Dom takes my hand and lowers it to the front of his pants. His cock stirs against my palm, and I feel a rush of heat. God, I want him. I want to curl my fingers around him and tease him until his eyes roll in the back of his head. I’ve never been one for exhibitionism, but right now I don’t care that we’re in my building’s hallway where anyone could walk in.
I massage him through his pants, but he grabs my hand and pulls it away.
“Save it for dessert.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers, moving to my palm. I forget to breathe as he swirls his tongue there. “Let’s go.”
We head downstairs and outside, and I’m surprised to find a silver Jaguar parked there instead of a limo. “What is this, car number three?” I ask, only partly joking.
Dom chuckles, taking the joke. “I call this one my weekend Jag.”
I laugh. “Gee, sucks to be rich.”
The car is sleek and luxurious inside, and I relax as he drives us through the evening traffic. When I’m not looking at his gorgeous profile, I’m eyeing how well his thighs fill out his pants. I can’t shake the memories of him above me, his face tense with passion.
My body twists tighter, anticipation rising.
“Here we are.” I snap out of it as we pull up to Vine, the most exclusive restaurant on this side of Chicago.
A valet opens my door and holds a hand out. “Good evening, Mr. Rexford. Ma’am.”
Dom offers his arm to me and leads me inside. “Have you been here before?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Callie has been trying to get a reservation here for over a year, just to say she has one.”
Inside, the place is packed. There’s dark wallpaper and ornate chandeliers, with a wrought iron balcony running around the top of the open main floor. I’m in a state of giddy awe as we walk through the room. People stop talking to look at us, and I hear whispers as we pass. I guess Dom is like a celebrity in this town. The hostess shows us to the best table in the house: right in the middle of the action. But Dom frowns, and lowers his voice to speak quietly to the woman.
“Of course,” she says quickly. “I just thought…I’m sorry.” She quickly takes us to a new table, in the back of the room.
“Is something wrong?” I ask Dom, confused.
“No. I just want us to have some privacy.” He caresses my bare arm as he speaks.
I’m not going to argue with that.
We’re seated in a more secluded booth, but still, people nearby are glancing over. Dom murmurs to the sommelier and waiter, before settling back and focusing his gaze on me. My pulse quickens immediately now that we’re finally alone. Sort of.
“So, this is what it’s like, being you,” I say, looking around.
“What do you mean?”
“The celebrity treatment. I bet the nine month waiting list for a reservation here doesn’t apply to you.”
He looks amused. “The owner was a friend of my father’s. This table is nothing more than a favor from an old friend.”
“Look around. Everyone is staring at us.”
He reaches for my hand. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Fine. I’ll take the compliment. But I still shake my head at him to let him know he’s not off the hook. I’m curious what it’s like to be him.
Dom sighs. “People are impressed by the name, sure. But it’s just a name. Take that away and I’m an ordinary man, subject to cheap wine and waiting lists like everyone else.”