Primal Pursuit

But the real takeaway from all the women I’ve spoken to? He likes the chase. But he doesn’t like the Dommes. He wants something else. The dark side, the challenge, a walk on the edge of pain and violence and death and untold pleasure. He wants someone who both plays and is real.

Maybe my struggle with him gives him that.

I want him. I want him dead.

It’s that simple.

That complicated.

That dangerous.

Problem is, what if I thrive on this as well?

Something flutters by me.

“Oops, I fucking dropped the napkin. Be a good rabbit and pick it up.” He guides my chin up so I look at him. “And be a good girl, Poppy. Take your time.”

“I’m not fucking blowing you here.”

His smile spreads wide, low and dirty. “I’m not asking you to blow me. I’m asking you to lick me and suck me.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course there is. You’re going to keep me nice and erect, not get me off.”

Cheeks burning, I bend down and I’m eye to eye with his cock. It’s beautiful. Thick, a slight curve, perfect fat mushroom head, and I lick up along the veins that pulse on his shaft. His taste turns the switch in me from a simmer to a boil. My arousal pools and pussy starts that sweet ache that buzzes up to my clit.

I put my mouth on his shaft and lick, moving my lips and tongue up his length, giving him the slightest scrape of teeth.

Something thumps on the table, and I smile.

I move up to the head, licking along the underside. A utensil clatters against porcelain as I suck up the precum and close over him. I want to sink down, I want to take him all the way in and out. I’m desperate for it. But he gives my hair a slight tug as I start to head that way, so I go back to sucking and licking the head, and then his shaft.

His cock twitches, and I move down to the root, where I suck him, right at the place he juts out. And then I do it all over again.

Davian pulls me up. “Enough.”

I wipe the corners of my mouth, soaking up my tiny victory before wrapping my fingers around his cock again.

He continues to feed me the rest of my dinner in silence while I slowly stroke him up and down. I watch as he pours himself a glass of wine after topping up mine, and I find myself wanting to know what he’s thinking. But I don’t stop the pull and massage and masturbation session on him. He’s on the edge, but a lazy one. It’s a place he clearly enjoys, but beneath my work, his mind is elsewhere.

Davian is usually laser focused on me and sex andplaying—the consummate hunter who always watches and stalks his prey, even when he has me in his grasp, like now. So for him to sit back and let me do this, how I want, in those marked perimeters he set, tells me his mind is on something else.

I almost ask.

Almost.

“Rabbit?”

“Yes?” I haven’t decided if I like or hate being called rabbit.

But it doesn’t irk me. Maybe I like it.

He picks up my hand, removing it from his cock. And he kisses the back of it. “Do you want dessert?”

The busboy clears the table, leaving the wine, and the waiter comes over with dessert menus. “Negroni for the lady, and the Peruvian dark chocolate tart with the double vanilla bean crème anglaise ice cream.”

“To share?”