Paris: Wish Granted (Bill Skarsgård)
Part 2 of 3
Just like everything else that day, Clair de Lune exceeded all expectations. It was by far the nicest restaurant she had ever been to. The lighting was dim enough to appreciate the single flaming candle in the middle of the table. The deep woods that decorated the interior made the whole atmosphere feel sensual and provocative. Then there was the food; nothing like she had ever tasted before.
“This is so good.” She praised, having taken a bite of her Streak Tartare.
He smiled at her from across the table, noticing how breathtaking in her dress and that she seemed to be in high spirits. Nothing made him feel better about himself than knowing he had pleased her. Considering it was her birthday, he was going to make sure he did that and more.
He took a sip of the red wine he had ordered and began on his Salmon en Papillote with Tomato Curry and Beans.
She ate her meal slowly. First, she was focussed on savouring the delicious favours of all the different ingredients. Then, because he became extremely distracting to look at. He wore a black fitted dress shirt, her favourite, and trousers while his brown locks were parted to the left. They say that similar to red, black is one of the most attractive colours someone can wear. That night she realized how accurate that statement truly was.
He watched as she pushed around the remains of the Steak Tartare with her fork. He raised a brow at her.
“Are you feeling alright?” He pressed lightly.
She met his eyes and nodded, attempting to look as nonchalant as possible. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t enjoying the restaurant, but she did not want him to know that she couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of him settled in between her legs.
The look he gave her was still questioning. He knew her well enough to see right through her. But what he did not yet know was that by holding eye contact with him, it took a lot from her to not bite her lip. He was so good-looking that night.
Reluctantly, he dropped his gaze and went back to his food.
She tugged at the sleeve of her navy blue, boat neck dress that hugged her body tightly, only flowing out a little at the bottom of the long skirt, nervously. Imagining how tauntingly slow he would remove her dress, stocking and lingerie moved her into a dreamlike state. Maybe it would be even nicer if he ripped them off my body.
When he caught her gaze, she crossed her legs subconsciously, clutching them tightly together underneath the wooden table. Seeing her shift in her seat gave him more than enough of idea of what she was doing. It evoked a smirk from him, going unseen by her as she speared another bite of Tartare onto her fork.
After forcing herself to swallow the mixture of steak, vegetables and Worcestershire sauce, she finally casted a look up at him. He was still smirking.
“You’re very worked up. Aren’t you, Darling?” His voice sounded completely normal, as if they were having a simple conversation over the weather rather than each other’s desires.
She swallowed hard when she saw his dark, passionate expression that contrasted the tone of his voice dramatically. She could not reply, so a bit lip was all he got in response.
“What are you wearing underneath that dress?” He asked lowly.
She clasped her hands together and watched him lean against the back of the leather chair he sat in, peering at her expectantly. If they had not been in this restaurant, he would have lit a cigarette and allowed the smoke to float behind him as he watched her fiddle with her fingers under his intense stare. Yet even without the cigarette, his gaze still held the same sharpness that only made her closer her legs tighter.
“The black set.” She spoke, voice so quiet that only he could hear her.
He nodded in approval, “Good. You look gorgeous in it.”
A soft blush spread over her cheeks. Even after all of the years they had spent together, he never failed to make her feel like the most special person in the world. They way he spoke left nothing to doubt; he meant every word he said.
“Mademoiselle, would you care for more champagne?” A waiter enquired.
She let out a startled gasp and placed a hand over her chest, not having heard him come up behind her.
“My apologies, Mademoiselle.” He said quickly, eyes going wide.
She composed herself automatically, “Nonsense, I’m terribly sorry. Yes, I will have some more.”
He nodded kindly and tipped the pine green bottle to its side, slowly filling her glass back up.
If anyone knew how to get her heart beating even faster in that moment, it was Bill. She felt as if she would pass out when he began to speak to her in Swedish:
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you tonight, Darling?”
Her eyes instantly opened wider and snapped up to the waiter who was pouring the champagne into her glass. He looked perfectly unaffected by what Bill had just wondered of her so casually.
“I am going to go down on you until you beg me to fuck you. You are going to write underneath me and scream my name as you come.” He finished, expressionless.
Thankfully, the waiter tipped the bottle upright and she hurriedly gave him her thanks. When he started off to another table, she turned to Bill with wide eyes.
“Do you want me to do those things to you?” He asked her, still speaking his mother tongue.
“Yes.” She whispered breathlessly.
Her chest was rising and falling at a much more rapid pace than usual, giving him a pleasant view of the top her breasts as they pushed against the fabric she wore. The whole situation was terribly erotic.
He looked at her pointedly.
“Yes.” She tried, stronger this time.
He leaned forward, placed his folded hands on the table and gave her a penetrating stare. She could feel his look deep down in her core. It was a feeling she wanted to welcome, only not in a restaurant where she could hardly relieve it.
“Beg for it.” He demanded.
She reached out and took his large hand in her smaller one, grasping it tightly. The look he gave her was expectant, yet he allowed her to hold his hand, knowing it comforted her.
Swedish was not her native tongue, but she believed she knew enough to give him what he wanted. She took a breath and spoke:
“Yes. I want you to fuck me so hard that I’ll feel you for days. I fucking need you now, Bill.”
That was enough to satisfy him.
He stood, pulled out his leather wallet, fished out a hundred dollar bill, and placed it on the table. The waiter gave him a nod from the other side of the restaurant.
He outstretched a hand to her, which she gladly took, and pulled her out of her seat.
She wanted nothing more than to have him inside of her. All of the endless teasing all day had her frustrated, and wanting him more than ever before. Soon, her wish would be granted.
They strode out of Clair de Lune.
All of the lights in the penthouse suite were off except for the chandelier in the bedroom. It emitted a soft, orange glow which dimly lit the room, along with the cars and streetlights in the bustling city many stories below them.
“Turn around and step out.” He commanded.
She complied, turning her body back to face his and stepped forward, out of the dress that pooled at her heel clothed feet.
He ran his smooth fingers down her cheek, causing her heart to beat erratically. She could become undone just by his touch.
“Can I take you while you wear this?” He requested, fingers trailing down to the thin strap of her bustier.
Although he was touching her, it was not where she truly wanted it. The brushes of the pad of his thumb against her already hot skin only heightened her desire to feel him somewhere else.
“Mhm.” Was all she managed to get out. She was far too distracted by the feeling of his cool fingers against her warm skin.
He tsked her, “Use your words, Darling.”
Oh, did it ever turn her on when he scolded her. They never assigned any sort of roles in their relationship, but as she truly got comfortable with him, he realized that she loved when he was in control. He found that he liked that too.
She peered up at him through her lashes.
“Yes. As long as you don’t rip it.” She cautioned.
His hands slipped down her body until they reached her waist.
“I could always buy you another.” He said simply, lips hovering over her neck.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips against her pulse point. The feeling of him kissing, biting and sucking had her succumbing to his touch.
“N-No, you… promised.” She reminded him through breathy moans.
He nipped at her neck then sighed, he had promised her that.
“Fine. You win.”
Her eyes opened at his response, lips widening into a mischievous grin as she pulled away from him.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” She wondered, batting her lashes innocently.
The game was all about who held the power. He had it for most of the day, purchasing hundreds of dollars of french lingerie, dressing in the clothes he knew drove her mad and telling her he wanted to have her in public. But the power could be stolen in a split second, and she held it over him mercilessly.
“Don’t push it.” He warned her.
His threat seemed idle, a feeble attempt to take back the dominance. She laughed and shifted her weight onto her back leg.
“What are you going to do about it?” She taunted, eyes gleaming. Oh, did she ever love this game.
His intense stare seemed to affect her less now. That was until, of course, he spoke five simple words:
“I won’t let you come.”
There. That was it. He had taken back the power.
“You wouldn’t.” She spoke, yet sounded less sure of herself than she had a moment before.
She shifted in her position.
“I think we both know that I would.” He said, matter-of-factly.
She looked into his eyes to see if he was lying. He was not, and his dominance returned; something that she welcomed gladly.
It was going to be a fantastic evening.
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