Page 20 of His to Claim (The Owner’s Club #2)

Delilah

This dinner was supposed to be harmless business.

Handshake politics and networking fluff about potential clients and expanding verticals and cross-platform integration.

I stopped listening the moment Graham said "You're coming" in a tone that had nothing to do with the way he'd made me come on his desk just hours earlier.

Yet here I sit in a corner booth at some upscale steakhouse with three men in expensive suits who all want to be touched by Graham’s greatness.

The lighting is dim and intimate, candles flickering between wine glasses and leather-bound menus.

None of them realize the only person getting touched tonight is me.

Graham made sure I ended up beside him—not across the table or safely diagonal but right next to him where his thigh brushes mine with every shift.

The booth forces us close together, intimate despite the business setting.

Every time he leans forward to charm the table with whatever version of himself he's decided to wear tonight, I catch his cologne mixed with something darker and more dangerous.

“Sophia’s been instrumental in our digital strategy," he lies smoothly when Rob-from-Chicago asks about our team structure. He’s crafted an entire persona for me on a whim, and I guess I’m just expected to roll with it.

His hand finds my knee under the table as he speaks.

"She has excellent instincts for what our clients want. "

I should have recognized the warning in his eyes when we took our seats. That look was a promise and a threat wrapped in his most dangerous smile.

"That's wonderful," says Mark, the balding CFO with wire-rimmed glasses. "It's so important to have fresh perspectives on the team. What's your background, Sophia?”

"Digital marketing and client relations," I lie smoothly, hyper-aware of Graham's thumb tracing small circles on my knee. "I specialize in understanding consumer psychology and building trust through authentic engagement."

"Fascinating," Rob chimes in. "And how do you measure authenticity in digital spaces? It seems like such a nebulous concept."

Graham's hand slides higher up my thigh while I try to formulate an answer. I can already tell that this is his payback for the little stunt I pulled in his office earlier today. Not like he didn’t benefit heavily from it. I guess we both did.

“It comes down to consistency between brand messaging and actual service delivery. When there's alignment, consumers respond positively to?—"

His fingers hook the edge of my panties and my breath catches mid-sentence.

"To what?" asks the third man, Conor, leaning forward with interest.

"To transparent communication," I finish, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Trust is built through repeated positive interactions."

"Exactly right," Graham says, his fingers teasing the lace barrier between him and what he wants. “Sophia understands that relationships are built on consistent, satisfying experiences."

The waiter appears to refill our wine glasses. I take a grateful sip of the rich cabernet, hoping the alcohol will steady my nerves. It doesn't help when Graham's hand dips lower between my legs.

"Your quarterly growth numbers are impressive," Mark says, consulting his phone. "What's driving the surge in the hospitality sector?"

“Positioning,” Graham responds without missing a beat. “Definitely proper market positioning.” Two fingers slide through slick heat so slowly that it makes me dig my nails into the leather bench. "We've identified underserved demographics and created targeted solutions."

When I clench my thighs to trap him there, it only makes his smile widen with satisfaction. He's planning to make me come right here in front of everyone. The absolute bastard.

"Can you give us specifics about those demographics?" Conor asks.

Graham's fingers curve exactly right and find a rhythm designed to destroy what's left of my composure. "High-income professionals seeking premium experiences. They value discretion, quality, and personalized service."

"And how do you deliver that personalized touch at scale?" Rob wants to know.

"Attention to detail," Graham says, his thumb finding my clit with devastating precision. "Understanding exactly what each client needs and delivering it flawlessly."

When I try to shift away from his relentless touch, his free hand clamps down on my knee under the table. The unspoken command couldn't be clearer: don't move.

“Sophia, what's your take on customer retention in luxury markets?" Mark asks, turning his attention to me.

I force my expression to stay neutral even as pressure builds between my legs. "Luxury consumers expect—" I pause as Graham's fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. "They expect consistent excellence. One disappointing experience can undo years of brand loyalty."

"That's the challenge, isn't it?" Conor muses. "Maintaining those standards across multiple touchpoints."

"Absolutely," I manage, my voice slightly breathless. Graham's movements have found a relentless rhythm that's making my thighs shake under the table. "Quality control becomes paramount when—when you're dealing with discerning clientele."

"The key is having the right team," Graham adds smoothly. His fingers curl inside me in a way that forces me to close my eyes as stars explode behind my eyelids. "People who understand the importance of delivering satisfaction every single time."

The waiter returns with our entrées—perfectly grilled steaks and seasonal vegetables arranged with artistic precision. The rich aroma should be appealing, but I can barely focus on anything except the way Graham is systematically destroying my composure.

"This looks incredible," Rob says, cutting into his ribeye. "You always know the best places, Graham."

"I believe in sampling everything a city has to offer," Graham replies, his thumb pressing firm circles that make my mouth part around a gasp I swallow and disguise as appreciation for the food.

“Sophia, you've barely touched your salmon," Graham observes with false concern.

"It's beautiful," I say, picking up my fork with trembling fingers. "I was just... savoring the presentation."

Graham's fingers don't stop their relentless motion. If anything, they intensify, building pressure until my thighs start shaking and I nearly bite through my tongue to keep from crying out.

"Are you feeling alright?" Conor asks. "You look a bit flushed."

"Just warm in here," I lie, taking another sip of wine. The orgasm hits me like lightning, rolling through my body in waves while I fight to keep my expression neutral. Graham's thumb circles my clit through the aftershocks until I'm nearly seeing stars.

"Maybe we should ask them to adjust the temperature," Rob suggests helpfully.

"I'm fine now," I breathe, amazed that my voice works at all.

Graham withdraws his hand so casually I want to slap him. Instead I smile politely and try to focus on cutting my salmon with steady hands.

"Coffee for anyone?" the waiter offers as he clears our dinner plates.

"I think we'll skip straight to dessert," Graham says with perfect composure. "What do you recommend?"

"Our chocolate torte is exceptional tonight," the waiter suggests. "Rich Belgian chocolate with espresso cream and gold leaf."

"Perfect. One to share for the table."

Dessert arrives moments later—something decadent and artistic drizzled with dark chocolate sauce. The waiter places a piece onto Graham’s plate. But instead of using a spoon like a normal person, Graham swipes at the whipped cream on top with the same fingers that were just buried inside me.

Then while everyone at the table watches, he slowly licks his fingers clean. Like he's savoring every drop.

"Incredible," he says with perfect sincerity. "The layers of flavor are extraordinary. Sweet, rich, with just a hint of something... intoxicating."

I nearly choke on my wine.

"You have to try this, Sophia,” he continues, loading his spoon with chocolate and cream. "Open."

The command is quiet but unmistakable. I part my lips and he feeds me the dessert, his eyes never leaving mine. The chocolate is rich and dark, but all I can taste is the danger in his smile.

"What do you think?" Rob asks. "Good recommendation?"

"Absolutely perfect," I manage. "Sweet with just the right amount of... intensity."

Graham leans closer until his mouth brushes my ear. His whisper sends shivers down my spine even as he maintains perfect conversation with our dining companions.

"You'll taste even better during round two."