Page 52 of Bonds of Shame, Bonds of Lust

"Ricardo," I breathed into the phone. His tongue flicked over my clit, then deeper, opening me. I don't know what sounds I made. I tried to be quiet. Then he stopped, and through the cloth I heard him, low.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I said, loud enough that a waiter turned. I fumbled the phone like I was mid-conversation. "No, no." Quieter. His mouth moved again, and intense pleasure flooded me, dark and certain. I felt powerful and filthy and it ran together into one bright thing.

His tongue dragged slow up through me and circled my clit, tight and relentless, then closed over it and sucked, a delicious vibration straight down. I bit the inside of my cheek. My free hand fisted in the tablecloth. The phone pressed so hard to my ear it hurt, my fake call reduced to shaky little "mm-hmm—yes—I understand." I just wanted to stop thinking.

Two fingers slid into me without warning, curling up while his tongue went faster. Wet, obscene sounds reached me, and the terror that someone else would hear them only wound me tighter. My thighs shook around his shoulders.

The pressure built like a tide I couldn't outrun. My hips jerked and I couldn't still them. Ricardo doubled down, and my vision swam, the restaurant lights smearing. A broken little whimper escaped.

"Oh God, yes," I gasped into the phone, my voice cracking. The same waiter glanced over. I forced a smile and nodded like I was agreeing with someone, my pussy clenching around his fingers.

He didn't stop. The orgasm hit without mercy. My whole body locked. I slammed the phone against my ear, jaw so tight it ached, a strangled cry dying in my throat while it rolled through me in waves. My free hand flew under the table and fisted in his hair and held him there, my hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth now, chasing every last pulse.

A soft sob slipped out. My thighs shook, the aftershocks smaller and still wrecking me, until I slumped back, boneless, chest heaving.

One last kiss, gentle, against me, and his fingers slid free. Then his voice, satisfied, from under the table where I couldn't see his face.

"Tell me when it's safe. I'm not coming out till you say."

I sat there dazed, thighs still parted, throbbing, trying to breathe and look like a normal woman at a quiet dinner.

I checked the room, waited for a clear moment, and told him it was safe. Ricardo surfaced grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips still glossy, his eyes dark. "That was amazing," he breathed.

I was still panting, half sure every eye was on me. Nobody was looking. "Oh my God, Ricardo."

He leaned in. "I'm so worked up. You're wonderful. So responsive." His eyes dragged over my flushed face. "I'm throbbing. Literally. Lacey, can I keep them?" He showed me the corner of my panties, hopeful and maybe shy.

I laughed. “After all this? Yes, Ricardo, please keep them.” Then a dirty idea arrived, the way they came so easily now. I kicked off a shoe and set my foot in his lap. He gasped, jaw clenching. I found the hard line of him through his trousers and worked it, slow. He dropped a hand to my ankle and held it there, guiding. I'd always half laughed at the idea of anything sexual about feet. This was not funny. My own foot was more sensitive than I'd have guessed, the arousal pulsing again. He was young, in the middle of his own fantasy, and it took him barely a minute. I pushed harder when I felt him get close, almost cruel about it. "Come, Ricardo. Do it."

Who said that? Whose mouth was that?

"Jesus," he groaned, and shuddered, one hand flying up over his face. I kept going, loving it, loving how easily I could make this beautiful man come apart. Then he caught himself and pushed back from the table, breathing hard, looking down at himself. Half a smile, half a grimace. He shook his head. "I've never done that. Ugh. What a mess."

The thought of it, hidden under his trousers for the rest of the night, made me bite my lip.

We ate, after. That was the strange part, how the meal just resumed, how the waiter came back with the plates and Ricardo praised the sauce and asked if I wanted to try his, and I sat there in the candlelight with no underwear and ate like a woman who did this. The jazz kept playing. The room stayed indifferent.

Nobody had known, just like he'd promised.

He was lit up across the table, chattering. "You were incredible," he kept saying, rearranged three or four ways. "You don't understand. Most people freeze. You didn't freeze." He said it like I'd passed some test.

Near the end, over the last of the wine, he leaned in and dropped his voice. "Next time." He stopped, grinned, shook his head like he'd embarrassed himself. "No. You'll think I'm insane."

"Tell me."

"Next time I want someone to see. Not the whole room. One person. Someone who knows it's happening and watches and lets it happen." His eyes were bright with it. "Would you ever? For me?"

"Maybe," I said. "Someday. I'd have to work up to it."

"Someday," he agreed, delighted. It was the easiest thing in the world, planning the next impossible thing over dessert, two people who wanted the same shameful thing and had finally found each other to want it with.

Ricardo wanted to stay with me after the dinner, but I had lunch with Dad and Carol the next day and needed to be rested for that.

24 - EATING EMOTIONS

Lacey