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We go to dinner nearly every other night. Just like tonight.
She hasn’t stopped talking since we got in the car, and only occasionally stops to take a drink and touch her throat. She’s worlds better than she was only a month ago.
Tonight, she talks to me about surface-level things, things that don’t hurt, things like what decor style she likes and how much of the garden she’d have to take out if she wanted to change the landscaping in her yard. It’s a busy night and the waiter takes a few minutes to arrive.
It’s all seemingly mundane, but the truth of the matter is that Ella’s been discussing plans to redesign most of her home—never the blue room, though. She’s told me repeatedly she loves that room as it is. Every plan she’s made has fallen through. She ends up making some excuse as to why it isn’t good enough and vetoes it all.
Damon mentioned it as well. It’s a process, whether she realizes it or not. I’ll be here through all of it.
Ella glances at her empty wineglass. It’s late, getting later by the minute.
“Are you thinking about having a glass?” I ask her.
She readjusts the napkin on her lap. “No. Damon told me it’s not the same when it mixes with the medication. It could make me feel lower than if I wasn’t taking anything at all.”
“Come here.”
She listens. Of course she does. She’s out of her seat in a heartbeat and sliding onto my side of the rounded booth a moment later. Close enough to touch, but not so close she’s actually sitting in my lap, though I’d love that. I’d love so much with her.
I place my hand on her thigh. “Tell me more about the garden.”
“Well—” Her cheeks flush, and she looks so beautiful against all this red fabric and the cream walls. All this dark wood and candlelight. “One of the beds is overgrown, so I’d probably have—”
I brush her dress up with the back of my hand, the silky deep red fabric gliding easily up her thigh, and Ella sucks in a little breath.
“Keep going,” I command.
With her lips still parted and her voice breathy she whispers, “But I thought maybe a raised bed would be nice.”
Another inch toward her waist, then another. It’s entirely inappropriate. At the very last moment I slip my hand under the fabric and toy with the waistband of her panties. Her cheeks turn a deep rose. All the while, my focus is on the thin paper menu held in my left hand.
“You know what to say to stop this if it’s too much,” I murmur.
Ella bites her lip, and I dip under her panties to graze a knuckle against her softness and seek out her clit. She brings her hand up to cover her mouth, trying to make the movement seem natural, and I do it again.
“Good evening,” the waiter greets us, and I feel her body stiffen. “Please forgive me for the wait. What can I get started for you tonight? Drinks?”
I don’t take my hand away. I brush my knuckle over her clit as slowly as I’ve ever done it. “I’ll have a cider. Whatever you recommend. Ella?”
I keep the pressure light, but I don’t stop.
“I would—” Ella takes the drink menu in her hands, then lets it fall to the table. “A mocktail. Anything, really. Just something sweet.”
A smile from the waiter. “I know the perfect thing.”
He leaves, and I hold the menu in front of Ella while I play with her. She’s hot, hotter than she’s ever felt, and her breathing is shallow. “Have you done this before? Discreet play?”
She shakes her head. “The most outrageous thing I’ve ever done, you’ve probably seen. The … swinging, recording, and uploading—”
“Exhibitionism.” I add a little more pressure, cutting her off.
Ella gasps. “Yes—yes. We stopped when we got married.” Discomfort presses out at the boundaries of my chest. I don’t love hearing about her marriage before, but I won’t order her not to talk about it. It’s part of her past. It made her who she is today. “Our lifestyle changed. Our relationship changed.”
“Do you miss it?”
I can tell how hard it is to follow the conversation against all the sensations. She’s having to struggle to keep her ass on the seat instead of rocking into my fingers.
“I don’t know what you mean, exactly.” Dark eyes on mine. It’s intense for her, and it’s also intense for me. Her heat. Her closeness. The fact that I can’t fuck her in this booth, as much as I want to. “Z,” she begs me, her hands on mine, but I don’t let up.
“The exhibitionism. Do you miss it?”
“I don’t know.”
I pretend to study the menu again. “What if something were to be leaked? Would that be upsetting? Exciting?” There’s a low moan as she closes her eyes and reaches for her glass of water, but doesn’t drink it.
