43. Hunter

Chapter 43

Hunter

then

Dinner at Table 26 requires reservations made months in advance. Though clearly, that rule doesn't apply to Kabir Spencer.

My black dress has a neckline that plunges to my navel. Diamond hoop earrings and a matching tennis bracelet complete the look.

The jewelry was a gift from Spence, given to me after I experienced my first full cycle on SSRIs. I told him celebrating not having a mental breakdown seemed a bit ridiculous.

He told me he wanted to celebrate it all.

That's the day I realized I'm in love with him. He's reaffirmed the depth of my feelings for him time and again over the last few months.

We haven't exchanged the words, but the truth is always there. There's no denying the intensity of our connection or the layers of trust and care that came together to form the foundation of our relationship.

I love him. I'm almost certain he loves me, too .

He ordered wine with our meal, but I've only had a few sips. I'm hesitant to drink too much on my meds. Besides, alcohol isn't necessary. Tonight, I'm drunk on him.

We're sharing dessert now: crème br?lée and fresh berries.

He holds a spoonful to my mouth.

"Spence." I laugh, clamping my lips shut and shaking my head. I'm far too full, but he continues to feed me, despite my protests.

I slip one heel off and run my bare foot up his inner thigh in hopes of distracting him.

It works.

Discreetly, he captures my foot, kneading his thumb into the arch in a way that feels absolutely divine.

"You're feisty tonight." He picks up a strawberry and teases my lips with it.

I bite into the berry, and as the sweet juices hit my tongue, I close my eyes and moan dramatically. Then, when he doesn't feed me another bite fast enough, I nip at his thumb.

"Little brat," he scolds, popping it into his own mouth instead.

I lean forward, bringing my lips to his ear. "More like your little slut." When I sit back, his eyes have narrowed and darkened to a stormy blue-gray. He's watching me, calculating.

We've been intimate dozens of times over the last few months, but we haven't engaged in any degradation or depravity since my breakdown.

He's been treading lightly, and I appreciate his concern, but tonight? Tonight I know exactly what I want.

"Would you like that?" he asks, angling in close so his lips graze my ear. "Would you like it if I took my little slut into the bathroom of this Michelin-star restaurant and fucked you up against a dirty stall?"

"Yes," I breathe, clenching my thighs together at the prospect.

"Yes, what?" he corrects.

"Yes, Sir," I rush to tell him.

A devilish smirk paints his face. "Good girl. Let's go."