Chapter 25: Dinner

If Helen wanted me to sit pretty and smile through this dinner, that would be easy. My stylist had worked on the 'pretty' part of the brief, and seeing how mouth-watering Ed looked in his charcoal suit made the 'smile' part an absolute breeze, too.

We were shown to our seats—secluded enough that we could talk openly but public enough that we could continue the ruse of an ongoing relationship—and ordered drinks. Once the waiter left, our eyes landed on one another, alone for the first time since our clash the previous morning.

"You look nice," he said, his tone neutral.

"Thanks. So do you."

"Yeah, I know you like me in this suit. Needed something to keep you here so you don't run off again."

"How considerate. I'd say I chose this dress with you in mind... But I didn't." I tossed him a sweet smile and picked up the menu.

"Don't worry, I'm still enjoying it." And his eyes trailed a lazy path over my chest, dipping down into the deep plunge neckline to linger on my cleavage—no doubt deliberately.

If that was how he wanted to play it...

"I'm enjoying it, too," I said. "Not wearing underwear is so liberating."

His eyes snapped up to mine as the hand resting next to his side dish curled into a fist.

"Please tell me you're joking."

Definitely joking, but where was the fun in admitting that when I could see how much it rattled him? Besides, it was only fair. I had to stare at him in a suit for several hours; why shouldn't he suffer, too?

"Don't worry, I'm keeping my legs crossed so I don't risk any embarrassing photos."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Smiling like I had no clue what he meant, I tipped my head to the side. "No? Then what's the problem?"

He pressed his lips together, unclenched his fist, and lowered his eyes to the menu. "Pick a dish."

"Are we having starters and mains, or mains and desserts, or—"

"Sophia. Darling." His gaze met mine above the leather booklets, and his mouth curved into a strained smile. "Pick whatever the hell you like. It's my treat."

Remembering Helen's warning, I held back my amusement at his barely concealed impatience. We were supposed to be the picture of happiness, and while Ed had a public-facing façade mastered, I wasn't quite so skilled.

"I think we need to decide on pet names," I said, shutting my booklet when I'd decided on the filet mignon. He was paying, after all.

"Sure," he said lightly, his attention still on the list of dishes. "I have several in mind for you."

"I was actually being serious."

His eyes flitted up to meet mine. "So was I."

The intensity of his stare, dark and suggestive, had my stomach twisting into electrified knots. All coherent thoughts leaked out of my brain, until I could think of nothing but those blue irises peering down from above, his body hot and heavy on top of mine, his dick buried deep inside me.

For fuck's sake. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since we'd arrived. This was torture.

After the waiter returned to take our orders, I soaked in the restaurant's classy atmosphere in an attempt to redirect my mind onto more-sophisticated matters. A pianist sat in the corner, her fingers dancing across the keys as the gentle melody of All of Me floated through the air. The tables were mostly occupied by elegant couples with a few solitary diners dispersed amongst them. Food critics, I assumed. Or maybe it was so good here that people came even if they had nobody to share the experience with.

It was a beautiful restaurant, but my eyes still found their way back to the striking man opposite me, his virile magnetism tugging me in whenever I tried to sneak away. Our eyes clashed then clung to each other, and my heart cranked up a notch.

Ed looked away first, clearing his throat as his long fingers adjusted the knot of his tie before dropping to rest on the ivory tablecloth. As he studied the room, too, I exploited his distraction to check him out more covertly this time.

Was it really the same suit he'd worn that night in Madrid, the night we'd flirted, danced, then fucked for the first time? He'd suggested as much, but he could have been messing with me. Hard to tell—his suits all looked the same. Expensive. Tailored. Dark. I was fairly certain the Madrid one had been black, but then again I'd been blinded with lust that night, so I couldn't be sure.

His eyes landed on me again, and I quickly drew my gaze back up to his face. If he'd caught me red-handed, he didn't show it, but it appeared his mind was also on Europe.

"Remember that steak we had in Paris?" he asked me.

"I don't think I'll ever forget that steak. I never realised room service could taste so good."

His lips twitched. "Especially dessert."

A delicious warmth rushed up my spine at the memory: Ed trickling chocolate sauce over my neck, breasts, stomach, and between my legs, before licking every drop off my body and not stopping until I'd come twice.

Tension cloaked our table as his eyes, sinfully dark, held mine captive. I squirmed in the plush, cushioned seat, and crossed one leg over the other to quell the throbbing ache between my thighs.

"I doubt they offer the same service here," I said, forcing myself to look away.

"I doubt that, too, so maybe stop eye-fucking me before I drag you somewhere that does."

Heat crept up my neck as I slid my narrowed eyes back onto Ed.

"Careful," I said. "You wouldn't want anyone to overhear you using language like that. Not good for the brand."

Chuckling, he plucked his napkin from the table and draped it across his lap. "I wouldn't let anyone overhear. That language is for your ears only, Sophia."

Goose bumps erupted along my naked arms as my pulse sprinted. And despite my earlier teasing, I was suddenly relieved to be wearing underwear.

*

"What are your plans for Christmas?"

With our identical starters in front of us, we'd shifted the conversation onto more neutral ground. My body still thrummed with sexual energy, but it became a little easier to ignore now that he wasn't feeding it with suggestive comments and dirty memories.

"Same as every year," he said. "I'll be at my parents' place. Takeaway on Christmas Eve, just the four of us, and then my grandparents—on my mum's side—round for Christmas Day."

"Have you always done that, then?"

"Yeah. It's the one time of year when I feel like nothing's changed. Mum and Dad will argue over the dinner prep, Jenny will steal money from the Monopoly bank, and Grandma will ask me how that singing thing is going."

I laughed gently, glancing up to see the fondness dancing through his eyes. "She doesn't know?"

He shrugged. "She's in her eighties. Doesn't have social media. Doesn't listen to the kind of radio stations that would play me. And, I don't know... I like that I'm just a regular grandson to her."

It always came back to that. As much as he loved his life, he still craved that pocket of fantasy where he could be a normal person. I'd once represented that to him.

"She's never seen you on TV?" I asked.

"Probably. Maybe she's in denial, just like me." He flashed me a dazzling smile, and my heart leapt. "Anyway, what about you?"

Swallowing my last mouthful of scallops, I neatly lined up my cutlery on the plate and dabbed at my mouth with the napkin. Ed's eyes drifted down to my lips before immediately shooting back up again as he waited for my answer.

"I spent last year with my dad, so it's Mum's turn this time. If you'd asked me six months ago, I'd have been dreading it. But things are better with Faye now. She even offered to let me in on her present for Mum."

Ed's eyebrows lifted. "Really? That's great, Soph."

I smiled. "She also asked me to set her up with some of your celebrity friends, but I'm still taking it as a victory."

"Speaking of victories, I do have some good news for you." He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand down the length of his tie. I watched the silky fabric trickle between his fingertips, and a different memory taunted me. My wrists secured above my head, the tie gentle but firm, the orgasm nearly sending me into a coma.

No. Absolutely cannot think about that right now.

"Good news for me?" I asked, focusing on his face again.

But the way his mouth tugged up at the corner suggested he could read every filthy thought roaming through my head.

"Yes. Apparently I'm in the running for this year's World's Sexiest Man."

I arched a brow. "And that's good news for me?"

"Obviously. Aren't you happy to be dating one of the sexiest men in the world?"

"It certainly makes it easier."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and his fingers swept over his tie again. This time I was certain it was deliberate.

"Who's your competition?" I asked.

His eyes glinted. "You think I'm falling into that trap?"

"I thought it was a natural follow-up question."

"The natural follow-up question should be, what's the judging criteria?"

I wrapped my fingers around my orange juice and brushed away some gathering condensation.

"Is it not judged on sex appeal alone?" I asked.

"No. There're other criteria, too."

I faked a wince. "Oh, well. Better luck next time."

A smirk tickled his lips. "Funny."

As the night continued, the conversation and banter between us flowed, but when dessert arrived and my cheesecake was accompanied by a jug of cream, the atmosphere noticeably shifted.

Trying to keep a steady hand, I drizzled the white liquid over the triangular slice, all too aware of Ed's heavy attention weighing down on me.

"Don't say a fucking word," I muttered under my breath.

"Make sure it all goes in your mouth, then." His words were low as he picked up his spoon. "If I see it on your lips, I'll be imagining it everywhere else, too."

The jug slipped from my fingers and hit the table with a gentle thud. I cast a worried glance around the restaurant. Nobody paid us any attention, fortunately.

Ed's eyes sparkled with mischief as he peered across at me. "Sorry. My bad."

Self-control slowly crept away from me. This whole evening, with the enjoyable banter and dirty memories intertwined with more serious and civil conversation, had my head wandering down a dangerous path. Sitting so close to someone who could so easily light the rest of my body on fire, too, did nothing to ease my frustration.

Fuck it. We'd already crossed a line. Why not totally destroy it?

"Is that really the same suit?" I asked.

Understanding twinkled in his eyes, and his lips twitched, yet still he said, "Same as what?"

"You know what."

"Nope." He leaned back in his chair and caressed the end of the tie between his fingertips. "Going to need you to be more specific. Much more specific."

I refused to give him the satisfaction. "Never mind. That night is a distant blur anyway. Can barely remember it."

With a low chuckle that showed he didn't believe me, Ed leaned forward and rested his forearms on either side of his plate. The charcoal jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, the slim tie dangling between his chest and the table edge.

"How about you come over here and run your hands all over my body? See if it feels familiar. That might jog your memory."

Don't fucking tempt me.

Barely three feet separated us, the air thick with suffocating sexual tension. My fingers itched to reach over and grab that tie, tug him closer, and crush my mouth to his. To swallow that smug expression. But I knew that as soon as I tasted his tongue, as soon as I felt the softness of his full lips against mine, the last remnants of my self-control would dissolve beneath his touch, and I'd be a goner.

"I think you're lying," I told him. "It's not the same suit."

His eyes fell to my lap. "I think you're lying, too. You're definitely wearing underwear."

I mirrored his stance, dropping my elbows to the tablecloth and leaning forwards until our noses nearly touched, our humid breaths tangled together, and our eyes spoke a thousand words that our mouths wouldn't.

"Why don't you come over here, slide your hands under my dress, and find out for yourself?" I whispered across the tiny gap between our lips.

For several toe-curling seconds, he stared me down. Carnal memories passed between us, thick and fast. Dirty sex. Even dirtier words. His fingers between my thighs; my lips around his dick. My tongue against his abs; his tongue on my clit. The push and pull. The fight for control. The connection. The chemistry. The mind-blowing orgasms.

There had been nothing like it before, and nothing like it since, and now he dared to sit here opposite me, taunting me in the way that only he knew how to. Like he understood perfectly well that it was my weakness and the sole route for him to come out on top. Because the bedroom was the only place I'd let him control me. The only place I enjoyed it and longed for it.

"And if I did..." he said, his voice barely above a murmur, like he wanted this to be an intimate secret between the two of us, despite there being no way anyone would be able to overhear, "... If I did slide my hands under your dress, would I find you soaking wet for me?"

Yes. I was drenched. The space between my thighs a sticky mess of heat, arousal, and aching emptiness.

"You'd better hope not, since I've got no outlet for it," I told him, sitting back in my seat and reaching for my spoon again.

That caused the mischief to dissolve into the darkness of his pupils. "Who says you don't have an outlet?"

"Careful," I said. "That almost sounds like an invitation."

I slipped a chunk of cheesecake into my mouth, but all I could taste was his cologne, his skin, his dick.

For a fleeting moment, I entertained the idea. A dirty night of sex where we could fuck this constant tension out of our systems and move on with the job feeling much lighter for it.

"It is an invitation."

My knuckles whitened around my spoon as I pinned him with a stare. I almost didn't dare believe him. Flirty banter was one thing. Acting on it was a different level entirely.

Letting go of the spoon, I brushed the pad of my thumb across the corner of my mouth to catch some lingering cream. His gaze tracked the movement, and a thick lump rolled down his throat when I sucked my thumb between my lips to lick it clean.

"God, Soph," he said under his breath, eyes darting around the restaurant. "You're not playing fair."

And he was?

"Maybe I'm trying to call your bluff," I said.

"I'm not bluffing. You're not the only one who needs an outlet."

He seemed totally serious, the earlier mischief, darkness and banter all gone. Whatever barriers we'd put up with our emotional relationship, I knew the sex would be so intense that it would overpower all the complicated feelings we were harbouring, so explosive that we wouldn't be able to think of anything but each other's bodies. Right now I craved that mind-numbing experience. I wanted to be so consumed that nothing else mattered.

And sexual benefits aside, maybe it actually would help in the long term, too. Maybe maintaining an emotional distance would be easier if we got the physical frustration out of our systems.

"Think about it," Ed said quietly, eyes back on his dessert again. "I don't want you regretting it tomorrow."

"I wouldn't regret it."

He didn't look up, his spoon slicing through his sticky toffee pudding without transferring any of it to his mouth.

"Fine. But still think about it. You're motivated by frustration at the moment. I know I'm partly to blame for that." He flashed me a cheeky smile to lighten some of the intensity.

Fair play to him, though. He didn't want us to go down this path if there was a chance I'd throw it back in his face tomorrow. After making that mistake once in Madrid, I wouldn't do it again. No matter how we acted with each other, during our Europe trip and after it, sex had always been the one thing that was real. And in among all the pretend, I needed something real.

"Berlin."

His eyes darted up to meet mine as I said the word, his lips parting. How much could he recall about that night in Germany? The slow raise of his brow suggested he remembered some parts at least.

"I want it like Berlin," I said. "And that should prove I'm motivated by you—not just frustration."

"You could barely walk after that."

"Exactly. It was that good. I know it was one of the last times we had sex before everything came crashing down, but I still think about it a lot."

The reminder hung in the air, offering the chance to change our minds if we decided that, actually, there was too much between us for this to work the way wanted it to. But again, despite everything that had turned out to be a lie in Europe, the sex had been honest and raw. That counted for something.

"Take out your phone," he said.

I cocked my head to the side. "Why?"

"Because I want you to write down any specific things you liked. Things you'd want to do again. I'll do the same." He plucked his phone from his pocket and swiped to unlock it.

"Everything," I said, but I reached for my bag anyway. "Everything you did."

"As flattering as that is, I want to make sure we're on exactly the same page." He tossed me a smirk, and it pierced my heart. "We may have different recollections of that night, and I don't want to do something you're not into. We'll swap lists afterwards to check."

Sound and detached decision-making. That was what his request boiled down to in its purest form. He didn't want me feeling pressured in the heat of the moment to go along with something I wasn't sure about. By physically writing out the words, it forced me to think clearly, independently, without influence.

This wasn't the first time we'd had this kind of discussion. We'd spoken in length about our tastes and fantasies during the Europe trip. He'd never tried anything without explicit consent first. Sat in this upscale restaurant, though, I could understand his preference for writing over speaking, and I wasn't surprised that he wanted to hash out a few details given that it'd been months since we'd last slept together.

When we exchanged lists, however, I noticed one very obvious thing missing from his—obvious because I knew there was no way he'd have forgotten about it. Nevertheless, I sat silently and watched his calm, blue eyes scan my list, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over his bottom lip. I'd been very thorough compared to him, and I hoped that would offer reassurance.

Plus, clear direction never hurts...

"It should go without saying..." I paused until he glanced up to look at me. "If there's anything on my list you don't want to do—"

"There isn't," he said, passing my phone back. "I left off that particular thing deliberately because I intend to last longer than thirty seconds, and that would make it near impossible."

I chuckled at his self-deprecation. "In that case, maybe we need to avoid the first item on my list, too."

The grin that spread across his handsome face was somehow both predatory and seductive. "No chance. You've got no idea how hard I'm going to work that smart mouth of yours."

Said smart mouth dried up as I held his sinful stare, and all blood redirected to between my thighs where my pulse throbbed with need.

After a quick glance around the restaurant, he lowered his voice. "I know there's nothing too extreme on the list, but I'd still like you to have a safe word again. It's been a while and I want to make sure I don't accidentally push too hard."

"Sure. Same as before — red and yellow?"

"Fine," he said, his voice husky and slightly strained.

The obvious hunger in his eyes reassured me that he wanted this just as much as I did, but one final nagging fear gnawed away at me. And because we'd communicated openly this far, I voiced it.

"Listen, Ed... If you're only suggesting this because you're worried I'll look elsewhere, I promise I won't. I'm taking this relationship seriously."

Appreciation flashed across his face as he picked up his fork again. "Thanks, but that's not the reason I suggested it. I want it just as much, trust me. The hardest thing will be getting through the rest of this dinner."

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

A/N – in case it's not obvious, strong sexual content in the next few chapters (sorry – this time I really did have to break it up into multiple parts), so skip if you're not comfortable with it. And just to manage expectations, there won't be any 'hardcore' BDSM in this book. Safe words were discussed to ensure clear communication and consent at all times given that the two of them enjoy things a little more rough and intense. They're good at communication when it comes to sex – maybe they should apply the same practice outside the bedroom too 😊