Red

The rest of the drive was silent, but I didn't stop teasing her. My hand stayed on her thigh, fingers drifting high enough to make her squirm but not enough to give her what she wanted. I knew she was mad. 

She also knew I didn't give a fuck—not when she looked that goddamn perfect with heat in her eyes and her lips pressed tight to keep from moaning.

We pulled up to The Black Rose, one of my more discreet favourites. The name was subtle, the clientele exclusive, the staff loyal to a fault. She hadn't heard of it—judging by the flicker of curiosity in her eyes when she read the sign—but that just made it better. 

The unknown always made her a little anxious. And a little anxiety meant a lot more pliability.

I got out of the car and walked around to her side. As I opened the door, I caught her watching me. Her eyes lingered on mine—dark green, sharp, and dangerous. She knew I was up to no good.

"Come," I said, offering her my hand. "This way, amore mio."

She took it, and I led her through the grand white doors. The moment we stepped inside, the lighting dimmed around us like the walls were in on my plan. The air smelled like aged wine and spices. Romantic, if that's what I was going for. But tonight wasn't about romance.

It was about control.

I loved her smart mouth and fire... but I loved her submission more. 

"Welcome to The Black Rose, Mr. Alfonsi," the maître d' greeted us with a slight bow. "Your table is ready. Private, as requested."

"Thank you." I kept Julia close as we walked to the farthest corner of the restaurant, where no one else was seated. It was quiet, secluded—mine. "Have a seat," I said, gesturing to the velvet booth.

She slid in, and I followed close behind, brushing her leg with my hand as I leaned forward to request a bottle of Chateau Margaux.

She stayed quiet at first, then finally asked, "What are we doing here, Red?"

"Eating," I said casually.

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to tell me where you went this morning?"

"We should start with the beetroot and blackberry cured salmon," I mused, opening the menu. "What do you feel like for your main?"

Her sigh was sharp, annoyed. She placed the menu face down between us. "I'm not hungry for food, Red. I'm hungry for answers. Now tell me—where were you this morning? Why didn't you show up at work?"

The waiter arrived with the wine before I could reply. He poured a glass, and I lifted it to my nose. Smooth. Rich. Dark.

"It smells delicious," I murmured, handing her the glass.

She didn't touch it. "I'm not drinking until you tell me what's going on."

She crossed her arms. That pout. That fucking stubborn flare. She had no idea what she did to me when she pushed back like this. "Tesoro," I said slowly, "this is a rare vintage. If you insist on not drinking it, it would be a waste."

I lifted my own glass and took a sip. Velvet. Beautiful. Like her, even when she was being difficult.

She snatched hers, downed the entire thing, and set the glass down hard.

I smirked. God, I love her. "Main?" I offered the menu again.

She slapped it onto the table. "Fuck this." She moved to stand.

I moved faster.

My arm looped around her waist, pulling her back flush against my chest. "You don't want the food, Tesoro? Then let's skip ahead."

I lowered my mouth to her ear, my voice rough. Her body tensed as my breath brushed her skin. I let my hand travel up her thigh, dress rising with it. My palm slid against the heat between her legs.

"You're soaked already," I whispered, pressing against her pussy through the lace.

"Red, this is hardly appropriate," she hissed, eyes darting to the dining room.

Empty. Just us. And one very unlucky waiter.

"What's inappropriate is you walking out before I've even fucked you." I nipped her earlobe, teasing her clit with a slow press of my finger. Her head fell back against my shoulder, and a soft sound escaped her lips.

"Tell me," I breathed, "is it the way I touch you, or the thrill of being caught, that's got you dripping like this?"

She couldn't answer. Didn't need to.

I slipped my hand into her panties, fingers sliding through her slick folds. "Wet," I groaned. "Very wet."

"Red..." she moaned.

"That's it, baby. Let go."

I pushed two fingers inside her, slow and deliberate. She clutched my thigh, trying not to fall apart. I watched her come undone, her body shuddering in my arms as I fucked her with my fingers under the table.

"Oh, God..."

"Do you feel how hard I am for you, love?" I hissed. "You're so fucking sexy when you're angry. It takes everything in me not to bend you over this table and fuck you in front of whoever walks in."

"Red..." she whimpered. "Don't stop... please, please."

"As you wish."

She came—softly, silently, beautifully. She panted against me as the waiter returned, her face buried in my neck while I, without missing a beat, placed our order. "She'll have the Scandinavian steak and potatoes. I'll take the medium rare with portobello."

"Of course, sir."

Julia was still trembling when the waiter walked away. Her breathing was soft but uneven, her fingers gripping the edge of the table like she was anchoring herself to reality. I kissed her forehead, a brief, grounding gesture, then slowly, deliberately, withdrew my fingers from between her thighs.

They were soaked with her.

I held them up, letting her see the slick glisten coating my skin before bringing them to my mouth. I licked her from my knuckles to my fingertips, slow and greedy.

"Always my favourite meal," I whispered, meeting her wide, glassy eyes with a wicked grin.

Her blush deepened, crawling up her neck like wildfire. "I'm not going to be able to walk out of here," she muttered, cheeks on fire, voice ragged with the aftermath of what I'd just done to her in public.

"Don't worry," I murmured, brushing my knuckles over her knee. "I'll carry you."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." I grinned. "You love me when I'm like this."

She scowled, but I saw the way her thighs pressed together, as if she were trying to trap the memory of my fingers inside her. "You're an ass. And I'm still mad at you."

"Good," I said, casually sipping my wine. "We'll fight after."

"After?" she echoed, eyes narrowing.

"After I've fucked you."

"Red—"

"Yes, Julia?" I turned toward her, brushing a kiss along her jaw, letting my lips linger just long enough to hear her breath hitch.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?"

Her tone softened, but it was laced with something heavier—concern, frustration, the desperate need to be let in. I went still. I felt her gaze on me like a spotlight. She wasn't going to let this go. My stubborn girl. Always digging, always pushing until she had the truth.

So I caved—at least to the part she needed to hear.

"Simon made bail."

She froze.

Her voice dropped. "What? How?"

"Someone paid his bond."

"Who the hell would do that?"

"I'm working on it," I said, jaw tightening. "We've got men watching him around the clock."

"Does Noah know?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't tell me? Why the fuck not?"

"Because we're trying to protect you," I said, my voice low. "Noah's handling it."

She stared at me for a long beat, then looked down at her lap. "You can't protect me from everything, Red. I'd rather deal with the nightmares than wake up one day to find him at the end of our bed."

I didn't tell her the truth—that I suspected Simon wasn't the only one we needed to worry about. That there was someone else sending me messages. That I'd been waking up every night and checking the locks three times. I kept that part buried. For now.

"Alright, Tesoro," I said, keeping my tone even. "I'll tell Noah to keep you updated."

She nodded, still tense. Still locked up inside herself.

Then her eyes flicked back up to mine, and that fire sparked again. "Now, about you disappearing this morning..."

I smirked, trying to redirect. "So... what's my punishment?"

"You'll find out," she said sweetly, "after."

I felt it then—tight and hot. My cock pressed against my zipper with sudden urgency.

Fuck, she was wicked.

"I can't wait."

Dinner came soon after. She devoured every bite, and for a while, things felt... normal. Comfortable. Her head rested on my shoulder while music drifted through the space. Her fingers brushed against my arm like she was grounding herself there, like she needed to know I was real.

"Let's head back," she murmured.  

But she paused to excuse herself first. And when she returned, her steps were slow and sinuous, hips swaying just enough to make me grind my teeth. She walked right up to me, leaned in, and slipped something into the pocket of my blazer.

Then she turned and left without a word.

I reached in.

Lace.

Warm. Wet.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Fucking wicked.

I followed her out of the restaurant like a man walking to his own damn execution. Every step felt tight. Strained. All I could think about was the way her cunt had tasted, the way she'd looked when she came on my fingers—and now she was walking ahead of me without panties. A living sin.

We made it back to the office without a single word spoken, but tension hung between us like a noose. She knew it. Knew what she was doing. The elevator ride up was the worst part. She stood beside me, her soft grin giving nothing away, but I could smell her. Taste her. Her thighs brushed mine lightly, innocently, deliberately.

I nearly lost it.

If those doors hadn't opened when they did, I would've fucked her against the mirrored wall and let anyone watching beg for their own version of hell.

Back in my office, I sat behind the desk, trying to get control of myself. I failed. Miserably.

Julia's punishment wasn't over. No, not even close.

She found every excuse to bend. To reach. To lean forward just enough for her tight dress to slide up her thighs and show me exactly what wasn't underneath it.

No panties.

No mercy.

She handed out reports to the team gathered in the boardroom. Folder after folder, smile after smile—flashing her pussy with every goddamn step.

She was punishing me. And I was seconds from snapping.

My hand found her thigh under the table, gripping it hard, keeping her anchored to my side. Mine. My woman. My body was buzzing, on the edge of violence and arousal. The men in that room were looking at her—at what was mine—with far too much interest.

I didn't blame them.

But I wanted to break them.

I could feel their stares burning into her curves, imagining her on her knees, spread on their desks, crying their names.

Not happening.

She was already crying mine.

I leaned in close, my lips grazing her ear. "Five minutes, Tesoro. Five minutes before I bend you over this table and bury my cock in your sweet pussy."

I let my fingers trail higher, brushing the inside of her thigh.

"Your choice if you want an audience." 

* * * 

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