Chapter 1 - Appetite

The city hummed with life beyond the thick velvet curtains of the restaurant, the low murmur of traffic and distant laughter filtering in through the walls. But in here, the world felt smaller—quieter. Candlelight flickered against polished wood, reflecting in half-filled glasses and the glistening sheen of butter pooling on porcelain plates. The air was thick with the scent of indulgence—garlic and herbs melting into rich sauces, warm bread, the faintest trace of something sweet lingering in the background.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting herself in the plush booth, the fabric pressing against the curves of her body. The sensation was familiar, the way she took up space, the way the world sometimes seemed to push back against her presence. But here, now, none of that seemed to matter. Here, there were no stolen glances of disapproval, no sharp-edged whispers or half-bitten comments meant to wound. Here, there was only him.

And *he* was looking at her like she was something to be savored.

She wasn’t sure why she had agreed to dinner. Maybe it had been curiosity, or the way he had asked—confident, assured, without hesitation. There had been no dance around the subject, no reluctant suggestion that maybe she could *just* have a salad. He had looked at her, really *looked*, and made it clear he wanted this.

Wanted *her*.

She was used to attention, though rarely the kind that felt like this. There had been the usual stares, the ones filled with judgment, disgust, misplaced concern. There had been the men who wanted her in secret, in hushed encounters where no one else could see. But him?

He watched her openly, without shame, with something darker, heavier behind his eyes.

He wanted her *here*, in the warm glow of candlelight, surrounded by the sounds and scents of decadence. And he wanted to watch.

The first course had been polite, conversation drifting easily between them as they shared a basket of warm, crusty bread. The golden-brown crust crackled beneath her fingertips, giving way to soft, pillowy warmth inside. She had let herself enjoy it, pressing a piece into a shallow dish of olive oil, watching as it absorbed the dark, glistening liquid before bringing it to her lips.

She had felt his gaze on her then, the heat of it spreading across the table like a touch.

By the time the entrees arrived, something in her had begun to unravel.

There was no hesitation in the way he ordered, his voice smooth, self-assured. He had chosen rich, indulgent dishes without a second thought—pasta drenched in creamy sauce, thick cuts of meat glistening with juices, sides that pooled with butter and spice. There was no caution, no restraint, no mention of *Are you sure you want that?*

She liked it.

No—she *relished* it.

She let herself sink into the meal, let the flavors coat her tongue, let the warmth of good food and good company wrap around her like a blanket. The sensation of fullness settled deep, spreading through her in slow, languid waves, but she didn’t stop.

Didn’t *want* to stop.

The wine flowed easily between them, each sip warming her from the inside out. The candlelight softened the sharp edges of the world, turning everything gold. And when he poured her another glass without asking, she met his eyes over the rim, a slow smirk curling at the corner of her mouth before she took another sip.

“I like watching you enjoy yourself,” he said, voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that settled in her stomach in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.

She set her glass down, tracing a slow finger through the condensation. The meal was settling in her, heavy but satisfying, pressing against the fabric of her dress.

“Then you’re in luck,” she murmured, reaching for another bite.

His lips quirked, amusement flickering behind that steady intensity. He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table, watching as she lifted the fork to her lips. She took her time, letting him see the way she savored the food, the way pleasure softened the lines of her face. If he wanted to watch, she would give him a show.

Tonight, she wasn’t just *eating*.

She was indulging.

Another course arrived, a decadent spread of cheeses, honey-drizzled bread, delicate slices of fruit arranged like artwork on the plate. The scent alone sent a ripple of anticipation through her.

She sighed softly, reaching for a piece, tearing it apart with her fingers, letting the warmth seep into her skin before bringing it to her lips. A quiet hum of satisfaction slipped from her throat as she tasted it, rich and sweet and *perfect*.

Across from her, he shifted in his seat, his fingers flexing slightly where they rested against the table’s edge. He was watching her again, but this time, there was something almost reverent in the way he looked at her.

Like he was witnessing something rare.

Something *sacred*.

The thought sent a slow, delicious shiver down her spine.

She licked a trace of honey from her lower lip, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “You keep looking at me like that,” she mused, “and I might start thinking you have an appetite of your own.”

His smirk was slow, deliberate. “Oh, I do.”

The weight of his words settled deep, mingling with the fullness in a way that sent heat curling through her. The meal wasn’t over, the night was still stretching wide before them, but she already knew—

This was more than just dinner.

And she was far from full.