His eyes stayed on me as he drank his champagne. “I hope you like filet mignon. I asked for it rare—like you.”
The breathy way he said “rare” led me to take another, this time, bigger gulp of my champagne. The truth was, I did like my steaks that way.
He lifted the silver dome. A plate with a small, succulent steak, buttered peas, and potatoes au gratin assaulted my senses. It all looked and smelled divine.
He slid back into his chair and scooted it up to the table. His clean, fresh scent mixed with the mouthwatering aroma of the food.
“Eat!” he ordered.
“What about you?” I asked after placing my napkin on my lap.
“My dish has to simmer. Besides, I want to watch you eat. I’ll enjoy it.”
Anxiously, I cut into the tender steak and put a forkful of pink meat to my mouth.
His eyes never left me. “Ah, you cut your meat and eat the European way,” he mused. “I find that very sexy.”
I choked. Madame Paulette had taught me this way of eating. It was one of her many life lessons. “Eating like a European will give you class and mystery,” she had told me.
“Swallow!” he ordered.
Nervously, as he watched, I gulped down the first morsel of the meat. Getting it past the big lump in my throat wasn’t easy.
I continued to eat my dinner under his intense, watchful gaze. As delicious as the meal was, I was losing my appetite with each bite. In fact, my gut was cramping, and a tingling between my legs was distracting me. Why did he affect me this way?
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.
A saucy smile curled on his lips. “I’m getting rather hungry and think my meal might be nicely heated up now.” Slowly, he lifted the silver dome covering his entrée.
My eyes practically popped out of their sockets. Artfully displayed on the platter were Rihanna’s diamond-studded brassiere and thong.
“Gloria, are you done with your dinner?”
Speechless, I just nodded. I couldn’t eat a bite more even if I tried.
“Good. Then stand up.”
As if under a hypnotic spell, I did as he asked.
He rose to his feet and came around the dining cart. In one swift, smooth move, he swept down the back zipper of my dress, swooped it over my head, and tossed it to the floor.
Quivering, I stood semi-naked in front of him, clad only in my lacy gray lingerie and silk stockings. And my heels.
His lustful eyes roved up and down my body. I suddenly became very conscious of the scar above my heart that peeked out from my bra, but to my relief, he ignored it.
“I like the way you match your undergarments to what you’re wearing.”
Madame Paulette had ingrained that in me. In a state of semi-shock, I mumbled a throwaway thanks.
He continued to study me. “You have such a sexy body. Custom-made for your lingerie line. But it’s such a shame you don’t enjoy what you sell. Let me show you how.”
My body, indeed curvaceous, was a trembling mess. Words stayed trapped in my throat while I tried to steady myself on my feet.
“Relax, Gloria. Trust me.” He shoved the dining cart out of the way. There was nothing standing between the two of us except a storm of electricity.
He squatted halfway to the floor and clutched my thighs with his warm, manly hands. With his, he snapped opened each garter. I stood motionless as he slid my silk stockings down my long legs. His hands brushed against my skin, sending goose bumps all over me. I anchored my palms on his broad shoulders as he removed my shoes and stockings. The garter and my skimpy lace bikinis were the next to hit the floor. He slipped the shoes back on my feet and then stood up and removed my bra. My scar in full view, my body didn’t move a muscle. A contemplative smile spread across his face as he gazed at me.
“Ah, Gloria, you are so, so, beautiful.” He reached for the diamond-studded undergarments and handed them to me. Please put these on.”
What?
“Don’ t worry. I had them thoroughly cleaned. They’re like brand new.”
It wasn’t Rihanna’s crotch I was worried about. It was mine. I was on fire.
“Put the thong on first. I want to stare at those exquisite tits for as long as I can.”
My nerves on edge, I bent over and slipped each high-heeled foot into the leg openings of the thong and then pulled it up until the patch of diamonds covered my patch of gold. The diamonds formed a heart—the iconic signature of Gloria’s Secret. All our merchandise bore the insignia heart somewhere. There was even a heart instead of a dot over the “i” in the Gloria’s Secret logo.
He examined me. His eyes seared my flesh.
I felt light-headed. The heat of his gaze mixed with the warmth of the buttery leather. He was making me melt. Hot juices gathered between my thighs.
He smiled. “Perfection. Now, the bra.”