We pause at the swinging doors that lead into the dining room, before Draven finally pushes open the left door a few inches.
My jaw drops to the floor.
What I’m seeing simply cannot be real.
There is an…orgy taking place in the dining room.
Diners are openly having sex at their tables. At least five different women are bent over the salt and pepper shakers, clutching the white cloths in their hands while men deliver frantic drives from behind. A foursome of diners make scandalous use of a booth, discarded clothes flying in every direction. Other diners watch in a mixture of shock, lust, fascination.
The waitress is sitting on the busboy’s face, writhing.
Right there on the floor.
Her tray? Forgotten.
“Didn’t I tell you, Claire, that you’re an aphrodisiac?” Draven says for my ears alone. When I glance up at him, his upper lip is shiny with perspiration and he’s staring at my mouth. “Even with all this commotion, I can’t think of anything but licking your tight little pussy.”
“Draven,” I say, my skin dotting with goosebumps. “All of this really c-can’t be because of me, can it?”
“It is. And after a night of experiencing you, I’m not even remotely surprised.” Cursing, he swipes the sweat from his upper lip. “Jesus Christ. I need to get the situation under control, so I can get through this day and take you back to bed.” He takes my hand and brings it to his erection, cupping my hand around the intense stiffness. “You’re going to have me like this all day, little girl. When I get you home…”
My pulse thrums with excitement. “What?”
A shudder goes through his big frame. “Let’s just say you’re going to regain consciousness in the bathtub again.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, owning my role.
Embodying it…until it no longer feels like a role.
It’s just me.
I’m still marveling over the new sense of rightness when Pierre appears in front of us, his face a mask of glee. “Would you look at this? The public is beating the door down!”
Draven drags me up against his side, pressing my face into his pec. “I don’t know why you look so thrilled, Pierre. We can’t have people fucking in the dining room.”
“You’re the one who made the incredible sauce!” Pierre crows, prodding Draven in the chest. “You were holding out on me. That sauce is going to get us a Michelin star. When did you finalize the recipe?”
“Last night,” Draven says through his teeth.
Hooting, Pierre gives me a leering once over. “She must be one hell of an inspiration.”
Every muscle stiffens in Draven’s body, and he pushes me behind him. “This is your final warning. You talk about Claire with anything less than respect again, I will make you wish you were never born. Do you hear me?”
“Why so protective of the dish washer—”
“She’s going to be mywife,” Draven growls.
Pierre does a double take.
As do I.
“What?” I whisper.
“What?” Pierre sputters. “You’ve known her for one day!”
“I know she’s mine,” Draven states with total confidence and authority. “And that’s not for you to question.” He points to the dining room. “Get this fucking mess under control before someone calls the police.”
“You’rethe one who created such a seductive sauce,” Pierre points out, gesturing to the waitress who was now on her knees, blowing the stupefied busboy. “And come on, you can’t buy this kind of a publicity. Did you put drugs in it or something?”