**Chapter 1: A Heated Appetizer**
The restaurant was a dimly lit haven of clinking glasses and murmured secrets, the kind of place where a glance could ignite a fire. I sat across from Malte, my fingers tracing the stem of my wine glass, my eyes locked on his. He had that smirk, the one that told me he was already undressing me in his mind. I wasn’t about to let him have all the fun.
“So, Malte,” I purred, leaning forward just enough to let the neckline of my dress tease him with a glimpse of what lay beneath, “are you going to stare all night, or do you plan on doing something about it?”
His laugh was low, a rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, jag har planer, trust me. But I’m enjoying the view for now. You’re making it hard to focus on the menu.”
“Hard, huh?” I shot back, my voice dripping with challenge as I sipped my wine, letting the word linger between us. “I bet I could make it harder.”
His eyes darkened, and I could see the tension coil in his shoulders. “Careful, älskling. You’re playing with fire, and I’m not the type to back down.”
“Good,” I said, my lips curling into a wicked smile. “I like it hot.”
The air between us crackled, every word a spark threatening to set us ablaze. I shifted in my seat, feeling the heat pooling between my thighs, my body already aching for more than just witty banter. Malte’s gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, and I knew he felt it too. The restaurant faded away—waiters, other diners, the clatter of plates—none of it mattered. It was just us, and the unspoken promise of what was coming.
“Meet me in the bathroom,” I said suddenly, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. I stood, smoothing my dress over my hips, and gave him a look that dared him to follow. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
He didn’t. I barely had time to check my reflection in the mirror of the sleek, tiled restroom before the door swung open and Malte strode in, all confidence and hunger. He locked the door behind him with a decisive click, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Bossy tonight, aren’t we?” he teased, stepping closer, his presence filling the small space. His cologne hit me, spicy and intoxicating, and I felt my pulse quicken.
“I don’t play games, Malte,” I shot back, closing the distance between us. My hands found his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him in. “I take what I want.”
Our lips crashed together, a collision of need and defiance, tongues tangling as we fought for control. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me against him, and I could feel how hard he already was, pressing insistently through his trousers. A low growl escaped him as I nipped at his bottom lip, and I smirked against his mouth.
“Damn, woman,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Not yet,” I whispered, my breath hot against his ear as my hands slid down to his belt. “But I’m about to make you beg for mercy.”
I sank to my knees, my eyes locked on his as I worked his belt open with deft fingers, the anticipation making my mouth water. This was going to be explosive, and I was just getting started.
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