Chapter 82 - EIGHTY TWO

Chapter 82: Chapter EIGHTY TWO

ANGEL

I was more than curious to find out if the man who burned buildings would lose his composure over something as simple as another man’s eyes on what was his.

I ordered dessert. An ice cream cone—it came with two cherries on top. It coincidentally matched my lipstick shade. I would have thanked the waitress if only I didn’t notice how her gaze lingered on Vincenzo for a second longer.

She met my heated glare and had the decency to walk away.

Obviously, she was a lot smarter than the man.

I took my time. Slowly. Teasingly. Dragging my tongue across the top of my ice cream in one long, slow stroke.

A drip slid down the side and I caught it with a lick that started at the base and travelled up.

I closed my eyes while I did it. Just for a second. Just long enough.

Two audiences. One performance.

The man in the next booth had stopped pretending to eat. He was watching me very openly now, his attention locked on my mouth with an intensity that bordered on rude.

I met his eyes mid-lick. Held his gaze for three full seconds—one, two, three—and then looked away with a small, private smile. The kind of smile that spelt out ’I know exactly what I’m doing and I don’t mind that you’re watching.’

"Angel." Vincenzo’s voice sliced the table in half. Low. Dangerous. "Eat your ice cream properly." He said.

I blinked my attention back to him. "What do you mean? I’m just eating ice cream, Daddy. Is there a correct way to do it?"

I ignored the warning in his eyes and held the cone, twirling it. Then I placed the whole cherry in my mouth.

I held Vincenzo’s eyes while I worked it with my tongue. Slow. Rolling it around, letting my cheeks hollow. I made sure he could see the movement—my jaw working, my throat bobbing, the wet shine on my lips.

I pulled the stem free, holding it between two fingers. But I wasn’t looking at Vincenzo anymore.

I was looking at the stranger.

It took only a glance to see that Vincenzo wasn’t appreciating it.

"Angel. Put that down. And face our table." His voice was almost an inhuman growl.

"Why? I think the sight behind you is more interesting, Daddy." I smirked faintly, ignoring his scowl. "Besides you aren’t exactly talking to me about anything,"

Then I took another long deliberate lick, maintaining eye contact with Vincenzo the entire time.

My strap slipped off my shoulder right on cue. Baring the curve of my shoulder, the top of my chest where the sundress gaped just slightly. I didn’t fix it.

I could feel the man in the next booth’s interest intensifying even though I wasn’t looking.

"Fix your strap." Vincenzo’s voice was harder now.

The patient father’s routine was peeling away and what lived underneath was rawer. Darker.

I fixed the strap with a pout and when the stranger’s eyes found mine again, I winked.

Fast. Barely there. A flicker.

But Vincenzo saw it. His hand sprang to enclose around my wrist on the tabletop.

"Stop. Now."

"I’m just being friendly," My heart was slamming. Not fear—I was past fear with Vincenzo. This was exhilaration, hot and electric. It was exactly what I’d been hunting for.

This possessive grip... the black warning in his eyes made my thighs squelch.

I wanted more. I wanted to pull until something broke.

"Are you upset, Daddy? Fine. I’ll just finish up," I said in a sweet voice, his grip released my wrist and I missed it instantly. But I knew that he was on the verge now.

Just a little more push...

I held my cone loosely, holding Vincenzo’s gaze. Then I tipped it.

The ice cream splattered onto my chest. I gasped as the cold pour that landed on bare skin above my neckline and slid between my breasts.

"Oops." I looked down. The sensation had hardened my nipples into stiff peaks pressing against thin, dampening cotton. "You shouldn’t have hurried me, Daddy. Now, look."

The fabric of my dress was plastered to my breasts like paint. My nipples were darker and hard and visible through the soaked fabric, and the ice cream was still sliding lower, trailing down my stomach.

I scooped a line of melted ice cream off the swell of my breast with my finger. Dragged my fingertip through the mess slowly—down the curve, through the valley between my breasts. Then, I brought the finger to my mouth and sucked it to the knuckle, hollowing my cheeks, pulling it free with a wet pop.

"I’m such a mess," I murmured, my eyes on Vincenzo.

His face was pure stone now. But his eyes were eating me alive. Burning over every inch of wet fabric, every trail of ice cream on my skin. The hard ridge of my nipples pressing through soaked cotton.

I scooped more off my other breast. Letting my fingers linger—cupping the wet fabric against my skin. Pressing. Almost kneading the mess into my own flesh.

Then I licked my fingers clean one by one, my tongue sliding between them.

I pulled the neckline forward with two fingers and peered down into it, knowing fully well the stranger had the perfect angle. Both breasts, bare and wet. Nipples hard and glistening.

"It went all the way down," I said to Vincenzo. "It’s everywhere, Daddy."

Vincenzo was already shrugging off his jacket. He held it out across the table without a word. His jaw was set so tight I could see every muscle working beneath his skin. His eyes were black—not dark, black—two holes where human emotion used to live.

I looked at the jacket and then back at him.

"I’m not cold," I said.

"I didn’t ask if you were cold." His voice was barely recognizable. "Put it on!"

"But it’s summer. And it’s warm in here." I gestured around the restaurant with a sticky finger. "I’ll just go clean up in the bathroom."

"Put the jacket on first!"