Hostile Takeover by Hill, W (best novels to read for students .TXT) 📕

“Speaking of dinner, let’s get some before we head for the house.” He gestured to a restaurant across the street. “Come on.”

He kept pressure on her waist, holding her still until he was okay with their clearance, then they crossed the street. She’d known how to cross the street on her own for some time, of course, but it didn’t offend her. In truth, such gestures could be devastating to a woman’s senses. All the more because Ben was oblivious to their potency. From watching Cass and the others, she’d learned it wasn’t about denigrating a woman’s independence. It had nothing to do with the men’s opinion of female capability, but everything to do with their absolute conviction that a man’s role was to protect and cherish.

The restaurant was one she hadn’t tried before, an elegant place with full-length white table cloths, candlelight. The walls were pre-twentieth-century brick covered with artwork by local talent, and the place had the smell that the old, historic buildings did. A jazz band was jamming in the corner, filling the place with music. Ben had the maître d’ show them to the upstairs level and a corner table on the balcony, though the round table could seat six. They could hear the music vibrating through their feet and drifting up the wide staircase, without their conversation being overpowered by it.

“If Noah’s working tonight, I want him as our server,” Ben told the maître d’.

“Of course, Mr. O’Callahan.”

Ben held out the chair that was tucked in the corner, touching her shoulders briefly before he took his own seat next to her. “Any allergies?” he asked as the man disappeared down the stairs.

She shook her head. When she would have opened her menu, Ben took it away, sliding it under his own. “Take off your panties,” he said.

Just like that, he took the reins, told her they were now Master and slave. Or Mentor and sub-in-training—to him. Either way, her body responded accordingly, with aching need and anxiety fluttering in her belly. Though it was difficult to do without rising, she worked the panties off under the snug skirt.

“Hand them to me. No balling them up.”

No one was up here, but he’d anticipated her self-consciousness. There were people wandering the street below the balcony, looking up to study the diners. As attractive as Ben was, he’d probably get his share of looks. He wanted to see if she’d quake. Instead, steeling herself to be whatever he required, she hung them on one finger, let them dangle provocatively and extended them to him. His lips twisted, and he took them from her. Her face colored as he raised them to his lips, his nostrils flaring, taking in her heated scent. “These are wet. Who’s been making you wet?”

“You. Only you.”

“You sure that jogger’s femoris didn’t do it for you?” His tone was serious, despite the flash of humor. But either way, she’d give him no less than honesty. Not when he was completely in command like this.

“Yes sir. You made me wet.”

“Hmm. I want your skirt up around your waist, your bare ass on the chair. Spread your knees out and hook your ankles around the chair legs to keep them that way. Tell me if the position becomes physically uncomfortable.”

The reason he’d put her in the corner seat became obvious, since he was flanking her on one side, and the balcony rail and a profusion of potted plants were on the other. The table cloth was floor length, so it was pooled over her lap. But if the waiter moved around the table to grate pepper over her salad or refill her drink, he might see her skirt up, bare ass pressed to the chair’s wooden surface.

Ben watched her follow his direction. “Might teach you to wear a looser skirt to work next time.”

“Then whose ass would you stare at? Janet’s? Even you’re not that brave.” She scraped the chair legs across the metal floor as she wiggled and managed it. The wooden seat reminded her of last night’s punishment but, thanks to Rachel’s balm, she could make full contact with it.

“Center yourself between two of the chair slats. I want your cunt right over an opening so you can feel the air flow.” It was impossible to discern what he was thinking, his face impassive, voice even. Whereas she was getting more flustered with every word he spoke.

When she was in the proscribed position, her legs were spread, ankles hooked on the chair legs as he required, pussy exposed to the cool night air. Reaching out, he slipped the next button of her blouse so he had a better view of her breasts, cradled in lace. He stroked a finger over the top of the right one. Oh God. She had a feeling those two words were going to go through her mind quite a bit tonight, no matter how much trouble it gave her with the Higher Power. Hopefully, He understood. He’d made Ben, after all.

“Hold the chair sides by your thighs unless I tell you otherwise.” He tucked the panties into his pocket, unhurried, even as their waiter topped the stairs. Another second and he would have seen what Ben held.

Noah was a Goth, complete with eyeliner and tongue stud. He wore the white shirt and slacks the restaurant required, but the tie was a pencil-thin black silk, the tack a tiny skull and crossbones. His hair was long and smooth, tied back from a slim, well-sculpted face. With all that and his thin, sensual lips, he made her think of a young vampire.

When he saw Ben, he smiled with genuine pleasure. “It’s great to see you, Mr. O’Callahan.” He gave Marcie a courteous nod, a quick appraisal that was flattering but not insulting, then cocked a brow at Ben. “You’re not classy enough for this one. Is she slumming tonight?”

“There goes your tip,” Ben said dryly. “I’ll take the grilled porterhouse. She’ll have the seared shrimp, and start