Page 87 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

We’re at a special restaurant that only has a tasting menu. When I saw the price, I nearly had a heart attack, but then I plastered on a smile and said, “Sure, sounds good,” as though eating at fancy restaurants was just a regular occurrence for me. For the past two weeks, I suppose it has been, though none of the restaurants we went to in Toronto were quite likethis.

The food is delicious. I’m not sure what everything is, and the menu was full of words like “emulsion” and “deconstructed” and “foam,” but it’s all wonderful. The servings are small, however, and there are lots of courses to form a complete meal. I’m not quite full, but at this point I would be content to go back to the hotel, have sex, and order room service at midnight.

The other problem is that because we’re at a nice restaurant and not alone in our room, I can’t lick the plates clean. I have to remember my manners. Whereas back at the hotel...

Well, I’d be able to use my tongue as much as I like.

When our second dessert arrives forty-five minutes later, I nearly shriek with delight before I’ve even tasted it. After this, we’re done!

“Excited about something?” Julian murmurs, sliding his hand under the hem of my dress and up my knee.

I try not to squirm as I shake my head.

“Hmm.” He picks up his dessert fork, then puts it down and rests his chin on his hand. “There’s another cocktail bar that sounds quite good. What do you say we go there and have another drink before—”

“No!” I say.

Then I realize he was joking.

He gives me a slow smile, and his gaze travels down my face, my neck, and comes to rest on my cleavage. There’s no way he wants to have another drink before he gets under my dress.

Though I suppose going back to the hotel isn’t strictly necessary. I glance down the hall. There are two individual bathrooms, which are small but sufficient for...

My cheeks burn.

I was actually considering having sex in the bathroom of one of the most expensive restaurants in Montreal.

I look down at my dessert. I have no idea what it is, but the plating is a work of art, and when I have a bite, chocolate and fruit explode in my mouth. It’s so creamy and rich and, God, I’m glad we didn’t leave early. Perhaps the dessert is even good enough to give me an orgasm.

But it would be nowhere near as good as what Julian can do to me.

As soon as he’s paid the bill, I jump up from the table and stumble on my new heels. Luckily, Julian is there to catch me so I don’t make too much of a scene.

We walk back to the hotel—less than ten minutes—in silence, but my entire body is aware of him. I’m impatient as we wait for the elevator, hopping from one foot to the other. Finally, it comes, and we take it to the top floor. Once Julian steps off, he starts walking slowly with an exaggerated swagger.

“Julian!” I squeak. “Stop it.”

Although I’m annoyed because I want him to hurry to the room and have sex with me, I’m also amused. When I first met Julian, I wouldn’t have imagined him being playful like this.

But once we get to the room, he’s all business. He presses me against the door, pins my hands over my head, and takes my mouth in his. His kiss is wild, desperate.

“I can’t believe you made me wait all night,” he says.

He’s already sliding up my skirt and pushing aside my panties. His finger plunges inside me, and I squirm against him. He’s still holding my arms above my head with his other hand.

“I can’t believe it either,” I say on a gasp. “It was a mistake.”

“An awful, awful mistake. Don’t you worry, we’ll make up for it now.”

His mouth is on mine again, his fingers between my legs. I am so wet for him, and I wantmore. I want to feel him inside me; I want to be full of him. I want all I can get.

He tilts his head away from me. His lips are parted, eyes dark and focused intently on mine. This face has become so dear to me in the past two weeks, but our time together is almost over.

I banish that thought from my mind.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he says.

I breathe heavily. “Neither can I.”