The candlelight in the private corner of the restaurant flickered like a conspirator; casting warm gold across the heavy white linen. The air smelled of seared butter, aged balsamic, and the expensive floral of the white roses at the center of the table—your mother’s favorite.

You sat with your back to the cool, paneled wall, the silk of your deep burgundy dress clinging to the curve of your spine like a second skin. The fabric was thin enough that you could feel the faint chill of the air-conditioning against the bare skin of your thighs. Nate sat across from you, broad shoulders filling the tailored black shirt he’d chosen for the occasion, the top button undone in that careless way that always made your stomach tighten. His jaw was sharp under the low light, with a faint shadow of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave completely. Anniversary dinner. With your parents. Normal, right? Except nothing with Nate Jacobs had ever been normal.

Your mother was laughing at something your father had said, her hand resting lightly on the stem of her wine glass. She looked elegant in her cream blouse, pearls at her throat, completely unaware of the small, wicked device nestled against your 𝓬𝓵𝓲𝓽—warm silicone, already humming at the lowest setting like a heartbeat you couldn’t ignore. Nate had convinced you in the bedroom earlier, mouth hot against your neck, hand sliding the remote into his pocket with a smirk that promised trouble. “For us,” he’d murmured between kisses, voice rough with that familiar hunger. “Just a little adrenaline, baby. You can take it.”

And, yeah... you could. Because you had to.

The waiter had just set down the first course, delicate scallops with a citrus foam, when Nate’s hand disappeared beneath the table. You felt the shift in the air before anything else: his gaze lifting slowly to meet yours, those dark eyes locking onto you like he was reading every micro-expression on your face. The vibration increased by a single notch. Not enough to make you gasp, but enough to send a rolling pulse straight through your core.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the linen napkin in your lap. You smiled at your mother as she asked about the new apartment you and Nate had just moved into, your voice coming out steadier than you felt. “It’s beautiful, Mom. The balcony overlooks the park—perfect for morning coffee.”

He was watching you so intently now, the corner of his mouth twitching with the barest hint of satisfaction. You knew that look. It was the same one he wore when he had you pinned beneath him at home, when he controlled every breath you took. The device hummed a little stronger now, a steady rhythm that made your thighs press together instinctively under the table. Heat bloomed low in your belly, like honey spreading through warm skin. You shifted in your seat, and Nate’s eyes darkened just a fraction.

Your father was talking about work, something about a new development project downtown, his voice a comfortable rumble. You nodded at the right moments, laughing softly when your mother teased Nate about finally learning to cook something besides steak. Nate leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, one arm draped casually over the back of his seat. But his free hand stayed in his pocket. You could see the subtle movement of his thumb against the remote through the fabric.

Another notch.

The pulse deepened, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with merciless precision. A soft breath escaped you before you could catch it, disguised as a sip of chilled white wine. The crisp taste burst across your tongue, but it did nothing to cool the flush creeping up your chest.

“You okay, sweetheart?” your mother asked, tilting her head with that gentle concern that always made you feel like a little girl again.