We stepped outside and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe he’d rented a limo. Not the big, flashy party kind with track lighting, a bar and TV, this was a simple black stretch model with a glass partition between the driver and the back. There was a second seat facing us, but we both sat facing forward. As soon as the door shut behind the driver, Jack put his arm around me and pulled me against his side. He caught my hand in his and I laid my cheek against his shoulder.
The restaurant he’d chosen was an exclusive one on the lakefront in downtown Chicago. The limo dropped us right at the entrance to the high-rise where we negotiated the revolving doors still hand in hand, cramming into one wedge and giggling like children. In the elevator, he helped me out of my simple wool jacket, tucking it over his arm and pulling my hand through his other elbow. When the doors opened, he escorted me up to the coat check and maitre d’ without ever letting go of me. If for no other reason, I’d have been falling for him because of that. No matter what, he seemed to genuinely love touching me—whether in passion or just tenderness. Until now I hadn’t known how much I missed that kind of personal contact with another being in my long, lonely immortal existence.
We were shown to a curved booth in the back corner of the candlelit restaurant. The single bench wrapped around about half of the circular table, making it easy for us to sit side by side without looking silly. We both faced out into the room, but the way it was arranged with dividers, the only people we could see were the waitstaff who came into our cubbyhole.
“Do you trust me to order?” Jack asked in a low voice after the wine steward poured us each a glass of white and then disappeared.
“Of course.” Somewhere during the limo ride, I’d figured it out. We were reenacting a scene from Lady Lust. Clever Jack to have figured out that my fantasies and my reading material ran closely together. That might have explained last night’s phone call too—there was a similar scene early in the novel. Of course the appetizer in my kitchen had been off-script, but I didn’t think either of us minded about that. Content with where he was going, I was more than willing to follow along.
When the waiter came by, Jack ordered without benefit of a menu. Seared scallops, followed by rare steaks and a single chocolate soufflé to share for dessert. It wasn’t quite what Holly and her hero Nick had ordered. Jack’s steak was much bigger, and Holly had dined on escargot instead of scallops followed by steak, but I was willing to be flexible. I didn’t like snails and Jack needed plenty of red meat in his diet. Particularly since I’d probably be taking a little blood later. I’d fed off a blood bag earlier, but the extra-sexual rush of feeding off a lover was too yummy to resist, especially when my lover was an immortal with the ability to regenerate.
The scallops were perfect and the dry white wine went with them beautifully. Jack speared one plump morsel on his fork and held it to my lips then I fed one to him. We alternated until both plates were empty. Nearly invisible waiters replaced our empty plates with crisp salads, which, fortunately, we each ate ourselves. I don’t think feeding each other arugula dripping with raspberry vinaigrette would have been pretty.
“So what did your friends have to say about our date tonight?”
We sipped our wine as we waited for the main course to arrive.
“What makes you think I told them?” I teased, rubbing the tip of my boot along his calf under the table.
“Because they’d have asked if you were going to see me again and you’re too honest to have prevaricated.”
“Fine. Jessamy, the Regency debutante, thinks I should be careful but have a good time. Danette, she’s the French nun-turned-courtesan, thinks I should jump your bones.”
“And your opinion?” His hand slid under the table cloth and inched the hem of my skirt up above my knee so he could lay his palm near the clip of my stocking.
I lifted my glass and smiled. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Dessert was destined to be the interesting part of the meal if he followed the script from the book. All through the main course I kept my legs pressed together, waiting to see if he’d really do it—and waiting to see if I’d let him.
The chocolate soufflé arrived with a dish of strawberries and fresh whipped cream. Our wineglasses were replaced with champagne flutes, the bubbles glittering gold in the candlelight. Once again Jack fed me bites and I fed him. And yes, he followed the plot of the book, sliding his hand up under my skirt and between my thighs. Without hesitating a moment I widened my legs, sure that the long tablecloth hid me completely from the waist down.
“So creamy,” he murmured as he licked a dollop of whipped cream from a strawberry. At the same time he slipped a finger between the lips of my pussy. His fingertip flicked my clit just as his tongue flicked a spoonful of warm chocolate. “Hot. Rich. Moist.”
I let my eyes fall closed. His finger circled my clit and the spoon bumped against my lips. I opened my mouth and took the bite—dark, rich chocolate, fresh strawberry, sweet cream.
“Eyes open, sweetheart.” He stopped rubbing. “That’s part of the fun, remember? We keep talking, keep eating.”
Right. I lifted my spoon and fed Jack another bite, relieved when he continued his intimate massage.
“So. How about those Tigers?” I know my voice shook, and I didn’t even know if it was baseball season. It was just the only thing I could think of to say.
“Who cares?” He combed his fingers through my wet curls while he plied his dessert spoon with the hand further away from me. “How’s your new website coming along?”
“Who cares?” I was fighting now not to pant as my arousal ratcheted. Jack caught the frantic look on my face because right when I was about to scream out my orgasm, he leaned over and kissed me, capturing my cry with his lips. I must have nipped unintentionally because I tasted blood along with chocolate and champagne, and that made the climax even longer and harder.