Taboo Tapas – Savor the Sin

by H. Malcom Walker

 

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All characters depicted in this work are 18 years of age or older.

 

Note: All images generated with Venice AI.

 

 

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Copyright © 2025 by H. Malcom Walker

The Taboo Tapas Bar

I sat alone in a plush leather booth, my fingers drumming nervously on the polished mahogany table. The soft, indirect lighting illuminated the room, highlighting the richness of the crimson leather seats while leaving pockets of shadow to deepen the room's allure. It mingled with the light from the flickering candles, set atop small, round tables and tucked into ornate sconces along the walls, creating a seductive interplay of light and darkness that danced across the room.

The Taboo Tapas Bar exuded an air of understated elegance and indulgence. Every detail, from the black lace curtains framing the windows to the decadent golden accents on the walls, whispered a promise of secrets and seduction. The air smelled faintly of spiced wine and roasted meat, making my stomach growl despite my nerves.

I adjusted the cuffs of my blazer, catching my reflection in a mirror across the room. Twenty-four years old, six feet even, and lean but not quite athletic—that was me. I had a swimmer's build, as my college friends used to call it, though I hadn’t swum competitively since high school. My brown hair was freshly cut, swept to one side in a way I hoped looked sophisticated rather than try-hard. Hazel eyes stared back at me, betraying the nervous energy thrumming through my veins. I’d even shaved twice today to make sure my face was smooth. First impressions mattered, and tonight, I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

This wasn’t just any date. This was my first date with her. An older woman I’d met through the bar’s exclusive service—a service designed for those who sought the allure of experience and maturity. Out of the blue, I had received a registered letter in the mail, stating that she would like to get to know me. The photos she’d provided had left me spellbound, and I knew immediately that I had to meet with her. One in particular stood out: her lying on a beach in a one-piece suit, her large breasts barely contained by the flimsy material as she smiled seductively at the camera.

She was everything I’d ever desired in a woman: confident, poised, and utterly stunning. A cascade of dark brown hair, lips curved in a knowing smile, and hazel eyes that seemed to look straight into my soul from the photograph. I knew without a doubt she was completely out of my league, and yet here I was, waiting for her to walk through those grand, arched doors.

My palms were sweating, so I wiped them discreetly on my trousers and reached for the menu to distract myself. The names of the dishes teased me, each one sounding more enticing and mysterious than the last. Eve’s Bite, Bound & Buttered, and Sweet Submission all sounded great, but I could hardly concentrate on them at the moment. Apparently, this place was as much about the experience as it was about the food. The atmosphere buzzed with hushed conversations and the occasional burst of laughter, but I could only focus on the empty seat across from me.

The waiter had come by twice already, asking if I wanted a drink while I waited. I’d waved him off, not wanting to seem overeager, but now I felt regret. A cocktail might have taken the edge off. As the seconds ticked by, I couldn’t help but imagine what she’d look like in person. Would she wear one of those elegant dresses she’d worn in her photos? Would her smile be as enchanting as it came across in print? And most importantly, would she like me?

The door opened as the host ushered someone inside, helping her to remove her coat. My breath hitched as I glanced up to take her figure in. That hair. That fantastic figure. It was her. She was actually here.

She stepped inside with the kind of grace that made the world seem to slow down. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her left shoulder, framing a face that was every bit as stunning as her photos had promised. Her lips curved into a warm, knowing smile, and those eyes—intense, intelligent, and captivating—swept the room before landing on me. She wore an elegant, figure-hugging dress that shimmered subtly in the low light, its square neckline showing off her ample cleavage. I had a fleeting thought that her bare neck just begged for a choker to wrap around it, but I guess I couldn’t hope for everything to be exactly how I’d like.

My heart pounded as she glided toward the booth, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She was everything I’d hoped for and more, an image of elegance and confidence that left me momentarily speechless.

I stood up quickly, too quickly, knocking my knee against the table in the process. "Ow," I muttered under my breath, wincing, and then straightened, trying to salvage whatever composure I had left. My heart raced as I debated whether to extend a hand, lean in for a hug, or do something else entirely. The uncertainty froze me in place, my hands awkwardly hovering by my sides.

Her smile widened slightly, and she tilted her head, studying me for a moment. Then she spoke, her voice smooth and rich, with just the faintest hint of amusement. "You must be Ethan," she said, her tone warm and inviting. "Am I right?"

"Yes, that's me," I managed to say, my voice a little shaky. Then I added, "And you must be Isabella." Her name rolled off my tongue like a melody, elegant and sophisticated, just like her. My heart was pounding so loudly I was certain she could hear it.

She laughed softly and nodded, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she moved to slide gracefully into the booth, across from the side I had been sitting on. Her gaze wandered, taking in the lush interior of the bar—the crimson leather seats, the dark wood paneling, and the soft glow of candlelight. For a moment, she seemed lost in the ambiance, her expression a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

I managed to lower myself back into the seat without hurting myself, though my movements felt clumsy in comparison. Clearing my throat, I asked, "Would you care for a drink?"

She turned her attention back to me, her smile both reassuring and slightly mischievous. "That sounds like a perfect idea," she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Nodding, I raised a hand to flag down the waiter. Almost instantly, he appeared, a young man dressed sharply in black, exuding professionalism. “I’d like a Ruby Whisper,” said Isabella. The name itself felt as sophisticated as she was, and I marveled at how effortlessly she made even ordering a drink seem elegant. He took Isabella's drink order with a courteous nod and a subtle glance in my direction, as if silently acknowledging my nervousness. I was lost in my thoughts at the moment, wondering how much worse I could make this situation. It was only after he stepped away that I realized I’d neglected once again to order one for myself.

We made awkward small talk while we waited, my words fumbling over themselves as I tried to find the perfect balance between charm and anything resembling coherence. Isabella, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, her smile never wavering. She asked me about my favorite places to travel, and I stumbled through an answer about a recent hiking trip to the Rockies, all the while silently hoping I didn’t sound too boring.

When I nervously returned the question, her eyes lit up with excitement as she described Paris in the spring—the winding streets, the cafes, and the way the Eiffel Tower sparkled at night. She laughed softly, adding that the best memories came from simply wandering, getting lost, and stumbling upon hidden gardens or quiet, candlelit bistros that felt like her own secret discoveries.

In a few minutes, the waiter returned with her drink, setting it down with a flourish. “One Ruby Whisper,” he announced with a smile. “This is crafted with blood orange vodka, lending a vibrant citrus bite, balanced by the floral sweetness of elderflower liqueur. A splash of pomegranate juice adds a rich, ruby color and a touch of tartness, and it’s finished with a candied orange peel twist, adding a subtle caramelized note. It’s one of our signature cocktails, designed to be both refreshing and indulgent.” He turned to me and placed a crystal tumbler filled with a deep amber liquid on the table. “And for the gentleman, an eighteen-year single malt scotch. You have excellent taste, sir,” he said with a knowing smile before retreating.

I stared at the glass in surprise. I hadn’t ordered it, but it felt like a subtle nudge from the staff—a gift of confidence, perhaps. The staff here were top-notch, and I could feel them going out of their way to make me look good—a kindness I desperately appreciated in the moment.

Isabella raised her glass to me, her smile taking on a playful edge. “To new beginnings?” she offered.

“To new beginnings,” I said in return as our glasses clinked together.

She took a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes locking with mine over the rim of the glass. When she set it down, her smile turned sly, a playful glint sparking in her gaze. “So, Ethan,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her voice soft but teasing, “why is it that you want to date an older woman?”

My breath hitched, and I felt my face grow warm. I hesitated, fumbling for the right words, my mind racing through a dozen evasive answers. “Well, uh,” I started, shifting in my seat, “I think older women are... more confident. More experienced. They know what they want.”

Her smile widened, and she tilted her head, clearly enjoying my awkward attempt at diplomacy. “Go on,” she encouraged, her tone dripping with amusement.

I swallowed hard, deciding there was no point in hiding the truth. “Honestly,” I admitted, my voice lowering as I leaned in, “it’s partially due to an Oedipus complex. Growing up, my mom was always this incredibly strong and self-assured person, but also nurturing and elegant. She’s also beautiful—like, really beautiful. I used to see the way people would look at her when we were out, and I think part of me just assumed that’s what a woman should be: someone who commands attention and admiration without even trying. I guess it shaped what I’ve always found attractive in women. I don’t think I ever quite realized it until I started reflecting on why I’m so drawn to women with that same kind of confidence and poise.” The words hung in the air, and I braced myself for her reaction.

She blinked once, then tossed her head back slightly and laughed—a rich, melodic sound that somehow put me at ease and made me even more nervous all at once. Her eyes locked onto mine, sharp and glinting with mischief. “Well,” she said, her voice dropping to a sultry purr as she leaned forward, just enough to blur the line between playful and daring, “if confidence and poise are what get your attention, I guess I’ll have to keep you completely distracted tonight. Though... if you’re already thinking about mommy issues, I can’t wait to see where your mind goes once I have you all to myself.”

I felt my face heat up, and despite every effort to play it cool, I could feel the corner of my mouth twitch into an awkward smile. My brain scrambled for something—anything—to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete idiot.

“I—uh… well, that’s… distracting definitely sounds… nice,” I stammered, my voice cracking slightly on the last word.

Her smirk deepened, her gaze flicking over me like she was savoring every bit of my flustered reaction.

“Smooth, Ethan. Real smooth,” I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair and trying not to melt into the floor.

But she just laughed again, softer this time, like she was genuinely enjoying my embarrassment. And somehow, that made the nervous knot in my stomach loosen—just a little.

She let the moment linger, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful before she changed the subject. “So, what do you do for work, Ethan?”

I cleared my throat, trying to gather whatever fragments of composure I had left. “I work for one of the major financial firms,” I said, stealing a quick glance at her face to gauge her reaction. “It’s demanding, sure, but I’ve been fortunate. The money’s good, but honestly… that’s not what drives me. At this point, I’m more focused on finding the right person. Someone I can build something real with. Someone I can share my life with.”

Her smile faltered for just a moment, her eyes flickering with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—bittersweet, maybe, or something heavier. “I like that,” she said softly, her voice carrying a faint, vulnerable edge.

She took a sip of her drink, her gaze briefly dropping to the table before returning to mine. “To answer your question… I’m a widow. My late husband was successful—very successful—and he made sure I’d never have to worry about money. I sit on the boards of a few charities, and giving back has become a big part of my life. I also love to travel,” she added, her tone brightening slightly as if she were shaking off the weight of the conversation, “but I’ll admit… it’s never quite the same when you’re doing it alone.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, her fingers brushing the edge of her glass in a slow, almost absent-minded motion. “Do you like to travel?” she asked, her voice softer now, edged with curiosity and something else—something warmer.

I nodded, a genuine smile breaking across my face. “I do. In fact, I’ve been thinking about spending some time in Europe this winter. Skiing in the Alps, wandering quiet streets during the low tourist season… there’s something magical about experiencing those places without the crowds. I want to take in the art, the history, the landscapes—and maybe indulge in some of the local wines along the way.”

Her eyes lit up, her smile curving into something both playful and wistful as she leaned in slightly. “That sounds absolutely wonderful.” She paused, her gaze holding mine like a hook in my chest. “When I was younger, my late husband and I rented a villa on the Amalfi Coast. It was breathtaking. There was this bed out on the balcony, and at night…” Her voice dipped into something sultry, her lips curling wickedly around the words. “We’d lie there making love, staring out over the water. The sound of the waves, the moonlight on the sea—it was pure magic. A memory I’ve always wanted to relive… with the right person.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with suggestion, and I was suddenly very aware of how warm the room felt. My mouth went dry as I tried to form a response, but all I could do was glance down at my hands, feeling both mesmerized and out of my depth.

Isabella noticed, her smile softening but not losing its edge. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing over the back of my hand with deliberate slowness before settling there. Her touch was light, teasing, but her gaze was firm, locking onto mine.

“Ethan,” she said, her voice a low purr that felt like it was curling around my spine, “it’s not about the stories you’ve already lived—it’s about the ones you’re willing to write. And I have a feeling…” She paused, her thumb lightly tracing over my knuckles. “…you’re going to make an excellent co-author.”

Before I could even think of how to respond, the waiter appeared at our table, his timing so precise I almost wondered if he’d been watching us.

“The gentleman made an excellent choice with the Seven Sins Platter,” he said with a knowing nod toward me. “It’s one of our finest selections and perfect for sharing.”

His words gave me a small boost of confidence, and I managed a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said, my voice steadier now.

“And would you like to start with an appetizer?” he asked, turning to Isabella.

She didn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll have the Bound & Buttered,” she said, her tone smooth and deliberate, every word dripping with suggestion. “It’s always been a favorite of mine.”

Her gaze flicked back to me, her lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “There’s just something about being bound that makes every little indulgence taste… better. Don’t you agree, Ethan?”

My breath caught, and I felt heat rush to my face again as I scrambled for a response. “I—I’m sure it… enhances the experience.”

Her smile deepened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to make the space between us feel charged. “Oh, it does. But don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll go easy on you. At first.”

I froze, caught somewhere between exhilaration and sheer nervousness, and her laugh—rich and throaty—only made it worse. Or better. I couldn’t tell anymore.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked, desperate to steady myself with conversation.

She nodded, her expression softening. “Yes, I have. My late husband and I used to eat here often. It’s always been a special place for me. So when you agreed to meet me here, I was very happy. It brought back some wonderful memories.”

For a brief moment, the air between us felt heavy, a crack in her confident exterior letting something softer shine through. But then, as if she’d caught herself, her lips curved back into a playful smile, and her hand—still resting on mine—gave a deliberate squeeze.

I suddenly became aware of that touch, her warmth grounding me in the moment. Feeling a spark of boldness, I turned my palm to take hers in my own, my fingers gently curling around hers.

“I’m so happy you’re here tonight,” I said, meeting her gaze head-on. “And, Isabella, you look absolutely beautiful. You are simply stunning.”

Isabella’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, but her smile remained steady, radiating warmth. “Thank you, Ethan. That means a lot,” she said softly, her fingers giving mine an affectionate squeeze. Then, with a glint of mischief, she added, “Careful, though—you keep talking to me like that, and I might start thinking you’ve got plans for dessert that have nothing to do with the menu.”

Her words landed like a spark on dry tinder, and I felt heat crawl up my neck. I opened my mouth to respond, but the moment was interrupted by the arrival of our appetizer.

The waiter set the plate of Bound & Buttered before us with an almost theatrical flourish. The braised octopus tentacles were tied into delicate knots, glistening under the low light and paired with a small dish of saffron aioli. The aroma was intoxicating—smoky, with a hint of citrus and spice.

“Enjoy,” the waiter said with a slight bow before disappearing.

Isabella’s eyes flicked to the appetizer, then back to me, her smile curling wickedly at the edges. “Well, Ethan… looks like we’re starting with a little bondage after all. I hope you’re ready.”

Her voice was velvet, her gaze steady and unwavering as she reached delicately for one of the tentacles, dipping it slowly into the saffron aioli before bringing it to her lips.

I couldn’t look away.

“This was always one of my favorites,” she said before taking a bite. Her expression melted into pure satisfaction, and she gave a soft hum of approval. “Still perfect.”

I followed her lead, hesitantly taking a bite. The flavors exploded in my mouth—rich, tender, and perfectly seasoned, with the aioli adding a creamy, luxurious finish. “Wow,” I said after swallowing, “this is incredible.”

She laughed lightly, her eyes dancing. “I told you. Trust me, the platter will be just as unforgettable.”

For the first time that evening, I felt myself truly relax. The combination of her reassuring presence, the impeccable food, and the intimate atmosphere of the Taboo Tapas Bar was starting to work its magic. The conversation began to flow more easily, and I felt like I belonged with her at the table.

While we savored the appetizer, our conversation drifted toward art and poetry. Isabella spoke passionately about her love for Impressionist paintings, describing the way Monet’s use of light seemed to make the landscapes shimmer with life. I admitted I’d always been drawn to the darker, more introspective works—paintings and poems that wrestled with complex emotions.

She smiled knowingly, tilting her head as she regarded me. "Like Oedipal themes, perhaps?" she teased, her tone playful yet pointed.

I laughed, albeit nervously. "I suppose so," I said, feeling a bit exposed but not minding it. "There’s something raw and fascinating about the way those themes force us to confront parts of ourselves we’d rather not examine."

Isabella nodded thoughtfully, swirling her drink. "It’s true. Art that delves into taboo subjects has a way of revealing truths we didn’t know we were hiding. It’s uncomfortable, but that’s what makes it powerful." She paused, her gaze sharpening as she leaned slightly closer. "But do you want to have sex with your mother?"

The question hung in the air, bold and unapologetic. My stomach tightened, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or meet her challenge head-on. In the end, I chose the latter. I had left myself open to this by using the Oedipus reference earlier to explain why I was attracted to older women. Now I would simply have to stay the course, for good or ill.

"Yes," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the tension. "My mother is beautiful, smart, kind, and funny—she’s exactly the kind of woman I’m attracted to. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to fuck her. I want to make her have orgasms until she literally passes out. A woman like her deserves no less than that kind of attention."

Her fingers drummed lightly against her glass as she leaned back slightly, her smile softening but not losing its edge. “You know, Ethan, most men would have stumbled over that question—or bolted for the door entirely. But you… you didn’t flinch. I admire that.”

I shrugged slightly, leaning back. "If we’re going to discuss taboo themes, honesty seems like the least we owe each other. There’s no point in pretending those feelings don’t exist when they’re right there, staring back at us."

The words settled over us, and for a brief moment, neither of us spoke. Then she lifted her glass, her eyes never leaving mine.

“To raw honesty,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet confidence.

I lifted my own glass, my hand steady despite the electric tension still hanging between us.

“To honesty,” I replied.

Isabella studied me for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You don’t shy away from the uncomfortable, do you?"

I held her gaze, unflinching. "Not if it means getting closer to the truth. And isn’t that what art—and life—is all about?"

Her hand brushed mine lightly, the warmth of her touch sending a jolt through me. "You’re certainly not what I expected, Ethan," she said, her voice soft yet laden with curiosity.

We finished our drinks as the conversation flowed, and when the waiter stopped by, he asked if we’d like another round. Isabella nodded, her smile lighting up the moment. "Yes, please," she said. I followed suit, requesting the same drink as before. The waiter disappeared with our order, leaving us with a fresh anticipation of the night ahead.

As the evening passed, I found myself becoming more comfortable talking with Isabella. Her laugh was genuine, her smile disarming, and the way she spoke made me feel like she was truly interested in what I had to say. But as the warmth from the second drink began to spread, I couldn’t help but wonder: was this newfound ease my own, or was it the alcohol doing the heavy lifting?

I glanced down at our hands still resting together on the table, her fingers lightly brushing mine. Whatever the answer, I didn’t want the feeling to end.

As Isabella took another sip of her drink, her demeanor shifted, becoming noticeably more playful. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile took on a flirtatious edge. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken.

"So, Ethan," she began, her tone laced with teasing intent, "if I were to say that I think you have a charming blush, how would you react?"

Caught off guard, I felt my cheeks heat up immediately, which only made her laugh—a rich, melodic sound that made it impossible to feel embarrassed for long. "There it is," she said triumphantly, clearly enjoying herself.

"I don’t blush," I protested weakly, though the evidence was written all over my face.

She leaned back in her seat, still smiling. "You’re adorable," she said, her words disarming yet somehow seductive. "It’s refreshing, really. Most men your age try so hard to be smooth, but you… well, you’re just honest. I like that."

Her compliments and playful remarks sent my thoughts spinning, but I couldn’t help smiling back at her, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

She leaned in even closer, her lips curling into a sly smile. "You know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if I keep teasing you, I might have to find a way to make it up to you later."

I froze, completely at a loss for how to respond. My thoughts scrambled for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot.

Before I could think of a response, the waiter arrived, saving me from the spiraling tension. He carried a large platter with a flourish, his expression one of practiced confidence. “And here we are,” he announced. “The Seven Sins Platter.”

He placed it carefully on the table, the array of dishes immediately captivating. With a professional smile, he began to describe each one in turn. “Starting with Lust: Champagne-soaked strawberries paired with whipped rose cream. Sensual and indulgent, a perfect opening bite. Next, Gluttony: Pork belly burnt ends glazed in honey bourbon—rich and decadent. For Greed, we have truffle and gold risotto bites, luxurious and earthy.”

He gestured to the next item. “Sloth: Smoked salmon roulade with a creamy dill filling, perfectly lazy yet sophisticated. Then Wrath: Diablo wings coated in ghost pepper honey for a fiery kick. Envy is represented by these vibrant green matcha dumplings with an emerald avocado filling. And finally, Pride: Peacock-colored macarons infused with lavender and Earl Grey, elegant and boastful.”

His words gave me just enough time to regain my composure, though I could feel Isabella’s eyes on me, her smile not wavering. “Enjoy,” the waiter said with a slight bow before stepping back, leaving us to the feast.

Isabella picked up one of the champagne-soaked strawberries from the Lust section of the platter. Slowly, she brought it to her lips, wrapping them around the fruit with deliberate precision. Her eyes met mine as she took a bite, the whipped rose cream smearing just slightly before she licked it away with the tip of her tongue.

Her smirk deepened, and I swore the temperature in the room rose a few degrees. She didn’t say a word, but the way her gaze lingered made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. My heart pounded as I fumbled for something to say, but nothing seemed adequate.

Isabella leaned back, her expression equal parts playful and seductive. “Delicious,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Aren’t you going to try one?"

I hesitated, a playful smirk forming on my lips. "I think I’d much rather watch you enjoying the Lust," I said, my tone teasing but deliberate, savoring the way her smirk deepened at my words.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine, and reached for another champagne-soaked strawberry. This time, her movements were slower, more deliberate. She brought the fruit to her lips, parting them slightly before wrapping them around the strawberry. Her tongue flicked over the whipped rose cream, savoring it, before she bit into the fruit with a soft hum of pleasure. A bead of juice trickled down her lip, which she caught with the tip of her tongue, her eyes never leaving mine.

As I watched, completely entranced, I felt something brush against my lower leg. At first, I thought it was accidental, but then the pressure grew more deliberate. Her otherwise bare foot, encased in smooth hose, began to trace slow, teasing circles along the back of my calf. My breath hitched, and I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady myself as the sensation sent my heart racing.

"Still enjoying the view?" she asked, her voice dripping with playful mischief, her foot never stopping its gentle exploration.

"I am," I said as she finished the strawberry, her tongue flicking over her lips to catch the last traces of cream. "But now I have to know—what’s your next favorite sin?"

Isabella chuckled; her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, Ethan,” she said, her voice silky and teasing. “That depends. Are you ready for something fiery? Or would you rather stay with something a little more indulgent?”

Her hand moved to pick up one of the Wrath wings, its fiery sauce glistening under the soft lighting. “I think this might be next,” she said with a sly smile, holding it up as though issuing a challenge. “Care to join me, or are you afraid of a little heat?”

Her foot continued its slow exploration along my calf, and I swallowed hard, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I can handle heat,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. “But I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me squirm.”

Isabella laughed, a rich and melodious sound. “You catch on quickly,” she said, before taking a deliberate bite of the wing, her lips glossed with the spicy honey glaze. Her expression shifted briefly, her brows raising at the intensity of the flavor, and then she licked her lips, her smile reappearing.

“Your turn,” she said, her tone both a command and an invitation.

I reached for one of the wings, hesitating for a moment as the ghost pepper glaze seemed to glisten in challenge. Isabella watched me intently, her smirk widening as I lifted it to my mouth. The first bite was a sensory explosion—the smoky, sweet honey glaze hit my tongue first, followed by an intense, building heat that had my eyes widening. I swallowed quickly, reaching for my scotch, and took a generous sip to cool the fire.

“Wow,” I managed, my voice hoarser than I intended. “That’s intense.”

Isabella laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “It’s not for the faint of heart,” she said, wiping a dab of sauce from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “But then, if you were, I doubt you would have ever shown up here tonight.”

I chuckled nervously, unsure if that was meant as another challenge or a compliment. “Well, I might need another drink after this platter,” I admitted, placing the half-eaten wing back on the plate.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she teased, her eyes dancing with amusement. “We’ve got plenty of time to recover between sins.”

She reached for the Envy dumplings next, spearing one with her fork. The emerald-colored dough was vibrant, almost glowing under the soft light of the bar. “These are always so intriguing,” she said, taking a small bite and savoring it before looking at me. “Envy always feels... refreshing.”

I followed her lead, taking one of the dumplings. The filling was creamy and rich, a delicate balance of avocado and herbs with just a hint of citrus. It was cooling, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the wings. “This is amazing,” I said, genuinely impressed.

Isabella nodded, leaning slightly closer. “It’s one of the reasons I love coming here. The food, the atmosphere... the company.” Her voice softened at the last word, her gaze holding mine.

The intensity in her eyes made my pulse quicken. I set my fork down, unsure of what to say but not wanting to break the moment. She smiled knowingly, her hand brushing mine again. “Tell me, Ethan,” she said softly. “Are you always this reserved, or is it just with me?”

I hesitated for a moment, the intensity of her gaze holding me in place. Then I took a deep breath and decided to be honest. "I can let loose at times," I said, my voice steady but quieter than usual. "But right now... honestly, I feel like I’m way out of my league. Sitting here with a woman as beautiful and captivating as you—it’s a little overwhelming."

Her smile widened, and I could see the pleasure in her eyes as she soaked in the compliment. “Overwhelming?” she echoed, her tone teasing but warm. “You’re doing just fine, Ethan. In fact, I think you’re doing better than you realize.”

As she spoke, her foot continued its slow, deliberate exploration along my leg, the smooth fabric of her hose adding an extra layer of sensation. My pulse quickened as her movements became bolder, her toes tracing lazy circles along my calf and then gliding higher, brushing across my inner thigh just above my knee. She didn’t break eye contact, her expression a perfect mix of seduction and amusement.

“I think,” she added, her voice dropping slightly, “you underestimate yourself.”

She reached for another item on the platter, this time selecting one of the Pride macarons. The shimmering, peacock-colored treat seemed almost too exquisite to eat. Isabella held it delicately between her fingers, turning it slightly in the light as though admiring its beauty.

Before she could take a bite, the waiter returned, his timing impeccable once again. “How are we enjoying the sins?” he asked with a polished smile.

“They’re as sinful as promised,” Isabella replied, a playful lilt in her voice as she returned the macaron to the plate. She glanced at me and added, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ethan?”

I nodded, though my thoughts were scattered by her continued teasing under the table. “Absolutely,” I said, forcing a smile as I glanced up at him.

The truth was, I was barely tasting the food anymore. Every time her fingers brushed against me—or lingered—I felt my thoughts dissolve into static. The ambient hum of the restaurant had faded, and the low light around our table felt more intimate now, like the world beyond our little corner had ceased to exist.

I swallowed hard and adjusted in my seat, trying to subtly ease the growing tension in my body. The waiter’s gaze flicked between the two of us, his polished smile unwavering, but there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes—like he was attuned to the charged atmosphere hanging over the table.

“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “If you’d like, I can box up the remaining items for you. And, as a courtesy to our valued patrons, we’ve arranged for a car to take you back to your suite at the hotel.”

I blinked, startled. I hadn’t arranged a car or mentioned a suite. Before I could speak, Isabella tilted her head, her smirk returning like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

“That’s very thoughtful,” she said smoothly, glancing at me with eyes that practically sparkled with mischief. “Don’t you think, Ethan?”

I hesitated for a moment but decided to roll with it. “Yes, very thoughtful,” I said, matching her tone. "Thank you." Oh man, that guy was definitely getting a huge tip tonight.

The waiter gave a slight bow and began gathering the remaining dishes, leaving just the two of us once again. I had no idea what we spoke about during that time, since Isabella used it to thoroughly explore my legs and thighs with her foot, which somehow seemed capable of reaching everywhere. She was slowly driving me insane, and my thoughts burned with the idea of tearing that dress off and discovering every inch of her.

Thankfully, the waiter returned shortly after with the to-go box, setting it down before me with a polite nod. Resting neatly on top of the box was a hotel key card, its sleek design catching the soft light.

I glanced at the key card, my breath hitching slightly before looking up at Isabella, who arched an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. Without breaking eye contact, she reached forward and plucked the card from the box, tucking it neatly into her clutch.

“Shall we?” she said, her voice dripping with playful authority.

I nodded, grabbing the box and standing. Instinctively, my hand found its way to the small of her back as I retrieved our jackets from the host. The silky fabric of her dress clung to her in ways that made rational thought nearly impossible.

Before we stepped out, I caught the waiter’s eye and handed him my card. He accepted it with a knowing nod, disappearing briefly before returning with the receipt and pen. I scrawled my signature and left a generous tip without hesitation—he’d more than earned it.

Isabella watched me with a hint of approval in her eyes as I slid my card back into my wallet.

“Responsible and generous,” she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. “I like that in a man.”

As we stepped out into the cool night air, my hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of her ass as we waited for the car to pull up. She didn’t say a word, just turned her head to flash me another of her knowing smirks.

I smirked back, my fingers giving that perfect curve a slow, deliberate squeeze before I guided her toward the open door of the sleek black car that had just arrived.

The driver greeted us with a polite nod, and I held the door open for her. Isabella slid gracefully into the plush leather seat, crossing her legs in a way that made my pulse quicken. I followed close behind, the door shutting with a muffled thud as the outside world faded away.

The interior of the car was dim, lit only by faint ambient lights along the edges of the cabin. The silence stretched for a beat as the driver pulled away from the curb, and then Isabella turned toward me, her face illuminated just enough for me to see the predatory gleam in her eyes.

Her voice was low, intimate. “You’ve been such a good sport tonight, Ethan. Tell me… do you think you’ve earned your reward yet?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I—I’d like to think so.”

She chuckled softly, the sound curling around me like smoke. “Oh, sweetheart… you’ll know when you’ve earned it.”

With that, she leaned back against the seat, one leg crossing over the other as she turned her head to look out the window.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the to-go box a little tighter as the anticipation crackled in the air between us.

The night was far from over.

As the car began to move, Isabella reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers with a grip that felt both possessive and playful. The city lights blurred past the windows, but I could hardly focus on the view. Her foot, again freed from its shoe, traced along my calf with maddening precision, the smooth hose gliding against my skin in a deliberate pressure that made my pulse race.

She leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered, “I can’t wait to feel your hands on me again... or maybe your mouth. Would you take me right here if I begged you, or are you going to make me wait until we’re alone?”

Her lips brushed my skin as the words sent a shiver down my spine. Her free hand drifted to my thigh, her nails lightly grazing through the fabric, igniting a fire beneath my skin. I shifted slightly, trying to maintain composure, but she only smiled knowingly, her hand venturing higher with each passing moment.

I glanced up toward the rearview mirror, catching the driver’s eyes for a brief moment. He gave me a slight, almost knowing smile, as though he could sense the tension in the car, the unspoken anticipation between us.

I met his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then refocused on Isabella, her face a mixture of sweet challenge and unbridled desire.

The ride felt endless, every teasing touch and sultry glance drawing me further into her spell until I could think of nothing but her and the moment we would finally be alone. My mind raced with possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. But for now, all I could do was enjoy the dance we were locked in, the slow build of desire that would soon have to be satisfied.

 

The Suite

The town car glided to a smooth stop in front of the hotel, its sleek black body reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights. The hotel’s entrance was grand, flanked by tall columns that rose majestically above a wide set of marble steps. The massive wooden doors, adorned with brass handles, opened to reveal an opulent lobby beyond—high ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and the faint scent of fresh flowers in the air. The valet, dressed in a tailored uniform, opened the car door with a courteous nod, stepping back to allow Isabella to exit first.

She held her shoes in one hand, her toes outlined by the sheer pantyhose as she stepped delicately onto the cool marble floor. The smoothness of the marble beneath her feet made her movements seem even more graceful, each step light and careful, the soft whisper of her pantyhose against the polished tiles the only sound. Isabella giggled softly, placing her hand in my elbow, the warmth of her touch sending a brief surge of excitement through me.

As we entered the lobby, a doorman approached us, offering a polite smile. He reached for our coats, taking them from our shoulders with practiced ease and hanging them with care over his arm. “Enjoy your evening,” he said courteously, and he directed us around a corner to a private elevator.

The elevator was exclusive, its polished brass panel gleaming under the soft glow of the overhead lights, adding to the air of sophistication that enveloped the hotel. Isabella handed over the key card with a knowing smile, her fingers brushing mine for just a moment—an intimate, electric connection that lingered between us.

The doors slid shut, and the car ascended smoothly to the top floor, the soft hum of the elevator amplifying the tension between us. Isabella moved closer, her arms slipping around me in a gentle hug, resting her head on my chest. I couldn’t help but notice how the top of her head just reached my chin, a detail that made her feel even more delicate in my embrace, every breath and glance a silent promise of what was to come. The suite awaited.

As we stepped inside, the door slid shut behind us, sealing us in the quiet, intimate embrace of the suite’s luxurious foyer. Isabella dropped her shoes and her clutch, then turned slowly, her eyes locking with mine as I placed the box on a side table. For a moment, she simply studied me, her expression a blend of mischief and longing. Then, without a word, she closed the distance between us. Her hands glided up my chest, her touch leaving a trail of warmth as she pressed herself against me, her body fitting into mine as though we were made for each other.

My breath caught as our faces aligned, her lips just inches from mine. She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes holding my gaze before she leaned in, our mouths meeting in a kiss that sent a jolt through me. Her lips were soft and warm, moving against mine with a gentle yet insistent rhythm that quickly ignited a fire in my chest and in my loins.

The faint taste of her blood orange drink and the strawberries lingered on her lips, mingling with the subtle hint of her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something darker, more mysterious. My hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, while her fingers traced the line of my jaw before reaching up to tangle in my hair.

The kiss deepened, our breaths mingling as the world outside the suite seemed to disappear. I was acutely aware of every sensation—the press of her curves against me, the softness of her lips, the way her nails grazed my scalp. It was as if time had slowed, the moment stretching infinitely as a warmth spread through my chest, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

When we finally broke apart, her lips were slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded as she smiled up at me. “Perfect,” she murmured, her voice husky, before leaning in for another kiss.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more insistent, our movements synchronized in a way that felt electric. Her hands slid from my hair to the back of my neck, her fingers pressing lightly as if to draw me closer still. I responded in kind, wrapping my arms around her waist, holding her tightly against me.

The kiss was intoxicating, filled with a passion that seemed to erase any hesitation I had. Her lips moved with a deliberate intensity, coaxing me to match her rhythm. My pulse thundered in my ears as every nerve in my body seemed to light up at once. Her nails lightly grazed my neck, sending shivers down my spine, while her curves pressed against me in a way that made it impossible to think of anything else. The world outside the suite no longer existed—there was only her, only this.

But somewhere, beneath the haze of desire and adrenaline, a thought surfaced—clear and sharp. This woman isn’t just playing with me. She’s testing me. Every smirk, every teasing glance, every brush of her foot under the table—it had all been deliberate. A push, a prod, a silent question: Are you going to rise to the challenge? Take the reins and take control of this bold, provocative woman? Or are you going to let her keep leading you by the hand?

The realization hit me like a lightning strike, igniting something primal in my chest. She wanted me to take control, to meet her intensity head-on—to be the man who didn’t just react to her but commanded her attention.

I made a decision. No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. I knew how to be in control—knew how to take control of this woman. It was time to do so.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathing heavily, our foreheads resting together as we caught our breath. Isabella’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “I believe,” she said softly, her voice filled with mischief, “we still have several more sins to get through.”

Her words hung in the air, challenging me, daring me.

I smiled back at her, but this time, there was an edge to it—something sharp, something hungry.

I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear as I spoke, my voice low and commanding. "You think you know what you want, Isabella, but I’m going to give you exactly what you need."

For a heartbeat, she froze. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak—but no words came out. It was as though my words had struck something deep within her, something she hadn’t dared to hope for.

Then, slowly, her expression shifted. Her smirk returned, softer this time, tempered by something raw and vulnerable lurking beneath the surface. A faint flush crept up her neck and across her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in an unsteady breath.

She didn’t look away. Instead, her gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made the air between us crackle. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and when she finally spoke, her voice was a husky whisper.

“God, Ethan… yes.”

It wasn’t a plea, nor was it a challenge—it was surrender. A quiet, unguarded surrender to the man she’d been daring to step up all night.

Her hand drifted to my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as if to steady herself. Her smirk faded into something softer—a look of trust, of anticipation, and unmistakable excitement.

Before she could say anything more, I bent slightly and slid an arm beneath her knees while the other supported her back. In one smooth motion, I lifted her into my arms.

Isabella let out a soft, delighted laugh, her arms wrapping around my neck as she settled against me.

“Impressive,” she murmured, her lips brushing against my ear. “I didn’t take you for the sweeping-her-off-her-feet type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I continued, my voice steady as I carried her toward the master bedroom.

She leaned up and bit my earlobe, sharp and playful, and I made a mock gasp, clutching her slightly tighter as if I might drop her.

“Careful,” I said, my voice low and deliberate, each word rumbling from deep in my chest. “You wouldn’t want me to lose my grip, would you?”

Her laughter spilled out again, breathless and warm, her head tilting back slightly as her eyes glimmered with excitement.

The weight of her in my arms felt right—solid, warm, and utterly mine in this moment. Every step felt deliberate, every breath sharp with anticipation.

She wanted a man who could take the reins. Well, sweetheart... you’ve got him now.

The bedroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the suite, dominated by a large, canopied bed draped in soft, silken sheets. The dim lighting cast a golden glow across the room, adding to the atmosphere of intimacy. I crossed the threshold and carefully set Isabella down on the floor near the edge of the bed, my hands lingering at her waist for a moment.

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Well, Mr. Full-of-Surprises," she said, her voice a soft purr, "what’s next?"

In response, I gently turned her, so she faced away from me, my fingers trailing lightly down her arms before settling at the back of her dress. Slowly, I began to work the delicate zipper open, revealing the smooth curve of her back as the fabric loosened. The area around her shoulder blades had a smattering of freckles, which I noted for future reference. I intended to memorize and kiss each one.

Beneath the dress, she was wearing no bra, which the low-cut neck of her dress had made obvious. As I worked the fabric down past her hips, I saw she had on a garter belt and matching garters leading down to the tops of her thigh-high hose. The intricate patterns of her lace thong panties caught the soft light, emphasizing the elegance and sensuality of her ensemble. Her skin was warm under my fingertips, and I could hear her soft, anticipatory breaths as I continued until her dress pooled around her feet.

Taking her by the shoulder, I turned her to face me as I took a step back, my eyes roaming as I admired her near-perfect body. She was breathtaking, her beauty magnified by the confident way she carried herself. My chest tightened with a mix of awe and desire, and I once again found myself momentarily speechless.

Her full breasts, perfectly round and impossibly firm with no hint of sag, added to the allure that left me captivated, a living embodiment of sensual perfection. Her hourglass waist curved dramatically into full, round hips, a striking contrast that emphasized her femininity. This was a true woman in full, not a waif of a girl, and every inch of her seemed designed to captivate and mesmerize.

My gaze drifted lower, catching sight of the delicate black lace of her panties, hugging her curves in a way that left little to the imagination. A dainty silk bow sat perfectly at the top front of the waistband, like a small, decadent gift waiting to be unwrapped. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut—a realization that she was, in every sense, offered to me in this moment, wrapped in silk and lace, her smirk daring me to take what was so clearly mine for the taking.

The faintest blush colored her chest as she caught my lingering stare, but she didn’t waver. If anything, her confidence seemed to grow, her chin lifting slightly as if to say, Well? What are you waiting for?

I took another step back, my posture straightening as confidence radiated through me. My movements were deliberate as I removed my jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. I kicked off my loafers, one sailing across the room with careless abandon. After yanking off my socks, I met Isabella’s gaze again—and the smoldering hunger in her eyes nearly stole the air from my lungs.

She stepped forward, her movements fluid and purposeful, and her fingers began working each button of my shirt. Her eyes stayed locked onto mine, unwavering and intense, her lips slightly parted as if she were savoring the moment.

When the last button was undone, she slipped the shirt from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap. Then, with a grace that felt almost ceremonial, she sank to her knees in front of me.

The sight stole my breath. Her eyes flicked toward my inseam with a focused hunger that made every muscle in my body tighten. Her delicate fingers moved to my belt buckle, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she bit down gently on her lower lip—a perfect blend of seduction and focus.

The tension in the room thickened with every passing second as she freed the buckle, her movements deliberate and unhurried. The soft whisper of leather sliding through fabric filled the silence, each sound amplifying the electric anticipation building between us.

Piece by piece, she worked, sliding my pants down to my ankles with slow, lingering touches, her fingers grazing my skin in ways that made my breath catch. Her gaze, locked onto mine, sparkled with raw desire and something deeper—something almost reverent.

When her hands hooked into the waistband of my boxers, she paused just long enough to draw a sharp inhale from me. Her expression softened briefly, her lips curling upward into something like a private smile, before she continued.

The waistband slipped lower, her knuckles brushing against my hips, and then she pushed them all the way down, leaving me utterly bare before her.

Isabella remained kneeling, her knees slightly spread, her palms resting flat against her outer thighs. The posture was entirely submissive, yet there was nothing timid about her demeanor. Her eyes—burning with adoration and raw hunger—stayed locked onto mine, unflinching and impossibly intense.

A jolt of heat surged through me as my manhood twitched in response, and her smirk widened slightly when she noticed.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to.

Every breath, every flicker of her gaze, every subtle shift in her expression spoke volumes—and I was ready to answer.

I reached down to take her hands in mine, pulling her gently to her feet. As she rose, our bare upper bodies pressed together, the warmth of her skin against mine igniting a shiver that ran down my spine. Her breath mingled with mine for a moment before our lips met in a deep, searing kiss, every movement charged with the anticipation of what was to come.

I leaned in and spoke directly into her ear. "The hose stays on," I said, my voice firm yet teasing. "But those panties... I want you out of. Now."

Isabella raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by this sudden shift in tone. With a slow, deliberate smile, she reached down to unfasten the garters, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The thong panties slid down with agonizing slowness, and she turned away from me as she slid them off her waist and down across her firm ass. It revealed more of her flawless figure, the soft glow of the room casting tantalizing shadows across her skin. She held my gaze over her shoulder the entire time, and her movements seemed to be as much for me as for herself.

With her back still to me, she reattached the garters, then turned to face me with her hands held over her still unrevealed treasure, hiding it as she gave me a teasing yet provocative smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. As she stood before me in just the thigh-high hose and garters, her confidence was palpable, radiating from her every movement as the room seemed to hum with the charged tension between us.

I stepped closer, my eyes sweeping over her with open admiration. I placed my hands around her wrists, guiding them away from her folds with a firm touch, but also with a sense of reverence. In the dim light, I could only make out a dark patch of fur down there, but I was confident I would soon be exploring the secrets hidden behind it.

“You’re stunning,” I said, keeping my voice low and commanding. “Absolutely perfect.”

Her lips curved into a smile, her confidence radiating as she reached down. Her hands moved with deliberate precision, sliding along my waist, testing my reaction. Her touch was light at first, almost exploratory, before she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of my cock, her gaze flicking upward to meet mine.

“Nice girth,” she teased, her voice brimming with mischief. “You really are full of surprises.”

My breath caught as she squeezed, a surge of heat rushing through me as my balls tightened in response. I gripped her waist more firmly, my composure wavering under the intensity of her touch. The connection between us felt electric, the charged atmosphere of the room sharpening every sensation, every breath.

She seemed to revel in the effect she had on me, her smirk deepening as her teasing exploration continued. She felt me twitch again in her hand, her smile turning even more seductive in response. Her other hand moved to cup my balls, her grip firm but careful.

“Since you’re in charge,” she murmured, her voice soft but edged with challenge, “what would you have me do next?”

I smiled down at her, confidence surging through me.

“I sure hope you stayed hydrated today,” I said, my voice steady and deliberate. “You’re going to need every bit of strength to get through tonight.”

Before she could respond, I bent down and lifted her effortlessly into my arms again. Her delighted laugh echoed in the room as she wrapped her arms around my neck, her warm breath grazing my ear.

“Oh, darling,” she purred, her voice dripping with mischief, “I’m so wet right now, you might need to hydrate just to keep up.”

Before I could react, she pulled my head in close and bit down gently on my earlobe, holding it between her teeth as she let out a playful growl. The sound was low, teasing, and impossibly sexy, vibrating against my skin and sending a jolt of heat through me.

I carried her over to the couch, sitting down with her in my lap. She straddled my legs, facing me, her movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every moment.

She leaned back just enough for our eyes to meet, her smirk widening as she added softly, “Now, let’s see if you really have the stamina you’re promising.”

Her thighs, still encased in the smooth hose, pressed against mine, sending a jolt of heat through my body. The sensation was electric, the silken fabric gliding under my fingertips as I let my hands travel slowly—so achingly slowly—along her legs. Every brush of my touch was deliberate, savoring the texture, the tension, and the way her muscles twitched slightly under my palms.

“I’m going to show you patience first,” I murmured, my voice low, thick with intent. “Patience... and deliberate scrutiny. Every inch of you will be studied… savored. We’ll get to the stamina when I decide you’re ready for it.”

Isabella let out a small, frustrated gasp, her hands tightening on my shoulders. “You’re insufferable,” she breathed, the words filled with both heat and longing. “You know that, right?”

I grinned, my fingers tracing the curves of her legs as my voice dropped lower. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” I said, my tone laced with playful menace. “The way you flirted, how you knew exactly what to do to get under my skin—this is payback for that. I won’t allow you to have all the fun without some consequences.”

Her breath caught at the memory, and her body stiffened slightly, a mixture of surprise and excitement flickering across her face. She knew I was right. It was clear she was caught between frustration and desire, and I reveled in it.

We lingered on the couch for what felt like hours, her perched on my lap, exposed, in a haze of anticipation. Occasionally, our lips met—soft and inviting, yet restrained. My kisses lingered at the corners of her mouth, along her jawline, down her neck, each one light, teasing, and deliberately unsatisfying.

Isabella’s breaths grew shallower, her chest rising and falling with each one. Her hands explored me in return, but I kept the rhythm slow, unhurried, as though time itself had bent to our will. My fingers continued tracing the curve of her thighs, dipping just under the hem of her garters before gliding back down. The anticipation in her eyes darkened, her smirk faltering as it was replaced with something more raw, more desperate.

Her hips shifted forward, pressing herself more firmly against me, trying to draw me into something deeper, something faster. But I held steady, my hands continuing their slow exploration, my lips hovering just out of reach as I looked into her eyes.

“Ethan…” she whispered, her voice carrying a faint tremor, her eyes locked on mine with a mixture of challenge and plea.

“Patience,” I murmured in response, my voice low and steady as my thumb brushed against the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, just below the garter.

She let out a frustrated breath, her head falling back briefly before her gaze snapped back to mine, her pupils blown wide with desire. Her hands tightened on my shoulders, nails digging into my skin just enough to sting.

“You’re infuriating,” she growled softly, her breath warm against my lips as she leaned closer, her body arching towards me.

I smirked, letting my fingers slide higher along the curve of her thighs, stopping just short of where she so clearly wanted me. “You said you liked that I could control my urges,” I said, my voice a soft rumble against her ear. “Do you want to take that back now?”

Her lips parted slightly, her chest heaving as she let out a breathless laugh, equal parts exasperation and surrender. “You’re cruel,” she muttered, though her smile betrayed her enjoyment of this torturous dance.

Her hips shifted again as she moved them closer to mine. She started a slow grind against me that made my own restraint waver for the briefest moment. My grip on her thighs tightened slightly in response, a wordless warning.

“Every inch of you is mine to explore,” I said softly, my thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles on the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to her core but never quite reaching. “But we do this my way.”

Her head tilted back again, a groan escaping her lips as her hands slid up to cup my face, pulling me into another kiss—this one harder, more desperate, her tongue brushing against mine as if she could wrest control from me that way.

But I didn’t yield.

When our lips finally parted, she was breathless, her eyes hazy with frustration and hunger. Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against my jawline.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I grinned, letting my lips ghost over hers again, my voice firm and steady. “Darling, you have no idea.”

Her thighs quivered under my touch, her body practically vibrating with pent-up tension, her expression a mixture of adoration, impatience, and helpless surrender.

For a moment, she simply stared at me, her lips parted, her breath shallow, before she finally spoke again—soft, raw, and filled with longing.

“Please, Ethan…”

But still, I didn’t give in.

Instead, my hand drifted back down her thigh, my touch feather-light, leaving her with nothing but a lingering ache and a smirk playing at my lips.

“Patience,” I whispered again, my voice firm and commanding.

And in that moment, the anticipation between us became almost unbearable—a living thing, crackling in the air, binding us together as tightly as if we were wrapped in silk threads.

I leaned back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m just trying to find out everything about you, especially what turns you on. Tell me, what’s the most memorable place you’ve ever had sex?” I asked, my tone teasing but genuinely curious.

Her smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. “A quiet beach in Greece,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “It was one of those secluded spots, far from the tourist crowds. The sand was fine and cool beneath us, with the waves lapping softly at the shore. The moon was so bright it cast a silver path across the water, and the stars seemed close enough to touch. We laid out a blanket, and as the breeze brushed over us, it felt like the world had melted away.”