His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering, daring. A silent challenge flickered in his eyes, but he had no idea that the only reason I held it was because aquamarine was my favorite color.
"You remind me of Catherine Tramell from Basic Instinct," he said, voice low, deliberate.
I let my lips part into a slow, knowing smile. "That’s a lovely compliment."
He smirked, tilting his head just slightly. "Must be hard to make stuff up."
I arched a brow, waiting.
"Your blog," he clarified.
I loved when they assumed I made it all up. It was almost adorable.
"This," he mused, glancing around the dimly lit restaurant, "reminds me of the car scene in Basic Instinct." His voice dipped lower, intimate. "Writing it out gives me the perfect alibi. I don’t care if anyone believes it."
I let a pause linger, taking a slow sip of wine. The rim of the glass grazed my lips, and his eyes followed, darkening.
"Suspension of disbelief," I murmured, rolling the words lazily off my tongue, watching him unravel just a little.
His focus drifted, catching the subtle movement as I crossed my legs, letting my skirt ride up just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of silk and lace. He stared, and I let him.
"Tell me about your new blog entry," he said, voice huskier now, betraying the tension curling between us.
I let the silence stretch, knowing he was waiting, hanging onto the pause. "It’s about a sub who takes me to Le Bernardin for dinner," I said finally, my voice light, almost playful.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "And?"
Our eyes met, heat simmering between us. "He works in banking," I continued, dragging a fingertip along the stem of my glass. "Thinks he’s the king of the world… until I strip him down, tie him to my bed, and sit on his face while he’s bound so tight he can barely move."
His grip tightened around his drink, jaw flexing.
"And does he like it?"
I leaned in just enough for my perfume to reach him, a slow, teasing smirk curling my lips. "He begs for it," I whispered. "He loves the bite marks I leave all over his chest—the ones he thanks me for between gasps, right before..."
I let my voice drop off, watching the anticipation coil inside him. I reached for my wine, slow, measured, taking a sip, letting my tongue graze the rim of the glass.
His voice was a fraction rougher. "Right before what?"
I let the corner of my mouth lift in a wicked smile.
"Right before I grind against his mouth and take exactly what I want."
Silence stretched between us, heavy, charged. He swallowed, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his body leaned just slightly closer.
I crossed my legs again, shifting in my seat with an unhurried elegance, knowing full well he was imagining me somewhere else entirely.
"Another drink?" I asked, tilting my head.
He exhaled a breath, almost a laugh, shaking his head as he signaled for the waiter.
Game on.
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