Primal Pursuit

“Did I order two?”

The waiter steps back. “No sir.”

And I almost giggle as he leaves. Fucking Davian lording it over the waiter like his cock isn’t out.

“Up.”

I look at Davian with a questioning frown.

“On my cock, Rabbit. Now. We’re going to fuck, or rather, you’re going to fuck me real slow.”

I swallow. Hard.

“Come here, sweet rabbit.”

“I…”

He draws me in and kisses me in a slow, bone meltingkiss, and I’m utterly gone, swooning into him, tongue seeking more of the wet slide of his. He tastes like bad decisions and hot, wicked sex. He tastes like wine and lamb and rabbit and bourbon. He tastes like addiction itself.

I lean into the kiss. He’s playing me, teasing me. I can feel it in the lazy control of the kiss, and I want more. I try to demand more, but he just slides a hand low on my back, dipping into the lowest part of the dress, and his fingers play over my tattoo.

He lifts his head and whispers against my lips, “Are you scared?”

“There are people.” I try to kiss him again, but he keeps that miniscule distance between us.

“So? Should I call you chicken instead of rabbit?”

I glare. “Should I feed you your cock, right before I kill you?” There’s no knife on the table. Dammit.

He grins and bites my cut bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and sinking his teeth in, hard.

The jolt bolts straight to my clit.

“It’d be a waste of a fine erection.”

“True,” I whisper. “I’ll kill you after.”

“A better plan.”

He kisses me again, moving his hand back up as I slide on his lap, my dress pooling around us as he strokes over my tattoo he put there.

“Hmm. You’re hot and soaked against my cock. Fuck me with that dirty little cunt, Rabbit.”

He puts his other hand between us and holds up his cock for me as I lift and sink down, shuddering as I hit bottom.

He sucks air through his teeth, the sound sending a shockwave up my spine.

“Rock, Poppy, really fucking slow.”

I do, and he nuzzles my throat, his tongue darting out and brushing my skin every now and then.

The waiter arrives. “Dessert and?—”

“Table. Now fuck off.” Davian barely lifts his head.

I know I should be humiliated. The waiter has to know what we’re doing. But I’m not. Davian’s stretching me out, deep inside, and it’s so good, so wicked, so filthy, so right that I could come just from the thought of it. But he’s not letting me move too much. He’s content to keep up this slow undulation that’s a tease as much as it is pleasure.

He reaches around and hands me my drink, slides the dessert closer, then leans back, letting me ride him in his specific perimeters.