Page 12 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter ten

So Fucking Perfect

Rae

Manhattan shimmered around us, neon and glass blurring into a dreamscape of movement and light.

The Phantom journeyed through the streets, floating effortlessly over the pavement.

I glanced over my shoulder, curiosity tugging at me. Behind us, Fabien’s driver was in a black Bentley Continental following us at a respectable distance.

I turned back to Fabien, only to find him watching me like I was the most fascinating thing in this city of wonders. His gaze was a weight, a touch without contact, something that made my breath shallow and my skin warm.

Dalvin, ever the professional, had lowered the jazz to a whisper, letting the night itself fill the space between us.

And all I could think was— am I really doing this?

My clutch buzzed against my thigh, dragging me out of the haze.

I wanted to ignore it, but I already knew—if I didn’t confirm to Laila that I was still breathing, she’d have the entire NYPD scouring the city for my lifeless body.

I sighed and held up a finger to Fabien, mouthing one sec. He arched a brow but nodded, amused.

I pulled out my phone, and my thumbs flew over the screen.

Me: I’m fine. The dinner was amazing. I met a guy. He’s in the car with me now. We’re going to the Met.

Laila’s response came instantly.

Laila: ?????????????? BITCH!!

Me: Girl. . .

Laila: TELL ME EVERYTHING.

Me: We’re together. I can’t.

Laila: SEND ME A PIC!!!

I smothered a laugh, shaking my head.

Me: I gotta go, but I love you so much. Hope you had a great night.

Another buzz came through, but I ignored it, slipping my phone back into my clutch.

When I leaned back, I found myself pulled into warmth—Fabien’s arm, draped behind me, his fingers grazing my shoulder, gathering me into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh.” I blinked.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.” I smirked. “But, I must admit that you are so smooth.”

He tilted his head, studying me with a lazy sort of appreciation. “Not smooth enough.”

“Oh?” I arched a brow. “Why do you say that?”

“Your clothes are still on.”

My nipples stiffened. “Mmm.”

His grip on my shoulder tightened slightly. “Don’t make that noise.”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched. “Because I’ve been battling with not kissing you.”

I exhaled sharply, the entire car shrinking down to just us . “That’s a battle you’re definitely going to lose tonight.”

A dark, primal sound left his throat—a grunt, a growl, something deep, male, and hungry .

And then he was on me.

His soft mouth crushed against mine, heat, dominance, and need pouring into the kiss like he had been holding it back for hours, days, lifetimes. His tongue slid into my mouth, stroking, claiming, and I moaned into him, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing more .

Holy fuck!!

Not even in my wildest scenarios as an intimacy coordinator could I have dreamed up something this HOT.

The Phantom’s leather seat molded beneath me as I shifted, pressing into him, the swell of my breasts molding against his solid chest.

He took that arm away from the backseat and he went to town.

First of all, not every man could kiss.

Some treated it like a messy obligation—too wet, too fast, too careless, as if the goal were just to get through it rather than savor it.

Others were timid, hesitant, all nerves and uncertainty, as if they were waiting for direction instead of leading with intention.

But Fabien?

Good God!!

Fabien kissed like he had studied the art of seduction in some secret, elite academy.

Like he had memorized every detail of a woman’s pleasure and then refined it with meticulous precision.

He kissed like a man who didn’t just enjoy it—he worshipped it, pouring erotic heat into every slow, silky stroke of his tongue and every firm yet teasing press of his lips.

And God help me, I wanted to give him a Stellar star for that damn kiss because it was a five-course, fine-dining experience of a kiss.

The kind that lingered, that made you sit back afterward—dazed and reeling—already craving more before you’d even fully processed what had just happened.

He played with pressure, teasing one second, deepening the next, making my body arch toward him instinctively.

Mindlessly.

I felt weightless and fevered all at once, like I was dissolving into the heat of him.

Damn it.

I had gone years— years —without sex, and this was the man I decided to finally let touch me?

I was DOOMED!!!

Groaning, he moved his hands—one cupping my face, the other sliding down, grazing my throat, skimming lower. His fingertips traced the tops of my breasts, featherlight, a tease.

And finally, he lifted his mouth from mine, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath.

That sexy voice left his lips. “I want to ask you a very dirty question.”

My pulse skittered. “Please.”

“What cup size are these?” He gestured to my breasts. “DD. Right?”

A wicked laugh slipped from me. “Baby. . .these are well out of the D section.”

His eyes darkened, his grip on me tightening. “Mmmm.”

“These are H cups.”

A reverent curse left him. “Dear God. I have now realized that I love the letter H.”

“Oh really?” I teased, licking my lips.

His gaze tracked the movement of my tongue. Dirty lust flared in his eyes. “So many lovely things start with H.”

“Like?”

His fingers brushed the underside of my breast. His lips hovered just above mine as he whispered, “Heat. Hunger. Horny hands.”

His palm flattened over my chest, fingers splaying over lace. “ Heaven. ”

A shiver ran through me, but before I could react, he caught my lip between his teeth, a sharp tug before he plunged his tongue back in, kissing me so thoroughly, so devastatingly, that I forgot how to breathe.

Shit. I could die right here.

The temperature in the Phantom soared and I doubted that Dalvin had raised the heat.

It was all Fabien.

His kisses trailed lower, his mouth dragging along my jaw, my neck, down. . .

“Mmmm.” I moaned, unable to help myself.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the seat.

Hell yes. Kiss me everywhere.

Another pleasureful sigh slipped from me just as his lips ghosted over the tops of my breasts.

Oh God yes.

Then. . .

The car jerked a little.

I opened my eyes and my gaze went to the rearview mirror—where Dalvin’s wide gaze locked with mine.

Oh. My. God.

Dalvin was watching us.

Fabien’s mouth was still on my neck, his lips dragging lower, slow and devastating, like he had all the time in the world to devour me.

My body ached.

And God—where I wanted him to go next was right to my breasts.

And then there was Dalvin.

His wide gaze heating up the rearview mirror, his pupils blown with horniness, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Oh my God.

A dark, forbidden thrill curled inside me.

Dalvin wasn’t supposed to be watching. He was supposed to be focused on the road, on getting us safely to our destination.

But instead. . .he was captivated.

Still, he probably thought I didn’t notice. Maybe he even thought he was being discreet.

But I saw the way his grip tightened on the wheel, the way he shifted in his seat like his pants were getting too tight.

And that knowledge sent a wild pulse of arousal through me.

Of course, Fabien was completely unaware of the extra set of eyes on us.

And for the first time in a long time, I held the power in the space.

I was the one making a man fall apart behind the wheel.

I was the one being devoured by another man in the backseat.

And I was the one who could decide just how far this moment would go with the both of them.

A slow, wicked smile curled my lips. “Mmm.”

If Dalvin wanted to watch. . .then let him watch.

“Fabien.” My voice was barely a whisper as I threaded my fingers into his hair.

He hummed against my throat, distracted, caught up in the taste of me.

I leaned down, brushing my lips over the shell of his ear, and whispered, “Suck on my nipples.”

The sound that left him was brutally primal. A low, rough groan that vibrated through my entire body, sending liquid fire between my thighs.

His grip on me tightened, his breath a heavy drag against my skin. “You’re killing me, chérie .”

But he didn’t hesitate.

His fingers dipped to the neckline of my gown, tugging it down with agonizing slowness, revealing the sinful hot pink lace beneath.

Fabien groaned.

Dalvin parted his lips in hunger.

Fuck.

And then—Fabien pulled my lace cup down, just enough to expose the stiff peak of my nipple.

The car swerved a little again, telling me that Dalvin could see that stiff nipple too.

Oh God my pussy is getting so wet.

But all my attention remained on Fabien as he damn near drooled over my nipple.

“ Tu es parfaite. ” A sharp inhale left him as he took me in, his hands smoothing over my full curves, worshipfully.

I shivered. “What does that mean?”

“You are perfect.”

All my life, I had wanted a man to look at me like this.

To touch me like this and see me as perfect just the way I was.

Not like I was something to tolerate or hide, not like my body was a problem to be solved or a compromise to be made.

But like I was something to be devoured .

And here he was.

Fabien.

A man I had only just met, yet who looked at me like he had been searching for me for years. Like he had finally found what he never even knew he was missing.

His words echoed in my mind, sinking deep into places I had long protected.

"Tu es parfaite."

A shiver ran through me, and suddenly, it wasn’t just arousal I was feeling—it was something deeper, something more profound.

For so many years, I had fought against the voice in my head that told me otherwise.

That whispered cruel, insidious lies.

That told me I had to shrink, to mold myself into something smaller, something more palatable, something less in order to be worthy of love.

But that voice was silent now.

Drowned out by the weight of Fabien’s touch, the hunger in his gaze, the raw conviction in his voice.

I was perfect .

I was worthy .

I was deserving .