Page 5 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter three

Tunnel of Desire

Rae

Cosmo rang the bell again, and a low mechanical hum vibrated through the space.

Next, the black wall behind him began to rise, inch by inch, unveiling a tunnel bathed in a deep, shimmering red light. It wasn’t just red—it was liquid, alive, moving like molten rubies in the air.

The glow pulsed, stretching along the length of the passage.

Magical.

A ripple of excitement swept through the guests. Murmurs of anticipation, soft gasps of delight. A woman giggled in that giddy, oh-my-God-this-is-about-to-be-an-experience kind of way.

This place wasn’t just about luxury—it was about alchemy in the truest sense.

Transformation.

“Follow me, please.” Cosmo turned around and strolled into the shimmering tunnel.

One by one, the couples followed, stepping into the tunnel.

I took a slow breath and prepared to follow.

But then. . .I realized Mr. Lyon hadn’t moved.

What is he waiting for?

He stood there, unbothered, unrushed, watching the others disappear ahead.

I eyed him.

He turned and met my gaze. Then, ever so casually, he extended a hand toward the glowing entrance. "After you.”

That damn voice made my pussy jump again.

I swallowed. "Thank you."

Girl, you need to calm down.

I stepped forward, conscious of my gown gliding along my skin and the click of my heels against the glossy floor.

And then—oh.

I passed close enough to him that I caught the scent of his cologne. Something expensive, dark, and devastatingly male.

Mmmm. I love a good-smelling man.

His cologne wasn’t just a scent.

It was a damned experience all by itself. Warm spice and smoked woods, a soft hum of bergamot with a deeper earthy note that wrapped around my senses like a lover’s hands on my waist.

I wouldn’t have minded just standing next to him and inhaling his scent for the rest of the night.

Focus, girl. You are on a date with YOURSELF and you’re over there checking on someone else. So naughty.

Chuckling, I entered the tunnel and took it all in.

The walls weren’t solid—they shimmered, moved, pulsed. As if made of light itself.

Tiny, suspended particles of reddish gold dust floated around us, catching in my kinky curls and kissing my bare arms.

Music rose from nowhere and everywhere, a sensual mix of jazz and deep, throbbing bass.

Alright now.

The music made me want to dance, but I kept it chill and simply walked forward. That was when I caught the sound of Mr. Lyon keeping a smooth pace behind me.

He must have been barely three feet away.

Next. . .I felt it again.

His gaze.

Not just on me.

But, directly on my ass.

Oh. Really, Mr. Lyon?

Every woman with a big ass had this super power—a built-in, factory-installed feature, like a sixth sense.

And currently, every single sensor in my ass was going off.

Mr. Lyon wasn’t just looking.

He was locked onto my ass.

Not just noticing.

It was a he-would-sell-his-soul-to-bite-my-ass kind of stare.

It was a weighted presence, like a hand hovering just above my skin.

Like an invisible grip on my curves.

Like he was measuring.

Memorizing.

Devouring.

Worshipping.

And my ass?

My ass had the nerve to love the attention.

I kept walking, trying to act completely unfazed, but inside?

Inside, I was absolutely giddy.

Next, a low, rough, guttural sound came from deep in his chest.

Oh.

A sound a man makes when he wants something.

Badly.

I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

Well. . .let’s have some fun.

I adjusted my posture, shoulders back, spine straight, chin up, and decided—fuck it. If he was going to stare at my ass like it was a five-course meal, then I was going to give him a damn show.

I put just a little more sway into my hips.

Not much.

Just enough to create a sinful jiggle.

Another dark groan left him, so low and guttural I nearly stumbled.

Will I need to call the police on this man?

The thought made me want to laugh, but I held it in, loving this feeling of being wanted.

No.

Not just wanted.

Desired.

And then, boldly, deliberately, I reminded myself of the most important thing before any self-doubt could rise.

I am worthy. I am deserving.

Within this tunnel, heat lingered in the air—not stifling, but intoxicating.

Every step I took made the floor glow slightly beneath my feet, fading as I moved forward, as if the tunnel were responding to me.

And through it all—I still felt him.

His presence right behind me as well as the weight of his gaze.

The knowing that if I slowed down, even slightly, he’d be right there.

Too close.

Too much.

Too overwhelming.

And I fucking LOVED it.

I swallowed, trying to steady my breath. But my skin felt warm, my heart wouldn’t settle, my body was so hyper-aware of his presence it was maddening.

Then, his sexy voice curled through the air, low and direct, cutting through the haze of heat like a blade of silk. "I must confess something."

I glanced at him over my shoulder, heat still thrumming through me. "Yes?"

Then, just like that, he got beside me, and it was so damn smooth.

So fluid.

He slipped his gaze down my curvy body, and that French accent coated his words. "I was waiting for your foolish date to arrive."

I quirked my brows. "Foolish?"

His green eyes flickered with something unreadable. "What man would let someone as gorgeous as you walk into any space by herself? Surely he would know that a man like me would be waiting on the side, waiting to. . ."

His voice dipped with wickedness.

I swallowed.

His gaze darkened. "And I was waiting."

My breath caught.

He raised a brow. "So now. . .I imagine that your boyfriend is a surgeon of some sorts with a career-heightening schedule for tonight."

A surprised chuckle escaped me. "What?"

He studied me. "Is that why your boyfriend didn’t show?”

“No.”

“Not a surgeon?”

“Absolutely not.”

"Then, a highly decorated detective who just minutes before leaving for dinner, just found a pertinent clue for a case involving a deadly serial killer. He wanted to come, but he had to sacrifice this moment for the greater good."

I laughed—loud, unrestrained.

A couple ahead of us glanced over their shoulders.

I quieted, turned toward him, and whispered. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

He actually parted his lips in shock.

Then, he gave me a slow blink. The kind of blink that looked like a system reboot of some sorts.

His voice came out quieter, but somehow heavier. "No boyfriend?”

“None.” I shrugged. "Tonight. . .I am taking myself out on a date."

A slow smirk spread across his lips. "Aww."

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"How very American."

I scoffed. "Are you mocking America?"

"Unfortunately, mocking America is a fun hobby of mine."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

He tilted his head slightly. "Taking yourself out?"

"Yes."

"That’s very nice." A beat passed. Then, a shift in his tone happened, and so goddamn smoothly he licked his lips and said, "However, tonight, I propose a plan."

"O-kay?"

"Take yourself out another time."

I blinked.

He hit me with a look that should have been illegal. Low-lidded, heavy with erotic promise look.

"Tonight," he whispered, "spend this exquisite dinner with me."

And the way he said it. . .it didn’t sound like he would take any answer but yes.

Oh my.

I had been jokingly talking about kidnapping this man in my head earlier, but right now? He looked to be the true one about that kidnapping life.

A soft sliding noise sounded behind me.

I turned, heart skipping, and realized that the entrance behind us had sealed shut.

The only way was forward.

I swallowed, pulse unsteady, and turned back. . .only to find him watching me again.

Not just watching.

Lustfully staring.

And his gaze?

Dead-set on my voluptuous breasts.

I stumbled slightly, turned away, and fixed myself.

Girl. . .

But I felt him step closer.

Subtle.

Deliberate.

His presence too big, too strong, too much.

And I loved it.

Oh fuck. Should I spend this night with him?