“I…” Fuck, I don’t know. I can’t think clearly with his cock thick and hard in my pussy, my arousal slick at my entrance, my clit demanding relief. When I shake my head, he seems to understand that I don’t mean ‘no’, but that I can’t be sure.
“Close your eyes. Try again.”
I do as Rowan asks and close my eyes. The scents of sugar and fresh berries flood my nostrils, aromas I didn’t truly notice the last time. Rowan traces the edge of the spoon across my lips to paint my pink skin in flavor before I open for him.
“What do you taste?” Rowan whispers against the shell of my ear.
“Cream. Vanilla. Caramelized sugar. Strawberries and raspberries,” I reply, my eyes still closed. It feels like I’m floating, not outside of my body but in places within it that I’ve never seen or felt before. There’s another realm inside that I didn’t even know existed. It’s as though I’m disconnected from the rest of the world, yet more present in it than I’ve ever been. Every sensation becomes clearer in the absence of extraneous noise.
“What’s missing?” Rowan tries again.
“Nothing. But…” I shake my head. Rowan’s hand glides down my arm in reassurance, that this place and my words are safe with him. “But it’s not unique.”
“You’re right,” he replies. An indulgent kiss lingers on my neck as his cock twitches within me. I notice every motion he makes, from the way his lips lift from my skin to the rise and fall of his chest against my back. “It’s not unique. It’s like every other crème brûlée in the city. It needs something different. Something new.”
“Thorsten Harris probably would suggest—”
“Blackbird,” Rowan says, punctuating his warning with a bite to my earlobe. “Do not even think about finishing that sentence or there’ll be hell to pay.”
My eyes remain closed as I grin. “I like your version of hell.”
“You say that now. But I could stay in this tight little cunt of yours for hours, and I think you’d feel differently if I spent all that time not letting you come.” Rowan shifts his hips, just a hint of movement that ignites my desperation for more. “Now be my good little bird and name me the most random fruit you can think of. The first thing that springs to mind.”
I don’t even really think about it. I just speak. “Persimmon.”
There’s a beat of silence. Rowan relaxes behind me, as though the pent-up tension in his chest has spirited away.
“Yes. Persimmon. That’s an excellent idea, love.”
And then he slides out of me.
I open my eyes and turn around as he takes a step back, tucking his erection back into his briefs before he tugs his pants up. My breaths come in shallow pants as I take him in. There’s heat and desire in his eyes, but he keeps it banked. Not like me. I know my desperate need for more is written all over my face.
“I thought you said good girls get rewards,” I say, my voice low and husky.
A slow smile tips up the corner of Rowan’s lips where his scar brightens in a straight line through his skin. “You’re right. I did say that. Go out into the restaurant and sit on your table.”
“Which one is mine?”
“You’ll know.”
He tosses me a wink and starts to gather the unused ingredients onto the tray. I watch for a moment before he nods toward the door and tells me he’ll be there as soon as he’s done.
I head out into the dimly-lit space and toward the booths beneath the black wing mounted on the wall. When I glance between the front entrance and the sign for the emergency exit by the bathrooms and the door to the kitchen, it’s obvious which one I’d choose—the booth that sits just beneath the vertex of the spread wing.
When I slide onto the seat, there’s a line of text in a simple cursive script, branded into the surface of the wood. ‘Blackbird’s Booth,’ it says.
My finger traces each letter as I look out at the space and take in every detail from this vantage point. I’m still absorbing the warmth spreading through my veins when I hear the swoosh of the kitchen door.
“I thought I said for you to get ‘on’ the table,” Rowan says as he stalks in my direction. I glance from him to the windows lining the front of the restaurant and back again. Anticipation rushes through my veins on a flood of adrenaline.
“But—”
“On, Sloane. Now.”
Fire crawls beneath my skin as I gesture toward the front of the restaurant. Rowan stops next to the booth with a stern expression that states he’s clearly unwilling to entertain any protest I’m about to make, not that it will stop me from arguing. “I just saw a woman walk by with her groceries,” I say. “She does not want to see that. No one does.”
“Of course they do. And even if they didn’t, there’s an important detail that you might be missing: I don’t. Fucking. Care. So are you using your safe word?”
“No.”
Rowan’s hands press flat to the surface as he leans closer, pinning me with an unwavering stare. “Then get on the fucking table, Sloane.”
I climb onto the surface with my back facing the row of windows as heartbeats hum beneath my skin, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. When I’m settled, Rowan slides onto the padded bench until he’s directly in front of me. My gaze is trapped in his, our connection unbroken, neither of us moving. He seems to enjoy that I’m waiting for his instructions as much as I enjoy obeying them.
“Pull your dress up to your waist,” he says, his eyes dark and brimming with lust. I do as he says, but I take my time, dragging the hem across my skin. “Spread your legs wide.”
Rowan’s gaze stays riveted to my damp panties and the outline of my piercings beneath the fabric as I spread my thighs as wide as my hips will allow. He grasps my knees and prompts me back a little closer to the center of the table.
“Remember what I told you?” he asks, not taking his eyes from the apex of my thighs.
I nod. “That you were going to devour me on a table in the restaurant.”
“Damn straight, Blackbird. And this is a meal I’ve been fucking dying for.”
Rowan stretches my panties to one side, lowers his head, and feasts.
He wasn’t lying. There could be people walking by. They could be staring in the window. They could be at the table next to us and he doesn’t fucking care. He ravages my pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. He lavishes every piercing with attention and sucks on my clit. He plunges his tongue into my cunt and moans. He tightens his fingers on my thighs in a bruising grip that only ratchets up my desire.
And if anyone is watching, I don’t care either.
I grasp Rowan’s hair in a tight fist and hold him against me to grind my pussy into his face. I’m rewarded with a throaty growl and two fingers plunged into my cunt, the immediate rhythm and his expert touch pushing me closer to coming undone. My ass squeaks against the wood as he surges forward and consumes me, body and soul.
I come apart with a cry of Rowan’s name, soaking his fingers, coating his face. And he leaves me no time to recover from the intense orgasm before he drags my panties down my legs and tosses them to the floor. The moment they’re gone, he’s tugging his pants and briefs down and sliding into me.
“Fuck, Sloane,” he grits out with the first full thrust. I can already tell it won’t be long before I’m coming apart for a second time. “I’ve missed you so fucking much. It’s been hell here without you.”
“I’m right here,” I whisper. I rake my fingers through his hair with one hand and glide my touch beneath his chef’s coat to trace the muscles of his back with the other. He leans away enough to pull the thick fabric over his head and I press my touch to every taut muscle and jagged scar.
Rowan bands an arm across my back and yanks me off the table, never breaking our connection as he pulls me down to straddle him on the bench. “You’re going to take my cock as deep as you can. You’re going to ride it the way you want until you come all over it. And these tits,” he says as he unzips the back of my dress and pulls the low neckline down along with the cups of my bra, “you’re going to bounce these glorious fucking tits in my face.”
I grip the top of the booth with one hand and lean closer to guide my breast to his waiting mouth with the other. He sucks on my nipple and rolls his tongue across the piercing, his moan a vibration in my flesh as he pinches the other one to a firm peak.
I glide on his erection, filling myself with his length. I want to make this pleasure last. I want to savor every long stroke of his cock, every grind of my clit against his flesh as I take him deep, every touch of my piercings against sensitive nerves. But he drives me right to the edge with his kisses on my breasts and the filthy demands he makes every time he surfaces from my skin. That’s right, baby, take me deeper in that tight little cunt. You’re going to be dripping my cum down those pretty thighs all the way home.
My orgasm shatters my vision with a burst of stars as I press my eyes closed and scream. I break apart as Rowan thrusts up, hitting even deeper as he spills into me, his hands gripped tight to my hips as he holds me down on his pulsing cock. Our foreheads are pressed together, our breath shared, our gazes fused. When we finally come down from the euphoric fog, I smile and trace Rowan’s cheeks with my fingertips.
“I missed you too.”
Rowan sighs, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him truly relaxed since I got back. He lays a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Let’s go home and do this again. And again, and again, and again.” He guides my hips up until he slides free, his cum leaking from my entrance.
“Napkin?” I ask as I dart a glance down to my legs.
Rowan traces a line up my inner thigh. Two fingers gather the milky rivulet and slide up to my pussy, his eyes already dark with desire as he watches my reaction.
“Fuck no,” he rasps as he finger fucks the cum back into me with slow thrusts. I shudder and moan, my sensitive flesh already desperate for more. “I meant what I said. You’ll be walking home with that mess on your thighs, little bird.”
After a final, deep thrust and a roll of his thumb over my clit that has me gasping and clutching his shoulder, he withdraws his fingers and raises them to my lips to suck them clean. When he’s satisfied, he gently guides me to the end of the booth and pulls his clothes back into place before following.
We stand for a moment, hand in hand, looking at the space and the windows where thankfully no one has stopped to watch us in our sanctuary, the one that always seems to surround us when I’m alone with Rowan. I let my eyes travel over the space, and when my attention flows in his direction, I feel Rowan’s gaze pressing against my face like a gentle caress.
“I’m so happy you’re back, Blackbird,” he says as he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms across my back.
I close my eyes. We shift in our embrace, moving together like two dark creatures intertwined, flowing with the current of the world around us.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “Just home with you.”