Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Besides, that antique furniture at the Cornstalk Hotel is definitely not conducive to a scene.
Our server returns, clears the turtle soup dishes, and provides our next course.
“Shrimp remoulade,” he says. “Enjoy.”
Shrimp are arranged neatly in a shallow bowl, and a creamy, light yellow sauce is drizzled over them.
“So this is an appetizer?” I ask.
“Actually, I asked Mémé to create a tasting menu for us, including all of my favorite dishes. It just so happens that all of the dishes are excellent examples of Creole cuisine. This is shrimp remoulade—boiled shrimp with remoulade sauce, which is made with mayonnaise, mustard, and Creole seasoning.”
“You and your mayo.” I smile.
“Mayonnaise happens to be the best sauce out there. Combine it with mustard and some basic Creole seasoning, and you have a tangy goodness that you’re going to love.”
“I’m not a big fan of greasy sauces,” I say.
“Mayonnaise isn’t greasy. You said you eat it on sandwiches.”
“Yes, it’s a condiment, Ronan. Not a sauce. And yes it’s greasy. Its major component is oil.”
“Open your mind, Blossom.” He gives me that almost-smile again, making my loins heat. “Mémé makes her own mayonnaise from scratch. She uses only cold-pressed avocado oil.”
“Interesting. Not olive oil?”
“Extra-virgin olive oil has a very distinct flavor,” he says. “She prefers avocado. Avocado oil, egg yolks, and just a touch of vinegar. Her mayonnaise is excellent, and I bet you’d love it on your fries.”
“Are we having fries tonight?”
Ronan gives me a slight smile. “I don’t think fries are on the menu.”
“Then I won’t be able to try this tangy remoulade sauce on my fries, will I?”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will order you a great big order of fries with a side of remoulade.”
“Okay. But when will we have beignets and coffee?”
“Tomorrow morning, of course. So you know what beignets are?”
“I’m a homebody, Ronan. That doesn’t mean I don’t read or watch TV.”
“We’ll go to Café du Monde,” Ronan says. “Best beignets in the big easy.”
“Not here? At Chez Yvette?”
“Mémé does make a pretty good one. We could come back here tomorrow. But Café du Monde is a New Orleans staple.”
“Okay, then Café du Monde, it is. This trip is all up to you, Ronan.” I look down at the bowl of shrimp. “You’re the expert.”
“You are submissive, aren’t you?”
I look over my shoulder and then lean across the table. “Was there really any doubt? But I’m not submitting to you because I want you to control me during this trip. I’m letting you take the lead because you’re from here. You grew up here, and I know nothing about New Orleans.”
A slow smile touches his lips. Yes, it’s actually a smile this time.
He’s so handsome, but so dark and broody. He doesn’t smile much, and I’ve only heard him laugh once. Typical for most Dominants I know.
I’m going to make this man smile while we’re here.
I’m going to make him smile at least twice every day.
“You have an interesting look on your face, Mary.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. It’s a bit mischievous. Seems like you’re up to no good.”
I smirk. “Maybe I’m not.”
“Well, then, just be sure you don’t take too many liberties. I may have to smack that sweet ass of yours.”
His words travel straight to my pussy at lightning speed.
God…
I haven’t felt like this since…
Have I ever?
Sure, I get turned on. I love a good scene. I love a good spanking.
But oh. My. God.
“Try the shrimp,” he says.
Since I’m not sure how to eat it, I watch him take the first bite. Then I spear a piece of shrimp with my fork, swirl it in the sauce, and bring it to my lips.
A splash of flavors hits my tongue.
I love shrimp, first of all. I could eat shrimp cocktail at every meal.
But this is served hot, not cold, and the shrimp is cooked to perfection. It crunches slightly under my teeth, and it’s not even slightly rubbery. And the sauce… The mayonnaise is cut by the acidity of the mustard, and the Creole seasoning… I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s delicious.
Once I swallow, Ronan looks at me.
“Well?”
“It’s amazing,” I admit. “Absolutely delicious.”
“Despite the greasy sauce?”
“Despite the greasy sauce.” Which isn’t greasy, but I don’t say that. “How many courses are we having?”
“Eight.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Do you really think I can eat eight courses?”
“I told you. It’s more of a tasting menu. It will be just enough to satisfy you, and then we’ll move onto the next course.”
A sliver of excitement spurts through me. I do enjoy eating, but I rarely eat with a Dominant. I don’t date. It’s not who I am.
But I’m enjoying this date with this gorgeous Scotsman-slash-child of New Orleans who rarely smiles but whose voice sends electric pulses straight between my legs.
Our server comes by with Ronan’s second Sazerac. He places the cocktail on the table and fills my water. “You sure I can’t get you another drink, ma’am?”