I took his finger in my mouth and bit it gently then sucked hard.
A hiss escaped him and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again the black of his pupils had eclipsed the sea-blue irises.
I shivered, releasing his finger.
He smiled: a slow, sexy, seductive twist of his lips. I wanted to run my tongue over those lips, feeling their softness, their fullness, their wetness when he parted them. I imagined letting my tongue taste every inch of his firm, taut body, drinking in his scent and tasting the salt on his skin.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I’m sure mine revealed each and every thought. He licked his lips and swallowed.
The waiter broke the spell by discreetly placing our dishes in front of us and ignoring our heated gaze. Perhaps it was something he saw all the time although if he did, I couldn’t imagine why the restaurant hadn’t gone up in flames.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair and I took a deep breath.
“Is it always like this?” he said, suddenly looking lost and vulnerable.
I knew what he was asking me and I didn’t have an answer. I shook my head. “Not for me… not until now, until you.”
What did I know of the kind of love that made it hard to breathe, where your body ached day and night for that connection with another, physically, mentally, spiritually? It was utterly new and terrifying and exhausting and wonderful. I was dazzled by the light that spilled from him into the shadow of my previous existence. He eclipsed everything, erased everything that had gone before. I was reborn – not just to him, but to myself. And I was ready for the adventure.
I took a deep breath and pointed with my chin towards his food.
“Eat: you’ll need your energy.”
Without breaking eye contact, he picked up his fork and lifted some pasta, holding it out towards me. “Want to taste it?”
I took the food in my mouth and felt the creamy sauce drip down my chin. Sebastian grinned and cleaned up the drip with his finger, putting it into his own mouth.
The rest of the meal went the same way, tasting each other’s food, turning ourselves on, stoking the flames, with each new sensory assault. I wanted to crawl over the white tablecloth, tear off his shirt and take him where he sat. I imagined running my hands through his hair and thrusting my tongue into his mouth, clenching on his body when it was inside mine. I licked my lips.
He threw down his fork suddenly and rubbed his hands over his face.
“I can’t concentrate on eating when you look at me like that!” he complained.
“Like what?” I said, feigning an innocence I most definitely wasn’t feeling.
“Like that!”
Tauntingly, I pushed my fork into the couscous and carefully lifted it to my mouth, chewing with insolent slowness, as I kept my eyes on his face. Then I licked my lips and sucked the fork clean.
He made a sound deep within his throat that was halfway between a moan and a growl and my eyes opened wide.
“Caro, I mean it! If you do that again…”
His warning amused and aroused me. I wanted to know his limits – and I was curious about mine.
Again, I pushed my fork into the couscous; again I lifted it to my mouth and slowly sucked the fork clean, a challenging look on my face.
He slammed his chair backwards, startling the waiter and the elderly couple who were sitting across the room from us drinking their after dinner Sambuca. He strode around the table and pinned me to the chair, one hand on each side of my seat and kissed me roughly, his frustration and ardor all poured into that one, spellbinding moment.
My hands reached up to his chest and fastened into his T-shirt. I didn’t know if I was pulling him towards me or pushing him away. My whole body was flushed and heated.
I was dimly aware that the waiter was hovering over us and Sebastian stood up reluctantly.
“Ah, sir,” the poor man said nervously, “we have other patrons, sir… ah…”
“Wrap the food to go,” Sebastian ordered.