"We can switch plates, if you want," she says quickly. "Or not, either way. We could even go halfsies, you know... like, share."

"It's fine," I say, pushing back my natural paranoia. "So you made steak."

"It's your favorite," she says. "I remember you telling me that."

"It is."

I pick up my fork and knife and immediately cut into it. The outside is seared nicely while the inside is dark pink, borderline rare.

"I wasn't sure how you like it, and well, honestly, I don't think I could cook it a specific way. I had all these notes but when it came down to it, I kind of just threw it on and hoped for the best."

I cut off a small piece and pop it in my mouth.

I don't think she could ever look happier than she does at the moment. She takes a bite of her own, chewing as she tries to contain her smile. There's nothing sinister about the pull of her lips.

We eat and chat, like a normal couple doing normal things. I've eaten meals personally prepared by world-renowned chefs, but none ever meant quite as much as what's on my plate. She poured her soul out and offered it up, and it isn't perfect, but it was made for me.

I don't waste any of it.

I crack open a bottle of wine afterward and we drink heartily, the alcohol loosening her lips as she relaxes, talking about any and everything. By the time the bottle is empty, she's pretty well lit. I can see it in her eyes as they glisten under the lights of the dining room.

She gets up to take care of our plates but I reach out and grab her wrist, stopping her before she can take them away. Prying the dirty plates from her fingers, I shove them down the table, ignoring her feeble protests as I pull her onto my lap. She straddles me, her skirt riding up, her arms wrapping around my neck. My hands graze her knees before slowly running up her thighs, settling just beneath the material of her skirt as I lean forward, softly kissing her.

Her lips taste bitter, like the wine she drank.

But her words are sweet as she whispers to me.

"I love you, Naz," she says, the declaration barely a breath that I greedily inhale. "God help me, but I do. I love you."

It's the first time she's said that to me in months.

My left hand finds home on her hip, holding her there, while my right grazes the spot between her thighs, slipping beneath the fabric to stroke her clit. She moans into my mouth, kissing me hungrily, her fingers running through my hair. She's warm, and slick, my fingers caressing her before sliding right in. Her hips shift as she grinds in my lap, seeking more friction. I happily give it to her.

"That's it," I tell her as she fucks my fingers, my thumb stroking her clit every time she moves. "Take what you want from me."

She whimpers, her eyes closed, her pace increasing. "More."

"More what?" I ask, my lips finding her neck. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she whispers, her voice strained. "I want you."

"What part of me?"

"All of you."

I smile against her skin, nipping at her throat when she tilts her head back. "I'm right here, baby, and I'll give you anything you want. All you have to do is tell me what it is."

Her breath hitches when my thumb presses harder, rubbing her clit faster. She's getting close already. The woman has buttons I'm an expert at pushing, my hands tuned to every inch of her body. Just a few more strokes send her barreling right over the edge. Her body tenses, her face contorting with pleasure as she stutters out my name.

Standing, I lift her up and plant her right on the table, pushing her back onto it. She doesn't resist, her eyes opening and meeting mine as I grip the sides of her panties and pull them down her legs. I toss them on the floor and drop to my knees, knocking the chair away. My mouth meets her pussy, my tongue sweeping along her entrance before plunging in, tasting every bit of her.

It's Heaven.

She grinds her hips as her hands drift to her breasts, clutching them like she's holding on for dear life. I touch and caress, licking and sucking, fucking her with my tongue, driving her right back over the edge.

Once she relaxes from her second orgasm, I rise to my feet and stare down at her, splayed out on the table. Leaning down, I kiss her mouth, unable to stop my grin when her tongue sweeps along my lips.

"Thank you for dinner," I tell her, my hand stroking her outer thigh. "But I especially love dessert."

She grabs ahold of me when I try to pull away, wrapping her arms around me tightly. "I want you."

"I heard you before."

"I want you inside of me," she says, a flush overcoming her cheeks. "I want all of you, yeah, but right now I want you to fuck me."

Smirking, I pull her hands from around my neck as I peck small kisses on her mouth. "Whatever the lady wants."

I fuck her, right there, on the table. Fuck her on her back, on her side, on her stomach. I fuck her so hard her squeals turn to screams, then I fuck her slow and deep, moving agonizingly. She falls apart all around me, under me, over me, the tiny little threads that hold her together unweaving, leaving her stripped down to the core. She's uninhibited, intoxicated, and she's vulnerable to my touch.

I fuck her like I've never fucked her before.

And then I take her upstairs and I fuck her some more.

Afterward, we lay in bed, her body draped around mine, not a stitch of clothing covering either of us. Our skin glows from sweat and satisfaction under the gleam of moonlight streaming through the window. My fingertips absently trail her bare back, blindly drawing shapes around her scattering of freckles, as she sleeps soundly, her head on my chest. She doesn't even stir when my phone starts beeping on the nightstand beside me, somebody calling.