STELLA
“So? What do you think?” Christian watched with boyish anticipation as I lifted a forkful of gnocchi to my mouth.
I pretended to mull it over before I proclaimed, “Best I’ve ever had.”
His grin made the butterflies in my stomach reel. “Told you,” he said, oozing playful self-satisfaction.
We were eating dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant tucked in the heart of Columbia Heights. It was the one Christian mentioned in his letters, and it was just as charming as I’d envisioned.
Instead of individual tables, one rustic wooden table stretched down the middle, just large enough to seat a dozen people. A candlelit chandelier bathed the room in a flickering amber glow, and a display of copper pots and pans hung on the exposed brick wall.
It felt like we were eating in someone’s home, especially since Christian had booked out the restaurant so it was just us and the server.
“Don’t be too smug.” I pointed my fork at him. “The date is only half done. I’ve yet to grade you on your hand-holding, cuddling, and sweet nothing skills.”
“Of course. Apologies,” he drawled. “Didn’t mean to jump the gun.”
“Apology accepted.” I tucked into the rest of my meal primly and barely suppressed a smile at his laughing expression.
It’d been a month since we got back together, and we’d spent that time exploring the contours of our new relationship.
No fake dating, no stalker scare forcing us together, no hiding behind flashy gestures and expensive gifts.
Just us, flaws and all, going on normal dates and living normal lives.
Well, as normal as life could get with Christian, anyway.
In a perverse way, my kidnapping had reset our relationship for the better. Nothing provided clarity like almost dying.
I’d mostly put the ordeal behind me, though sometimes I was still plagued with nightmares of surprise notes and a ramshackle cabin in the woods. But I would work my way through it. It just took time.
I’d also moved back into Christian’s house two weeks ago. I didn’t want to impose on Alex and Ava anymore, especially with their wedding coming up in a few weeks. I could’ve moved back to my old apartment now that I didn’t have a stalker threat hanging over my head, but honestly, I didn’t want to live anywhere else.
His apartment was home.
“By the way, did you hear what happened with Sentinel’s CEO?” I asked. “It’s wild.”
I was sure he had, but I had to bring it up.
Sentinel’s demise had dominated the past month’s headlines. Apparently, they’d been working on a new piece of code that somehow self-destructed and destroyed their infrastructure so thoroughly it was impossible to rebuild. Classified information about their clients had also leaked and caused a massive uproar, given how high profile some of those clients were and how sensitive some of that data was.
If that wasn’t enough, the authorities had arrested Sentinel’s CEO Mike Kurtz that morning for embezzlement and tax fraud. The whole thing was a mess.
“Yes. I’m not surprised it’s played out the way it has,” Christian said mildly. “Companies should stick to their lane. Sentinel is a security corporation. They had no business venturing into cyber development when that’s not their area of expertise.”
“While you, Mr. Security CEO, are also a cyber expert,” I teased.
His smile spread through me like sun-warmed honey. “Exactly.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the code they were working on,” I added casually.
An uninterested shrug. “Not a thing.”
I let it go. He was vengeful and I’d accepted that about him.
Plus, Sentinel’s destruction came from the inside out. No one could blame Christian for a mistake on their part.
The conversation moved on to Stella Alonso the brand, which officially launched last week. It wasn’t an original name, but eponymous labels were de rigueur. I’d double-checked with Delamonte first, but they were okay with the launch as long as it didn’t interfere with my ambassador duties. We had different target audiences, anyway. Theirs was ultra-high-end while mine tipped toward the mid-range of the luxury spectrum.
By the time dinner ended, I was flush with wine and giddiness.
It was the perfect date night. Simple, casual, real.
“Not yet,” Christian said when I moved to leave. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of sensual masculinity and lazy contentment. “Come here, Stella.”
An electric current slid through the air and settled between my thighs.
“Why?”
Christian’s only response was an arch of his dark brows.
Right.
I rose and walked around the table, unsure whether I owed my steadiness to the wine or the wetness slicking my thighs.
The mere anticipation of what might happen turned me on as much as an actual touch.
When I reached Christian, he stood, pushed his plate aside, and lifted me onto the table in one smooth movement.
My pulse spiked, but rationality clung to the edges of blooming arousal.
“Christian,” I hissed. “We’ll get in trouble!”
The curtains were drawn, and drapes covered the front door, shielding us from passersby. Our server was MIA, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t show up at any minute.
“No one is here, Butterfly,” Christian drawled. “I paid the server to leave until I give him the green light. Cooks are gone. It’s just us.”
He pushed my dress up around my waist and hooked his fingers into the elastic band of my underwear.
The air condensed into something thin and infinitely flammable.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating dessert.” Christian eased my hips up so he could pull my underwear down before he returned to his seat.
“You don’t like dessert.” My voice had gone to smoke, as insubstantial as the remnants of my resistance.
Christian’s slow, answering smile throbbed in my blood.
“I changed my mind.”
CHRISTIAN
“Oh God.” Stella’s breathless moan sparked in my blood like a flame against gasoline.
Her hands tangled in my hair as I hiked her legs higher on my shoulders and gave her clit another long, languorous lick.
“We just got started, sweetheart,” I drawled. “This is going to be a long course.”
I drew her swollen bud into my mouth and sucked, reveling in the way she shivered and panted around me.
I fucking loved eating Stella’s pussy. The taste, the smell, the way she clenched around my fingers when I pumped them inside her and hit that spot.
It was the world’s most intoxicating feast.
Her cries of pleasure spurred me on as I licked, sucked, and tongued that sweet little cunt until she was dripping all over me, her pretty clit swollen from my attention and her juices slick on my tongue.
After a while, I pulled back, my chest heaving as I admired the sight before me. So wet and perfectly prepared for the main event.
“Now,” I said. “I’m ready for dessert.”
I spread her thighs wider, dipped my head, and devoured her.
Stella’s squeals and whimpers escalated into inelegant screams as I alternated between fingering her and worshiping her clit and fucking her with my tongue. Harder, more intense than the first time, like I was dying of thirst in the desert and she was my only source of salvation.
“Christian.” My name broke into a sob. She fisted my hair, her muscles taut with desire.
“You taste so good.” I buried my nose in her and breathed her in. Her pussy was like the world’s sweetest nectar, and I was ravenous for it.
I wanted to drink up every fucking drop and come back for seconds. Thirds. Fourths. For the rest of fucking time.
I would never be able to get enough of her.
“Do you want to know what you taste like?” I slid two fingers inside her and lifted my head so I could see her.
Stella gazed down at me, her eyes half-lidded with desire and bright with clear, pure trust.
It undid me.
My cock was so hard it felt like it would split open from the pressure, but the walls around my heart had crumbled, baring the soft, beating organ to her every whim and desire.
“Like honey and spices.” I pushed my fingers deeper. She was so tight I could feel her stretching around me, inch by inch, until I was knuckles deep inside her.
“Like sweetness and sin.” In. Out. Slowly and thoroughly, letting her feel every glide of friction.
A full-body shudder rolled through her.
“You taste…” I removed my fingers and lowered my head. “Like mine.”
A keening cry echoed through the room as Stella’s body bowed off the table. Her muscles went taut, vibrating with the force of her orgasm as she came on my tongue.
Desire burned up the fuel in my veins, but I took my time, leisurely savoring every drop while wave after wave rolled through her.
Finally, her cries subsided into a dazed whimper, and she sprawled, loose-limbed and sated, on the table.
“My favorite part of the meal,” I said lazily. “You were right.” I gave her clit one final, languid lick. “I just needed to find the right dessert.”
