If I'd learned anything about Mitchell in the time I spent with him, it was he had a taste for lavish things. From cars to the places he stayed and even food, so when he escorted me into a restaurant that made me think I was back in the eighteenth century and about to dine with royalty, I wasn't surprised.
While Mitchell spoke to the concierge regarding our reservation, I took the opportunity and admired how eloquently elegant the setting of the three Michelin star restaurant was. I truly felt as if I stood in the room of a grand dining hall of a resplendent palace. The setting reminded me of the dining hall my father used for corporate guests at his Long Island home with a Versailles grandeur theme. Much like the rest of the hotel, the ceiling was high and adorned with beautiful paintwork and gliding, exquisite crystal chandeliers hung high.
Precious fabrics were set on each table and hung as drapes over the wide windows. The crème and gold hues of the room had a plush regal carpet that felt as if I walked on silk as we made our way to our table. The room was lit with golden lights and a wonderful tune softly played on the piano by a gentleman in one corner of the room.
Mitchell pulled out my chair and with a small smirk, I took a seat while he proceeded to do the same on the chair opposite mine. A young waitress dressed in an elegant uniform greeted us and placed a menu in front of each. She grinned at me and I didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on Mitchell for a bit too long before she flashed an extra friendly smile at him, exchanged some words in French, and left.
I ignored the need to roll my eyes at yet another woman who checked Mitchell out in my presence and paid attention to my menu. A frown grew over my forehead when I didn't understand a single word, other than the few names of edibles that were in English.
"Isn't Monte Carlo a tourist rife place?" I mused, "Then why is everything written in French?"
"Because they're particular about their culture," Mitchell replied, "And English is overrated."
You wouldn't say that if you didn't understand French.
I narrowed my eyes at his smug grin, "Show off."
Mitchell softly chuckled and reached for my hand on the table, "Why fear when I'm near?" his fingers gently drew circles over my hand, "I got you, baby," he winked.
I glanced at his long fingers that drew patterns over the top side of my palm and my dirty mind flashed back to a while ago in our hotel room, where those fingers were elsewhere and made me feel... things.
I instinctively rolled my lip between my teeth when I envisioned a mental image of how Mitchell held me in front of the mirror, my skin prickled and the temperature in the room increased a fraction as I recalled how each little touch from him felt on my skin.
"What are you in the mood for?" Mitchell's voice broke my reverie and I quickly composed myself.
At first, I thought Mitchell was ignorant about the effect he had on me, but the way he tried to hide his threatening smirk told me he very knew what he was doing.
"You," I stated and stared straight into his bright blue-grey eyes.
Amusement sparkled in his eyes but the ever so proper Mitchell glanced at our surroundings and softly cleared his throat, "I meant for dinner, from this restaurant."
"Oh," I feigned innocence and shrugged, "Surprise me, I don't mind."
"But for dessert," I slid my hand out from underneath his and his eyes were on my every movement as I casually drew patterns over his fingers with mine, "I want something with a cream-filled center that's bound to fill me."
I glanced at him from under my lashes and a small smirk grew over my lips when Mitchell looked at me sternly and shifted awkwardly in his seat as he once again took in our surroundings.
"Mila," he warned softly under his breath, "Social etiquette."
I rolled my eyes and scoffed under my breath, "Much like I want to do to you, screw social etiquette."
The ambiance of the restaurant was upscale and serene so I understood why the prude in Mitchell was a little uncomfortable to talk about our sex life so audibly. Anyone seated at the surrounding tables could've heard and my high-pitched voice hadn't helped. Not to mention that everyone who dined at the restaurant looked snooty, judgmental, and were a lot older than Mitchell and I.
"Maybe we should've ordered room service," Mitchell mused under his breath.
I wriggled my brows, placed my elbows on the table, and rested my face on my palms, "I suggested that but you insisted on spoiling me to a sumptuous repast," I paused and my eyes fell to the part of his chest that was exposed from the top few undone buttons of his shirt, "I would've enjoyed eating dessert off you."
"Mila," Mitchell softly warned but I knew deep down the mental image he had of my not so innocent words affected him.
"That's how I imagine you'd call my name when I lick whipped cream off your di-"
"Stop," he cut me off and I bit the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from laughing at how awkward but possibly turned on he could've been.
"I doubt you'd want me to stop until I cream –"
"Not even holy water could save that mouth," Mitchell cut me off.
"Why?" I ran my fingers through my hair, "What kind of sinful things do you plan on doing tonight?"
"I..." Mitchell trailed off and sighed but amusement danced in his slightly dilated eyes which told me he enjoyed my dirty talk more than he led on, "Never mind."
With his eyes on the menu in front of him, he tried to change the subject, "How do you feel about mushrooms?"
He's just shooting himself in the foot now.
I pursed my lips and pretended to think for a moment, "Well, I don't like to say size matters but let's be real, a little mushroom just won't fill and give me the satisfaction I need."
"I like them with rounded, thicker heads and the girth –"
"I get it," Mitchell cut me off, "And I promise you will get exactly what you want but please can you focus on the food?"
"Fine," I playfully pouted, "But you can't blame me for being distracted when I'm sitting across a whole damn snack."
Mitchell shot me a look, "Mila."
I laughed softly and figured I was done teasing for the moment, "Alright," I glanced at the menu, "Gnocchi with mushroom truffles sounds pretty good."
"As for the rest," I rested back on my seat, "I have no idea what it is."
Mitchell smiled at me and it was so sincere and loving that I couldn't help but smile back at him with the same sincerity, "That's what I'm here for."
"Well..." I drawled, "There are other reasons I could think of."
Mitchell lifted my hand off the table, brought my hand to his lips, and pressed two soft kisses over my knuckles, "I love you but please behave."
I grinned innocently at him as I retracted my hand, "If I don't, what are you going to do about it?" I dramatically battered my lashes, "Spank me?"
Mitchell's brows raised and his eyes darkened a shade which confused me; he was either appalled by the idea or intrigued, there was no in-between. He slowly moved forward, rested his elbow on the table, and mindlessly played with the stubble around his jaw while his piercing eyes stared at me.
"If that's your kind of thing," he softly but huskily said, "I'll gladly take you over my knee."
"God knows you've probably needed a spanking for a long time now," he added and my eyes now widened.
Well, this backfired, I did not expect that response.
I cleared my throat, reached for the bottle of water on the table, and poured the chilled liquid into a glass before I took a large gulp.
"Thirsty, baby?" His lips twitched at the corners and mischief sparked in his eyes.
"Just a little," I choked out after I placed the glass down, "But not for what you're assuming."
Mitchell's smirk widened and merely hummed as he scrutinized my partially flustered state, "Hmm."
I was not into the kind of kinks I teased him about but as I took in his reaction, I wasn't sure if he teased me or if he really meant it.
Just as I was about to voice my thoughts, the waitress who smiled too widely at Mitchell was back, and almost as if I wasn't present, her main focus was on him instead.
Her hair was dark, slicked back into a ponytail which made her small but bright eyes stand out. There was no doubt she was attractive but I didn't take a liking to her. She smiled and her body leaned in towards Mitchell while he politely dictated our order. I took another sip of water as I scrutinized the pair closely.
"Do you want to share a Greek salad?" Mitchell glanced at me.
"Horiatiki," the waitress elaborated, "It is a traditional Greek Feta salad made with fresh produce from Provence gardens."
Great, now she speaks Greek.
I shrugged, "Sure, she got me at Greek and feta cheese."
Mitchell nodded and gave her the rest of our order before she walked off and offered me the tiniest of smiles.
"Do you ever get used to it?" I asked Mitchell after a brief moment of silence.
Mitchell who just took a sip of water shook his head, "I keep telling myself to expect the dirtiest reaction out of you but you still catch me off guard. Every damn time."
"I'm not talking about that," I clarified.
"Then what are you talking about?" he questioned.
With pursed lips, I gave him a look, "Don't act ignorant."
"I honestly don't know what you mean," he insisted.
I narrowed my eyes a little and leaned forward, "So, you're telling me you don't see it?"
He flashed me a cute dimpled smile, "All I see is you."
If I didn't know him better, I would've giggled like an idiot at his cheesy line but I knew him very well so instead of a response, I raised a questioning brow.
Mitchell realized I wasn't kidding around so after a sigh, he said, "See what?"
"How almost every girl, and sometimes guys, ogle you like you're their favorite main course," I elaborated.
"Ogle," Mitchell repeated my weird choice of words.
I knew he tried to change the subject but I wasn't going to let him do that so I said with a look of dismay, "Don't change the subject."
Mitchell took in a breath before he replied, "Sometimes I do notice," and sounded a little awkward for some reason, "It's kind of hard not to when people try too hard at flirting."
"And how does that make you feel?" I scrutinized him closely as I asked.
"What am I in? Therapy?" he blurted.
I stifled a laugh, "It's just a question."
Mitchell sighed and appeared a little uncomfortable as he talked about himself or in this case, how attractive he was, "Sometimes it's a compliment, other times it's annoying."
"Although, when you flirted with me for the first time, I took it as a compliment and liked it," he added with a small grin.
I scoffed and played ignorantly, "I did not flirt with you at the restaurant we met in, on the contrary, I ran out of there as if my ass was on fire."
Mitchell arched a brow but before he voiced his thoughts, the waitress was back with our appetizers, and a gentleman followed with the bottle of wine Mitchell had requested.
The gentleman was a lot more polite than the waitress as he poured the richly red liquid into my glass and when he went over to Mitchell, the waitress set my plate in front of me. She then placed a rounded platter on the middle of the table that had something called Tarte au Soleil which was a savory pastry with garlic and pesto.
My mouth watered at the rich flavor of the pistachio falafel on my plate and I just then realized how hungry I was. I wasn't sure what Mitchell ordered for himself, but it looked like something with chicken.
"As I was saying," Mitchell said after we were left alone, "I wasn't talking about the restaurant."
I recalled a time when Mitchell and I silently agreed that we met at a restaurant where Faith and Owen introduced us instead of at that wretched frat party. But not too long ago, Mitchell acknowledged our real first meeting, and ever since he never really brought it up again, until now.
"Oh," I raised my brows, "You want to talk about this while we're eating?"
He twisted his face in disgust and I found his reaction humorous and pitiful at the same time.
"I'm not talking about that," he elaborated, "I'm talking about events which led up to... Well, you know."
"Gastric juice offload?" I casually suggested, to which Mithcell glared and ignored.
Mitchell was right, I had flirted with him that night. My drunk mind thought I was as smooth as butter but when I thought about it now, my approach was borderline cringeworthy.
I took a sip of wine and as the sweet, smooth liquid went down my throat, I paused and fully concentrated on the delicious liquor. I greedily took one more sip before I muttered how good it was and then continued my conversation with Mitchell.
"In my defense," I broke the falafel in half with my fork, "I was pretty drunk at the time and you were the prettiest thing that night."
Mitchell pursed his lips, "That's debatable."
"Really?" I arched a brow, "How many pants did you try to waltz your way into?"
"One," Mitchell immediately responded, "And her face was the prettiest thing I saw all night."
He knows how to play his cards right.
"And then she ruined your face," I laughed and Mitchell scowled at me, "With vom-"
"Alright," he cut me off, "I don't need a reminder."
I placed the delicious falafel in my mouth and smirked at him, "Do you remember the taste?"
If disgust could've been described with an expression, then the way Mitchell looked at me was it, "Mila."
"I'm sorry," I put up a hand defensively and laughed under my breath.
Mitchell shook his head, "You really are very comfortable with me."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," I mused.
"It's not," he earnestly said, "I'm glad you're comfortable with me but... some things should remain in the archives and never be brought up again."
I agreed with him, there was a time the mere memory of how I'd thrown up in Mitchell's mouth was traumatizing.
I never thought I'd one day be in a relationship and madly in love with him yet here I am.
"But really," Mitchell said seriously, "You were the prettiest at that party and I knew it just by seeing your back."
"My back?" My eyebrows furrowed.
Mitchell chewed down his food, took a sip of wine, and nodded, "You were 'the girl with the blue dress' before I knew your name."
I didn't recall what I wore that night and was surprised Mitchell remembered – he took observant to another level.
"You were playing beer pong and I recall you crushing a ping pong ball under your sneaker and probably passed a smartass remark and then proceeded to chug down beer."
"You saw that?" I was amused and surprised.
"I did," he nodded. "It was the same time Owen laid eyes on Faith, whom I'll add, looked miserable."
I laughed, "She was. I forced her to accompany me or she would've never left that damn apartment."
"I didn't want to attend either," a ghostly smile played on Mitchell's lips. "But Owen convinced me."
This was new information to me and, barfing incident aside, how our first real meeting had been brought up was nice.
"I guess Faith and I should thank you and Owen," Mitchell mused, "If it wasn't for the two of you, we wouldn't have found the loves of our lives."
I inwardly rolled my eyes but also swooned and felt like a silly teenager at his statement. I couldn't hold back a smile and my heart raced like a girl who had gotten the attention of her crush for the first time.
"Stop," I waved him off, "Two compliments from you in a matter of five minutes, I'm going to start getting used to this."
Mitchell seemed to enjoy the way he got me flustered and flushed because he softly chuckled. "Get used to it then."
"Alright enough with the compliments," I placed my fork down, "Question of the day, what was your first impression of me?"
"I thought you said enough compliments?" Mitchell countered with humor.
"I doubt it was anything romantic," I responded.
Mitchell pursed his lips and sat in a pensive state for a long moment, "Not romantic," he replied honestly. "But I did think you were the hottest thing I saw in a long time."
His eyes looked a little distant as he continued, which told me his mind was back to that night, "The first thing I noticed was your legs," he paused, "I still stand by this when I say, what damn legs!"
"Your legs are the best I've ever seen. Long, lean, that perfect olive tan..." he trailed off and I was flattered but now also felt a little awkward.
"Stop or you'll give yourself a boner," I commented.
"Physical attributes aside," Mitchell continued, "I thought you were pretty cool and that sharp, sassy tongue of yours got me interested."
"And now you imagine that tongue around Mitchell-flavored shrimp," I smirked and he glowered at me.
"Really, Mila?"
"Really," I wiggled my brows.
"You know," Mitchell leaned forward and spoke in a hushed town, "You talk about... blowjobs so often yet that pretty little smart mouth..." he paused and his eyes fell to my lips for a brief moment, "...has done nothing but talk."
I was dumbfounded and surprised at his statement. Mitchell flirted with me and passed sexual innuendos but this was the first time he indirectly asked for a blowjob.
"Naughty, Mitchy," I cooed, "Are you asking me for a blowjob?"
Mitchell's lips curved into a lopsided smirk and he half shrugged before he leaned back on his seat, "Who would turn down those pretty lips?"
I playfully purred, "I like it when you talk dirty. Some more of that, and my panties will be off."
"Again?" he smirked and the memory of our activities before dinner got me a little flustered.
"Well played, Clarke." I lifted my glass to him.
The main course arrived and I was a little disappointed at the tiny serving sizes. When I voiced my thoughts, Mitchell told me to lower my volume and explained it was a gourmet serving but would fill me.
"If I'm hungry later, you're getting me pizza," I mumbled as I dug into the gnocchi.
"Anything for you," he replied as he started with the bass on his plate.
We ate in silence and even though I complained about the serving size, the meal was mouthwatering and possibly the best I'd eaten in a long time.
"Your turn," Mitchell wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "What was your first impression of me?"
"Other than downing the bottle of fine wine you laid eyes on," he cheekily added.
I hated Owen for mentioning that little detail to Mitchell, which made him even more smug than he was and added to his already slightly inflated ego.
"We both know I didn't down anything, instead I did quite the opposite," I flashed him a tight-lipped smile and he glared at me.
I took in a breath, "Honestly?" I asked and he nodded, "At first I thought you were mute, and then I thought you were a little... full of yourself."
"Oh?" he sounded intrigued.
"Yeah, you were so... uptight and broody but when I finally got you to crack, the first thing I noticed was your dimples," I sighed in content, "I never knew I could've liked holes so much."
"Holes? Seriously?" Mitchell looked a little disgusted.
"I mean indents," I clarified and grinned at the reaction I wanted to get out of him.
"You liked my dimples?" Mitchell sounded a little disappointed.
"Of course, and I still do," I replied, "You have this broody, mysterious, sexy aura but then you smile and," I looked at him with doe eyes and a pout, "you're like this cute little puppy who needs a hug."
"That's why I've always hated these fucking things," Mitchell bitterly muttered under his breath and the revulsion on his face was quite funny, "I hear mushy shit like this."
"You have pretty eyes too," I tried to cheer him up.
"Thanks," he humorlessly grinned.
I huffed softly, "What do you want me to say? That I fell hopelessly in love with you at first sight?"
"Because I didn't, I saw a very tall, attractive man and ACDC blasted in my mind, all I thought about was I wanted to shake you all night long," I wriggled my chest a little.
I broke through Mitchell's sulking demeanor when his lips twitched at the corners and a small smile grew.
"I know you didn't fall in love with me," he said, "If you did, I would've run out of there."
I remembered how he told me that girls had dropped the L-bomb on him many times before after merely one meeting.
"Other than thinking you were smoking hot," I went on, "I thought you were pretty nice and a bit of a gentleman. I also thought it was really nice how you spoke highly of your mom."
"If we didn't have that conversation, I don't think I would've been so willing to open my legs for you that night," I added and he smiled.
I extended my arm and placed my hand over his large one, "I wouldn't change a thing about that night – except one thing, but I believe that every little memory we share now led us to this moment and I have never been happier than I am now."
"And it's all because of you," I smiled.
He slid his hand out from under mine, lifted it, and placed a small kiss over my fingers, "I wouldn't change anything either, not even..." he swallowed. "Tasting you that night."
I laughed, "You tasted me in a way no one ever has."
He blinked twice, ignored my previous statement, and carried on, "I've never been happier either and I owe it to this chica loca named Mila."
I smiled, "You make me blush."
***
After dinner, Mitchell and I made our way to the famous Casino de Monte-Carlo. It was one of the main attractions of the principality and even a famous set for many Hollywood productions over the years.
The casino was within walking vicinity to the hotel we stayed at, so with my arm looped through Mitchell's, we took slow strides and appreciated the clear night sky, cool breeze, and fresh air.
As we walked, I spotted a G-Wagon parked alongside many other luxury cars that were white and the same model as the one Mitchell had. I recalled how much he adored that car of his, it was a birthday gift from his dad and he'd taken care of the car as if it were his child. I, however, was the reason he didn't have it anymore since I drove his car on the night of my accident. Afterwards, it was in such awful shape and written off as not road worthy.
"Hey, look it's Sadie's cousin," I pointed to the white SUV.
Mitchell didn't seem phased; he merely nodded and didn't pursue the subject any further. I frowned slightly and wondered why he was so sullen, I assumed it had to do with the fact the car reminded him of my accident or he missed the vehicle.
"I never apologized," I sheepishly muttered.
Mitchell looked at me in confusion, "Apologize for?"
"Crashing Sadie," I replied, "I never meant to take your car but I had a key mishap and refused to go back up to the apartment to swap the keys and –"
"And I'm glad you took my car that night," he cut me off and we stopped walking when he looked at me the same way he always did when the night of my accident was brought up – with remorse and pain.
"The doctor said if you'd driven a smaller car," he paused and I could see how much it still pained him to talk about that night, "You wouldn't have made it."
I wasn't aware of that small detail, no one had told me that because I'd driven Mitchell's Mercedes G-Wagon, my life was spared. Instead, everyone adamantly blamed Mitchell for my condition.
"I didn't know," I whispered under my breath.
Mitchell took in a deep breath and he said with a serious yet soft tone, "There's no need to apologize, the Wag – Sadie, is one of the reasons you're here with me today."
"I never gave a damn about the car when I heard about your..." He still couldn't say the words properly which told me he still blamed himself. "My point is, your life and well-being mean far more to me than a stupid piece of metal that can easily be replaced."
I smiled up at him, un-looped my arms from his, and hugged him. Even though I wore three-inch heels, I still stood on my tippy toes when I wrapped my hands around Mitchell's neck, nestled my face at the crook of his neck, and breathed in his intoxicating scent.
His hands wrapped around my waist, he pulled me closer, and placed a kiss at the side of my head. Neither of us needed to say anything, the feelings we shared at the moment were enough that told each other how much we meant to one another.
When we pulled away, my hands were still intertwined around Mitchell's neck and his rested around my waist. His gaze dropped to my slightly parted lip then slowly moved up to meet my eyes. The look of love mixed with desire in his eyes set flight a bunch of butterflies in my stomach and there was nothing I wanted more than to kiss him until we couldn't breathe.
"What are you looking at?" I prompted him, "Act on those thoughts."
Mitchell raised an amused brow, "You're a mind reader now?"
Purposely, I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and said in a raspy tone, "I don't need to be a mind reader to know what you're thinking about."
"Hmm," he hummed and nudged my forward, "Enlighten me."
I removed one hand from around his neck and seductively trailed my fingers down over his shoulders, down to his chest, where I found the buttons of his black shirt. I lightly chewed on the corner of my bottom lip and fiddled with the undone buttons and made sure my fingers brushed over his exposed chest.
I felt his gaze hot on my every moment and decided to slowly roll my eyes upwards to meet his scrutinizing but dazed blue-grey eyes.
"Well," I began in a flirty tone, "for starters, I think you're thinking about what my mouth tastes like right now but you're conflicted because one..." I paused and placed my fingers firmly over his chest, "...You like this particular lipstick and don't want to ruin it right now."
"Secondly," my eyes dropped to his lips, "You're afraid if you start now, you won't stop and our roulette plans will go down the drain."
"I'll give you a B on your thesis," he mused with a hint of humor.
I rolled my eyes, "The only B you're thinking about is the cups holding my boobs."
"For that, you get an A," he grinned cheekily.
I poked his dimple to annoy him but it never worked because he told me he found that action from me endearing. I looked up with doe eyes, "So, why play Roulette when you can play with my bouncy castles?"
Mitchell pulled his face in dismay and possibly repulsion at my words but also appeared like he held back his laughter. He glanced down at me through his humor-filled bright eyes, "Those aren't bouncy castles."
I was slightly offended and I made it known when I stepped back and removed all contact from him. I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips when I said, "I dare you to repeat that."
Mitchell quickly realized how bad that sounded, he scratched the back of his head and reached for me but I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.
"I mean," he stuttered at first before he more coherently said, "When I imagine bouncy castles, I imagine them quite large and yours are...." he trailed off and I raised a brow.
"Mosquito bites?" My tone was bitter and filled with accusation.
Mitchell's eyes widened a fraction and he quickly shook his head, "God no," he cleared his throat, "I mean, not there's anything wrong with... smaller breasts."
"My point is, yours are my favorite. They're a perfect handful and I love them." He was a blabbing fool by the time he was done defending himself.
"In fact," he placed a hand on each arm of mine, "I recall thinking how perfect they looked the first time I saw you. I told myself they were a great size, just the way I like them."
He's just digging himself in a deeper hole.
"You checked out my boobs the first time you saw me?" I accused, "You, prude of the century, actually looked and then proceeded to think dirty thoughts about a woman you'd barely just met?"
The color drained from his face and the ever so proper Mitchell was caught. Seemingly, he too had a little pervert boy hidden beneath his gentleman stance.
"I," he stuttered, "I mean..." he shrugged and looked at me sheepishly, "I am still a guy but I swear I tried not to think anyth-"
I placed my finger over his lips, "Just stop talking."
Mitchell nodded and I found how flustered he got was humorous. I still had that ability in me even though I was in a relationship with him.
I still always have the last say.
I removed my finger and Mitchell deeply sighed. "You're perfect."
"Hmm," I feigned annoyance and he searched my features.
"Shall we?" he offered his hand.
I playfully scowled at him, pretended I was still mad, and led the way to the casino. Mitchell's long legs caught up in no time and his fingers reached for mine, but I closed them into a fist and kept them firmly at my side.
"Really?" Mitchell commented.
"Really." I replied.
"You're going to throw a tantrum?" he asked.
I didn't look his way and shook my head, "Nope, I just don't want to hold your hand," I turned to look his way, "I like bigger, stronger, and real manly hands."
Mitchell didn't know I thought that way but I just described his hands; I wanted to get him back for the stupid boob remark.
"Oh," Mitchell drawled, "Anything else you prefer in a man that I, presumably don't have?"
I stared at him for a moment, "Balls."
Mitchell found my response funny and how he wasn't offended annoyed me because he knew that I didn't mean anything I just said.
"With your permission, I'm willing to prove your statement wrong," he mused.
"My optometrist told me it's bad to squint my eyes so I've decided to stop looking at minuscule objects," I retorted with a flat tone.
Mitchell chuckled and grasped my arm but I shoved him off. He was caught off guard by my reaction and before I could walk off again, he gripped my arm more firmly.
I tried to squirm out of his hold but he pulled me to his side and we stopped walking once more.
"Don't fight me," he used an authoritative tone that I only accepted when we were in the bedroom, yet I still adhered and remained still.
I was still stubborn and when Mitchell stepped around to face me, I lowered my gaze and refused to look at him.
"Look at me," he gently said and I didn't give in.
"Mila, look at me," he spoke in a firmer tone.
I slowly rolled my eyes up to meet his and wanted to slap the smug look he wore; he enjoyed how easily he got under my skin.
"I didn't mean to offend you," his eyes and voice were sincere. "You are not only the most beautiful but sexiest woman I have ever met. When I first laid eyes on you, I was left speechless by your beauty."
He gripped my chin with his fingers and tilted my head to meet my eyes, "Then I got to know you and I found out that not just on the outside but every part of you is perfect. And you know what's the best part about that?"
"What?" I asked in a bored tone even though I swooned on the inside.
He brought his face closer to mine and I inhaled when his breath fanned over my lips and his stubble tickled my chin. I shut my eyes for a moment when he brushed his lips over mine with a chaste, sweet kiss.
My eyes slowly fluttered open and the butterflies in my stomach swarmed crazily when he stared into my wide gaze and whispered, "You're mine."
I gulped and my heart hammered against my ribs, Mitchell surely won this round of banter and I had no complaints.
He smiled and flicked my nose, "Stop with the tantrum and let's see if you can get lucky in the casino."
I rolled my eyes, "I'm not five."
Before we left, I glanced once more at the white G-Wagon and a small smile played on my lips. The specific car I looked at wasn't Mitchell's but somehow it made me nostalgic. The car I named Sadie held many dear memories that I would treasure forever and it saddened me when I thought that Sadie no longer existed.
"What happened now?" Mitchell asked.
With my eyes still on the white SUV, I asked, "Would you ever get another one?"
"What?" Mitchell replied, "A G-Wagon?"
I looked at him and nodded, "Yeah, I like it."
Mitchell's lighthearted expression from a moment ago dropped and was replaced with one of sadness and guilt. He shook his head, "I don't think I want another one."
"Why?" I asked softly and a small grin grew on my lips as I sang a song he once hated, "G-Wagon, G-Wagon, G-Wagon..."
Mitchell couldn't fight back his smile as he probably recalled the memories we shared on our road trip, "I still hate that song."
"I'm serious," I reached for his hand and took it in mine, "You loved that damn car so much and now I get it. She was easy on the eyes, a great ride. She was also smart and had a smartass mouth."
Mitchell's Mercedes G-Wagon had an artificial intelligence system with a personality and when I found out about the feature, I asked it odd questions to humiliate Mitchell and the response I always got was hilarious.
"And the best part," a mischievous smile grew on my lips, "she insulted your dick."
Mitchell pursed his lips and feigned a scowl, "Why do I need another G-Wagon when I have you now? You do all of that with interest."
"Good point," I laughed.
"And you're a much better ride," Mitchell cheekily added.
"I know," I cockily agreed, "But I'm serious, just think about it. Don't let one incident ruin something you once adored."
"Mila," Mitchell sighed.
"Just think about it," I said and after a moment he stiffly nodded.
"Alright," he agreed, intertwined his fingers with mine and we made our way towards the casino complex.
A/N Hi guys! I hope you liked this chapter! It feels so weird to write M&M as a couple but I do enjoy their teasing, I hope you do too?
Lately, I haven't really been feeling this story much, perhaps it's my personal life stress of work etc but I'd like your opinion. Do you still like this story? Do you want to see something specific between these two? Or should I start a completely new story and wrap this one up?
Let me know your thoughts and thank you to those who have stuck with this story, it means so much to me,
New chapter up tomorrow,
Till then,
Be safe,
Tina