Page 43 of Wicked Takeover
“Oh my God.” Lauren pressed her hand to her chest. “This is so good.”
Understatement of the century. Her pleasure increased his appetite, physically and sexually. They ate, talked, laughed, and smiled at each other.
The second she finished, he ordered another plate for her, ignoring her protests.
Lauren finished half that meal before she pushed the rest away.
“I can’t eat another bite.” She slumped in her chair and cradled her belly. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Damn.”
“Relax. Ricardo will bring you a doggie bag.”
She sighed. “You don’t worry about anything, do you?”
“Not anymore.” There was a time when he’d been where she was. Pressed against the wall by life, not knowing what to do next, chasing a dream that hadn’t been right for him.
She looked at him curiously, as if wondering what he possibly meant. But before she had a chance to ask for details, Ricardo stopped at their table.
Dante gave her plate to his cousin. “Pack this up so Lauren can take it with her.”
“You got it.”
“Wait. Did Tomás make his brazo gitano and turrones today?”
“A whole stack. We have a few left.”
“Throw all of them in a bag for Lauren.”
“Whoa.” She waved her hands. “What if someone else here wants them?”
“Too bad.” Dante leaned into her. “Do you even know what they are?”
“No.”
“Dessert. Like nothing you’ve ever tasted. If Heaven had a flavor, they’d be it.” He spoke to Ricardo. “Give her every last one and whatever other sweets you have.”
“No.” She bounced in her chair. “I can’t.”
“Go.” Dante gestured Ricardo away and spoke to her. “Who’s the boss here?”
She fought a smile. “Your uncle who owns this place?”
Dante slid his foot off hers.
She followed and rested her toes on his. “Let me guess again. You’re the boss?”
He kissed her hard, long, and thoroughly.
With her to-go packages in hand and his free arm around her waist, Dante led Lauren back to her car. Neither spoke. So much promise and desire charged the air, it was an effort for him to let her go so he could put the bags on her passenger seat.
She stroked his tat. “I can give you a ride to your place.”
“Thanks, but that’s not what I want from you.” He escorted her to the driver’s side.
Her eyes sparkled in the faint light. “No?”
He cupped her face and kissed her deeper than the other times. Somehow, he couldn’t get close enough, no matter how hard he tried. He needed to be in her blood and marrow, her brain, heart, and soul. His tongue filled her mouth. His cock nestled against her mound.
She wrapped her arms around his torso and held tight. Definitely a good move. By the time they’d finished kissing, they had to support each other.
Breathing hard, he pressed his cheek against hers and wound a tress around his finger. “Do you have any skirts? Not the office kind. Ones you wear when you’re not working.”
She eased back and gave him a questioning look. “I have a few. Why?”
“I’d like you to start wearing them at the parlor.” He suckled her throat, enjoying its faint salty flavor.
She whimpered. “We have a dress code now?”
“You do. For me. No underwear for you from now on. No stockings, either. I want you in a skirt, nude from the waist down, when you’re around me. When we’re alone, you’re mine to use, pleasure, and discipline as I want. You’ll always be available for me and fucking wet…or there will be hell to pay.”
