Under (Follow Me #5) Read Online Helen Hardt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Follow Me Series by Helen Hardt
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 78521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
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I gesture to it. “Take that away.”

“Of course, sir.” Joshua picks up the candleholder. “Seth will be with you shortly.”

“No menu?” Skye asks.

“Not tonight. The chef has created a menu for us.”

Before Skye can ask anything further, our waiter arrives.

“Good evening, Mr. Black, Ms. Manning. I’m Seth, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

“Excellent,” I say. “I’ll have a Wild Turkey, neat. Skye?”

She smiles. “Same.”

“I’ll get those right out. Did you want to see the wine list this evening?”

“Not necessary. Tell Rufus we’ll have a bottle of the Hospices de Beaune Cuvée Pierre Floquet.”

“I will.” Seth bows slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Black.”

“Who’s Rufus?” Skye asks.

“He’s the sommelier here.”

“Oh. And…what the heck did you order?”

I chuckle. “It’s a burgundy from France. Made of a hundred percent pinot noir grapes. It’s light and fruity and pretty much goes with anything. You’ll like it, I think.”

“I’m sure I will. It sounds good.”

Seth returns with our drinks. I take a sip of the Wild Turkey and let the smokiness soothe my throat.

Ten minutes later, Seth visits us again—this time with an amuse-bouche.

“What is an amuse-bouche?” Skye asks.

“A pre appetizer,” Seth says. “This is a rye toast point with avocado and caviar.”

“Thank you, Seth,” I say.

Skye glances down at her plate. “It’s tiny.”

“Right. It’s supposed to be.”

“How do I eat it?”

“With your hands, Skye.” I pick up my small toast point and put it in my mouth. The brine of the caviar against the lushness of avocado is delicious.

Instead of following suit, Skye pulls out her phone, picks up the toast point, and snaps a selfie.

Then she places it on her tongue.

“Oh, it’s good!” she exclaims.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I wish there were more.”

“Don’t worry.” I smile. “You won’t leave this table hungry. I promise you.”

She taps on her phone for a minute, clearly posting to Instagram. Curious, I pull out my own phone to see her post.

My first amuse-bouche! Rye toast point with avocado and caviar. Delish! #veryamusingtomybouche #caviarrocks #gabriellegrandmanhattan

I grin at #veryamusingtomybouche. Skye obviously knows that bouche means “mouth” in French.

“Do you speak French?” I ask.

She blushes adorably. “God, no. I had two years in high school, but I don’t remember much.”

“You remember bouche.”

“Right. Bouche means mouth. Langue means tongue. Jambe means leg.” She giggles. “I’m out.”

Before we can converse further on Skye’s language skills, Seth brings our appetizer.

“Oysters Rockefeller with the chef’s own twist. Instead of the usual parsley, he used lemongrass and cilantro.”

“Interesting,” I say. “Coming from Boston, I’m no stranger to any oyster dish.”

“I’m sure you’ll like this one.” Seth bows slightly and then makes himself scarce.

Skye snaps another photo while I dig in. The herb combination gives the dish an unusual tanginess, which I like.

Rufus, a jovial man from Jamaica, appears at the table with our wine. “Good evening, Mr. Black. I have the Hospices de Beaune Cuvée Pierre Floquet for you.”

“Perfect.”

He swiftly removes the cork and pours a small amount in my glass.

I’m not a wine connoisseur by any means, but I know what I like. Simplicity. Give me a burgundy over a Bordeaux any day. They’re lighter and fruitier. I swirl the wine in the glass—that’s what I’ve seen countless others do—and then take a sniff.

Smells like wine.

I take a taste.

Tastes like wine.

Very good wine. Fruity with a touch of spice, and it goes down easy.

“Excellent,” I say to Rufus.

He nods and fills Skye’s glass and then mine.

I pick up my glass. “To your meeting tomorrow.”

Skye raises her glass and clinks it against mine. “May it go well.”

“It will.” I smile.

Next, Seth brings our salad of heirloom tomatoes, baby greens, slivered roasted almonds, and a house-made champagne vinaigrette. I take a bite and swallow.

I’ve decided.

I’ve decided to take Skye to Black Rose Underground.

I’ve been contemplating it since I caught her mesmerized by the photos in The Art of Bondage. It may very well be too soon, and if so? We’ll leave. But I have a feeling the time may be right.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking.

But perhaps it’s not.

“I have a surprise for you,” I say.

Skye swallows her bite. “Oh?”

“Yes, but not tonight. I want you to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s meeting.”

“And this surprise necessitates that I not get a good night’s sleep?”

“Oh, you’ll sleep. But you may be a little…sore afterward. That’s why it will wait until tomorrow evening.”

She clears her throat, a slight frown marring her face. “Sore?”

I raise an eyebrow. Just one. “Not anal sex, Skye. Not until you’re ready.”

She lets out a breath. “Okay. Good. Why will I be sore, then?”

Wow. She’s visibly relieved about the anal. As much as I hated how she barged in on me at my office that day, perhaps it was best. I’d planned to introduce her to anal that evening.

But she’s not ready.

Whether it’s trust or something else, she’s not ready to go there.

I can wait.


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