Primal Pursuit

Scooping up some of the chocolate dessert with a little ice cream, he waits until I take a sip of the bittersweet, herbal tasting cocktail, and then he feeds me a bite.

Orgasmic.

“Good,” he mutters, moving me on his cock. “So fucking good.”

He takes a bite, too, then lets me work us both.

Davian touches my cheek with the back of his hand, leaning his head to the side as he stares at me. “That fuck tried to make a mess of your face.”

He offers me another mouthful of decadent vanilla ice cream. I accept, and he puts the dessert on the seat next to him as I move, rubbing his cock against all those delicious points inside me that send blooming bursts of pleasure.

“But,” he continues, “you know what I like?”

“Like?”

A brief smile shows. “Like is the wrong word. He hurt you, bruised you, made you bleed, but none of it mars your beauty. You’re as beautiful now as you were the night you first stepped into Myth.”

“With a busted lip and black eye?”

“I don’t see that. I see a woman who went to battle and won. And that’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

My heart tightens and swells at the same time, his words hitting deep and hard. Too hard.

“You’re still standing, Rabbit. You’re still ready to fight…Oh, fuck me, you’re so tight, Rabbit. Jesus.”

I almost spill my drink but down it, and he takes the glass, hands on my hips now, and he brushes his lips against mine. “You drew blood tonight.”

“How do you?—”

“Your knuckles.” He lifts a hand to the back of my head and kisses me hard and rough and wild, biting my bottom lip as he inches back. “And I fucking love it. I live for it.” His fingers tighten on my hips, and he stabs deeper into me a single time. “And so do you.”

Oh, God.

“You and me, we’re creatures of violence. Blood. Gore. We both fucking need it. And you, you also fucking love it.”

His words set off my orgasm. It rips through me, a thing of savage force, holding the truth in his words about just how much I fucking love it.

He snakes an arm around and up my back, grabbing my shoulder as he pushes up into me with a jerk, pullingme down onto him as he comes, too. The waves pulsate out. And I’d be convulsing if he didn’t have me in his grip.

He keeps me there, stays inside me as I pulse on him with shimmering aftershocks that curl my toes. His cock’s still jerking, and he picks up the dessert and continues to feed me and himself.

There’s a little blood on the spoon from where his hard kiss made my lip bleed again, and, holding my gaze, he licks it off, like it’s his very own, bespoke dessert.

The waiter reappears.

“Bourbon and another Negroni,” Davian says.

Gently, he lets me slide off him, and he tucks himself away as I right my dress.

We stay for a little while longer while he nurses that bourbon, and I polish off the wine.

I’m more than tipsy when we leave, and he gets more dessert to take home, insisting on paying for it separate from the check of our meal.

I think I half pass out on the way home, and he helps me into my apartment. We don’t speak as he strips me of the dress and helps me get into a t-shirt and loose baby doll PJ bottoms.

He doesn’t take off his tie or his jacket. But he plumps a pillow on the sofa and makes me lie down.

“Tonight feels like it was date.” I point accusingly at him.