But I took her mouth again, and this time, I slid the hand that held her hair down into her panties, parting her ass cheeks, pressing my finger there, rubbing her tight little asshole until her knees gave way, and she cried out, gripping my neck, burying her face in my chest to stifle her moans as she came, her pussy soaking my fingers, my hand, her weight fully supported by me as her body gave out. She sighed, her breathing short, her eyes wet and dark when she turned them up to me. I wrapped my arms around her, smiling, victorious.

“I hate you,” she murmured, closing her eyes when I claimed her mouth for the kiss I took, triumphant again.

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you are stubborn,” I said to Lucia, leaning in closer. “You’re eating. Choose something, or I’ll choose for you.”

She glared but acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll have the mushroom ravioli.”

“Ravioli it is,” the waiter said, giving me a look and taking our menus.

Once the clothes had been paid for, Lucia had dressed in the black backless dress, and we’d headed to a small Italian restaurant for dinner.

“I can’t show my face at Nordstrom again. You know that, right?”

“No one saw your face,” I said, winking, as I picked up a piece of bread and dipped it into a bowl of olive oil.

“You make me so mad!”

I chewed on the bread. “They have the best olive oil. You know, it’s made from their own olives from their groves in Tuscany.”

She took a piece of bread and violently dipped it before biting off a chunk, then sat back and gave me a look. “Did you wash your hands?”

I laughed so hard I nearly choked, and the patrons at the tables around us turned to stare. “I like the way you taste,” I said, reaching under the table and sliding one hand up the inside of her thigh.

“You’re terrible!” She caught my hand and shoved it away.

“That’s not what you were saying in the dressing room.”

The waiter brought over the bottle of wine I’d ordered. Lucia dropped her gaze to her lap, her cheeks flaming red.

He popped the cork and poured. “It’s fine,” I said after tasting it. He filled Lucia’s glass first, then mine. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said to her after the waiter left and we picked up our glasses.

“I just had a very loud orgasm in the fitting room at Nordstrom.”

I smiled and shrugged a shoulder. I knew this resistance was in part due to her anxiety over my father’s birthday party. “You’re probably not the first,” I teased, then gave her a wink and decided now was a good time to change the subject. “Your niece is cute.”

She studied me, slowly sipping from her glass. “She is.”