I spin to face him, furious at his mercurial attitude. “Why, so you can fuck me and throw money at me? Is that your answer for everything?”
Stunned by his one word admission, I merely stare at him. He’s run his hands through his hair a million times since I threatened to leave, and his green eyes are burning now, compared to the cold gaze he gave me from the bar. There’s a muscle working in his jaw as he sets his teeth. I don’t have a reply, so I merely raise one eyebrow and wait for him to speak again.
“Can we please sit? I’ll talk, I swear, just don't—don't leave.”
I walk silently back to the table, looking out the floor to ceiling windows instead of meeting his intense gaze.
“My father was a... mogul, you could say,” Edward begins after we sit. “Always busy, never home. My mother raised my sister and myself, threw dinner parties for his clients, and looked the other way while he was unfaithful. My father was never present for school meetings, for baseball practice, Alice’s ballet recitals; nothing. In high school, I started getting in trouble. It was pretty classic, really; troubled youth causing shit to get absent father’s attention.” I saw his reflection competing with the skyline in the darkening glass as he picked up his scotch and had a long gulp. “That was when I discovered my mother was an alcoholic. The principal kept calling her every time I pulled the fire alarm or got caught smoking. She came every time, looking so fucking disappointed in me, in life. And then she stopped hiding her drinking.” He swirls his glass. “She had a drink in her hand all day long.”
“What happened after that?” I whisper, finally looking at him, only to cringe at the devastation on his face.
“My father didn’t know the difference because he was staying at his mistress's house.” He drops the glass with a thud, and his hands find their way back to his hair. “I came home from school one day to find that she’d tried to kill herself.”
I gasp, appalled that I pushed him to talk about this. “You don’t have to go on. It’s alright, Edward.”
“Might as well finish,” he says harshly, frowning fiercely. “She wasn't going quietly, either. She tried to slit her wrists, but the first one was so painful she gave up. Still, there was so much blood,” his voice has dropped to below a whisper, and I jump up from my seat and climb in his lap.
“Baby, shh.” I push on his shirt at his shoulders, unbuttoning it faster than I thought possible with trembling fingers.
“I don't know how to be anyone other than my father.”
A strangled sound escapes my mouth right before I crush my lips to his, dinner and story hour forgotten. His hands dip into my dress to fondle my breasts, and I work frantically at removing his clothing. It’s like he can't let the connection of our mouths separate, so he continues to kiss me as he stands. Finally, he turns me around and pushes the plates out of the way before bending me over the table. My garters are black leather, my thong made of lace. Edward only has to give one good, hard tug to my panties before they rip at the side seam. He knows how to touch me to make me writhe, his fingers dipping between my cheeks and playing with my ass before dipping below to tease my pussy. My face is flat on the cool wood surface of the dining room table, and Edward leans over me to tug on my dress and lick my exposed shoulder. I know what he needs. He needs to be in control.
“I’m going to come all over your table, sir. Tell me if you want that.”
He grabs my hair and pulls, arching my back as his fingers plunge into my wetness. I cry out at the sensations of pleasure and pain.
“That’s exactly what I want, Miss Swan.”
I shift my feet wider, giving him better access to all of me, and he pinches my clit. The orgasm flattens me, taking away all of my strength, and I cry out his name loudly.
“Time to get naked, lovely.”