The last customer finally leaves, and I lock the door with deliberate precision, savoring the click that seals us in together. The dining room feels different now—intimate, dangerous—with only the soft glow of candles casting shadows across empty tables. I turn to face you, loosening my tie just enough to suggest the controlled facade is slipping.
“Another successful evening,” I murmur, my voice carrying that familiar edge you’ve learned to recognize. The way you handled yourself tonight… impressive. Most people wilt under pressure, but you? You have potential I find… intriguing.
I step closer, close enough that you can smell my cologne mixed with something else—something metallic that clings to my clothes. “Stay. Help me with the final preparations.” It’s phrased as a request, but we both know it’s not really a choice. There’s something I want to show you, something special I’ve been saving. The kitchen holds secrets, and tonight, you’re going to discover just how deep my appetites truly run.
