Mated To The Dragon Of Manhattan (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) (9 page)

But before I could give things much thought, Matthew lifted his glass in a toast. "Another toast. To beautiful, kindhearted, philanthropy-minded women. To Brette and Annabelle."

We all clinked our glasses together, smiling; Matthew soon made a joke, and we all laughed; and somehow, I forgot all about my choice.

When we'd all finished our drinks, Matthew said he and Annabelle would leave Truman and me to enjoy our dinner, as they were meeting Annabelle's parents for dinner at a different restaurant in the tower.

Annabelle gave me a little squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. "It's been really wonderful to formally meet you, Brette.  Our first meeting in the throne room really wasn't much of a proper introduction at all."

I smiled. "No, it really wasn't. And it's been wonderful to meet you as well."

Matthew looked at me with his light blue eyes twinkling. "It was great to meet you, Brette. Also great to see that my friend Truman, here, seems to have lured you away from the famed Rolando Feathers."

I winced, though still smiling. "I'm never going to be able to live that lie down, am I?"

Matthew changed his expression to one of mock surprise.

"You mean Rolando Feathers isn't a real man? He's not your boyfriend?"

I shook my head, trying not to giggle. "No. I have a new boyfriend now." I glanced at Truman. "And he's a much, much better boyfriend than Rolando Feathers could ever even dream of being."

Matthew and Annabelle soon left; the waiter came to take Truman's and my dinner orders; and then I went to the restroom to rearrange my hair, which was falling out of its pins. And there, I overheard a very interesting conversation about Truman.

CHAPTER EIGHT

While I stood in front of a gilded mirror in the restroom, winding my long, dark hair back into a twist, I couldn't help but overhear a conversation-in-progress between two women talking behind the mahogany doors of the bathroom stalls.

The one in the stall closest to me giggled. "You are so right about that. What you said about Lord Truman having a body hot enough to melt steel." She paused, giggling some more. "And, oh, what I wouldn't give to run my hands over that long, muscled body of his for just one second. I bet it feels like absolute heaven."

She was not wrong about that.

Her friend in the next stall responded, clearly a little intoxicated by the way she slurred her words. "I bet he can bring a woman to the very height of heaven, if you know what I mean, in just a few seconds."

She wasn't too far off the mark.

Her giggly companion giggled, and she continued, her slurring increasing.

"Hope that pretty brunette girl, whatever her name is, the one who seems to be his girlfriend already...hope she realizes how lucky she is. Just to get every inch of that rock-hard body all to herself."

I did feel pretty lucky.

The giggly woman in the adjacent stall giggled yet again. "And something just tells me there's more than the usual length of inches to certain parts of that rock-hard body, if you get what I mean."

There definitely were, and just the thought of them, and the thought of most likely feeling them inside of me later that evening made me exhale a quiet, fluttery breath.

Continuing to joke, the two women laughed, and one of them flushed the toilet. Not wanting to be seen, I quickly re-pinned my hair up with two bobby pins and left the bathroom.

I fought a smile the entire way back to Truman's and my candlelit table.

And when he rose to let me back into my seat, he asked me what was so amusing, seeming to be fighting a smile himself. "Something humorous happen in the bathroom?"

I shook my head, grinning. "No. I mean...well, it's a long story, but...I'm just happy to be here with you tonight."

With his full mouth curving into a sexy half-grin, he pulled me close and kissed me. "Not even a fraction as happy as I am."

All it took to re-ignite the ache low in my belly from earlier was the feel of his long, hard body pressed against mine for just a second. I wanted to continue embracing, and maybe kiss a little more, but just then, to my disappointment, the waiter arrived with our food.

While we ate, I fed him bites of my lobster, and he fed me bites of his steak. After maybe the third or fourth bite he fed me, he gave me another kiss, pulling me closer to him in the secluded booth and then keeping his arm around me. His woodsy, masculine scent and the feel of being wrapped in his strength, combined with the feel of his powerful, muscular thigh against my leg, intensified the frustrating ache low in my belly, and it wasn't long before I felt myself becoming incredibly slick.

About halfway through my third large glass of wine, I put my mouth near his ear and whispered, having an increasingly difficult time keeping my hands off of him. "I know you were trying to be nice this morning when you told me you'd give me a nice, relaxing massage this evening, but I just want to let you know that now  I actually think it was mean. Because just the thought of it has been torturing me and frustrating me almost every second of this entire day."

He put his fork down, his dark gray eyes seeming to get a devilish gleam in the dim light of our secluded booth.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? I can't have my girl thinking her boyfriend's mean."

He moved his hand to my leg and began caressing it through the thin fabric of my red dress, the action making me choke back a whimper of desire, aware that although our booth was in a pretty private spot, other diners were still well within earshot. I could hear their chatter, which was muffled only by about ten or fifteen feet of distance and the tall mahogany planter that stood just a bit away from Truman's and my booth.

He moved his mouth to my ear and spoke in a husky whisper. "No, I can't have my girl thinking her boyfriend's mean, especially when all I want to do is be nice to her. And especially when I know she's just aching for some pleasure and release. Isn't that right?"

It was quite correct. The sensitive bud between my feminine folds had begun throbbing with need, and the ache low in my belly was positively demanding pleasure and release.

My voice came out in a breathy whisper. "Uh-huh."

Truman slid his large hand under my dress and moved it a little higher up my leg. "Then I shouldn't keep my girl waiting for some pleasure any longer."

He moved his hand a little higher still and began caressing my feminine mound through my black lace underwear.

I stifled a gasp, one of both surprise and pleasure, and I whispered. "But people could see."

"Nah. Not over the planter."

"Well, what if the waiter comes back?"

"I think the dim lighting and long tablecloth will help us in that case." He glanced at the table. "See? The tablecloth is far too long for him to be able to see anything."

I looked at it myself, realizing Truman was right.

After giving my ear a little nibble, grazing his teeth down the side, he continued in a whisper. "Just keep your expression fairly normal, or bury your face in my chest, and I'll be the lookout."

I nodded, far too turned on to refuse what was being offered. And not a moment later, Truman slid a hand down the front of my underwear and began probing my slick feminine lips apart with his long, strong fingers. He located my throbbing, sensitive bud almost immediately, and when he began stroking it with a single fingertip, his touch gentle but firm, I threw my head back, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out.

Still holding me close in one arm with his breathing a little heavy, he continued stroking my most sensitive spot for a little while before whispering near my ear again. "You have no clue what an  exquisite creature you are. Or how much pleasure it gives me to give
you
pleasure."

Squirming against his fingertip, the only response I could give was a deep sigh that bordered on a moan. I was having a harder and harder time keeping my expression entirely "normal." And in fact, I doubted I was keeping it entirely "normal" at all. Truman didn't help matters much when he nibbled on my earlobe a bit again before sliding two long, strong fingers into the depths of my slickness. Unable to hold back a whimper, I parted my legs to give him even greater access. He worked his fingers in and out a few times with long, slow strokes, the lowest of growls rumbling in his chest, before withdrawing his fingers and returning his attention to my throbbing bud.

And then, what I'd feared might happen, happened. The waiter, a well-built young man in his twenties, returned. Truman alerted me with a little nudge just in time for me to notice before the waiter arrived at the table. After making the tiniest gasp, I sat up a little straighter and tried my damnedest to appear normal. Truman paused in his stroking but left his fingertip on my sensitive bud, making me have to fight not to squirm against it, a few mere strokes away from climax. I looked at the waiter, heat rising to my face as the realization fully hit me that I was being intimately pleasured in a restaurant with the waiter now standing only four feet away.

He gave Truman and me a small, professional smile, seeming as if he didn't sense anything amiss. "Would either of you care for another drink? Or dessert?"

I managed to give my head a little shake, cheeks flaming. "No, thank you."

Truman shook his head as well. "I think we're all set here. We won't be needing any more service tonight. Thank you."

To my great, immense relief, the waiter bowed and left.

Almost immediately, Truman resumed stroking my slick, throbbing bud and spoke near my ear once again, his voice a barely-audible husky whisper. "Just bury your face in my chest if you need to, and if you cry out, I'll just cover it with a cough. Because I don't want my girl to be achy and frustrated anymore. If she wants to, I want her to have her release, right here, right now."

I
did
want to. And soon, I
did
have to bury my face in his chest. Because
when
my pleasure crested and my hips bucked while I ground my most sensitive spot against his fingertip, I began crying out, completely unable to help myself. However, his chest absorbed most of the noise, and like he said he would, he coughed to cover the rest. After that, he held me tightly while wave after wave of pleasure rolled over my body, making every single one of my muscles seem to tense and release at once.

When I finally slumped against him panting, he whispered near my ear once more. "God, Brette, you just don't understand...how beautiful and sexy you are. You have me so turned on right now, I'd love to just clear everything off this table and take you right here."

Wishing that scenario was possible, I panted for a few more moments,  trying to catch my breath. "Let's go up to your place. I want you to take me, but...the table might be pushing our luck."

With a low chuckle, he slowly removed his hand from my underwear. "I imagine you're right. So, my place it is. And I know a back way out of here we can take to avoid funny looks at my...." He cleared his throat. "Obvious excitement."

I glanced down and saw that he was indeed excited. His enormous erection tented his black dress pants. If we went out the regular way, I was sure he
would
get some looks about it, though I doubted they'd be funny. They were much more likely to be envious or desirous, depending on the gender of the looker.

But fortunately, we didn't have to exit the restaurant  the regular way. We left our booth, went down a short hallway, and went through a set of metal double doors to a small room that seemed to be part of a larger kitchen. A single man in a chef's hat stood at a narrow counter, chopping vegetables. He looked up when we entered, clearly startled.

Truman gave him a wave while quickly leading me across the room by the hand. "Just taking the service elevator. Thank you!"

We were out of the room and heading down a short, tiled hallway before the man could even respond.

We never even made it to Truman's penthouse. Not even close. The moment the elevator doors closed and it began moving, Truman hit the emergency stop button, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me passionately. When he finally broke the kiss, I was nearly breathless, but somehow managed to speak.

"Now. Take me right now."

  After giving me another passionate kiss, he turned away and began surveying one of the corners of the elevator, up near the ceiling, confusing me at first. But then I saw what he was looking at. A security camera.

He glanced back at me with a half-grin. "We'll need to completely disable this, because it has audio and video. But its wireless. It'll just take a sec."

And with that, he jumped, banging one powerful fist on the camera. And that was all it took. It fell from its socket, crushed, and hit the floor with a thud. I'd known that as a dragon shifter, Truman possessed the strength of hundreds of average human men, even while in human form, but seeing that strength displayed was still surprising. And somehow arousing.

He gave the camera a little stomp, smashing it to smithereens. "Just for good measure.” I laughed, feeling my nipples stiffen.

"I think it’s dead. Now, come over here and make love to me."

I didn't need to ask him twice.

Casting off his suit jacket, he headed over to me with his eyes glassy, breathing heavy, and the tent pole holding up the front of his pants seeming to be even larger than it had in the restaurant. "Your wish is my command."

After lifting the hem of my dress and tucking it in the underside of my bra, he pulled my underwear down to my knees, almost kind of yanked them down, actually, which excited me tremendously. I let them fall to my high heels and then stepped out of them and kicked them aside. And when I looked up, Truman had his gaze locked on my womanhood.