me all night.
Now he holds me possessively against him as we cross the bar. He tucks me into his side, pressing me against his hard body. His hand rests on my lower stomach, fingers brushing the top of my pussy in an overtly claiming gesture meant to signal to anyone watching that I’m his.
“It’s just a dinner you know,” I say, my fear of vulnerability rearing its ugly head again. I’m suddenly uncomfortable, uneasy in my own skin, in my own head. “Nothing serious.”
