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“Bring our meal to the door of the atrium. Knock when it arrives, but do not open the door. Thank you, chef,” he said. My core danced with every syllable, and I found myself watching the way his lips moved, how his tongue bounced off the surface of his mouth.
I fidgeted, trying my best to do as he said and keep my hands on the table and not between my thighs. I wanted to touch myself so very badly.
“Did you hire a chef?” I asked, desperate to take my mind off my increasing need.
“I did,” he answered simply. He didn’t say anything further and I was left to contemplate the pulsing between my legs once again.
Someone knocked on the door and my eyes flew in that direction. Would they come in after all? Would they see my bottom and how it was still red?
Mason stood up, pausing before he left the table.
“Keep your hands on the table, little girl, or else I’ll have to really punish you just like I did last night,” he warned.
“I understand,” I whispered almost inaudibly. I bit my lip. All I wanted was for him to touch me right now. I didn’t want another spanking that made me cry.
I understood now that he was a man of his word. If I disobeyed him, I would end up over his knee for a very different experience than the one I’d just had. Sure, his palm had stung enough to make me whimper and cry out, but it hadn’t exactly made me sorry for being late at all. It made me feel rebellious and naughty and incredibly turned on instead.
I watched him walk away, and I used his momentary distraction to enjoy the sight of his backside as he strode to the door. He was strong and it showed. All I could think about was how he would be able to pick me up and throw me around with ease.
He opened the door and I squirmed, worrying that someone could see me from the doorway. I heard Mason thank someone and my face flamed with shame, but when the door clicked shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. I lifted my head to see him rolling over a cart of silver platters. When he reached the table, he paused next to me. He looked down directly at my pussy and knelt next to me. I tried to keep still, but in the end, I was unable to stop my thighs from sliding against one another.
My pussy was so swollen and wet, and I was absolutely certain that he could see it. He reached for another cloth napkin on the cart, spreading it over my thighs. He smoothed the fabric and his thumb only just brushed against my pussy; I had difficulty not moaning out loud. He stood back up and placed a platter in front of me.
His hand cupped my shoulder as he lifted the lid.
“I know how much you like bananas and French toast, little girl, so I had my chef make you a special breakfast. I hope you like it and if you don’t, you will tell me and I’ll get you something else,” he explained. He squeezed my shoulder and put a platter in front of his seat before he poured us both cups of coffee. He made mine exactly the way I liked it and I smiled when he put it in front of me.
“Thank you,” I replied, and he grinned back at me. After he’d finished preparing the table, he took his seat and started digging into his meal. I looked down at my own plate, licking my lips as I took in the sight of caramelized bananas, fresh whipped cream, and thick sugary French toast all stacked in a beautiful display of sweet carbohydrate heaven.
I dipped a single finger into the whipped cream and looked up to see Mason watching. Feeling a bit feistier than before, I brought it to my lips and sucked it gently. He watched me with dark amusement. I thought I could see desire in his eyes too and I pulled my finger free from my lips with a loud smack. I smirked and reached for my silverware.
He chuckled quietly and I shivered.
I took my first bite and groaned openly when the flavors burst to life on my tongue. The taste of cinnamon, brown sugar, caramel, bananas, and delicious battered bread hit me all at once and I practically danced in my seat. I took one bite and then another, quickly demolishing my breakfast in no time at all.
“I take it that you like it,” Mason laughed softly.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” I answered suggestively and raised an eyebrow while he popped a bite of his omelet into his mouth. He chewed for a long moment, and I fidgeted.
“Is that right, naughty girl?” he asked. He lifted his brow, turning my sass right back on me in an instant. I squirmed and I looked down at my plate, quickly shoving another bite of French toast into my mouth.
I didn’t answer him because I didn’t think I would be able to. I didn’t even look at him because all I could think about was getting down on my knees in front of him for the express purpose of taking his cock into my mouth. I blushed harder, trying desperately not to think about what he would taste like on my tongue. I reached for my coffee, taking a sip, and struggling a little bit to swallow it down.
Where was that black hole already?
Eventually, I emptied my plate, and he emptied his. I put down my fork and knife and he stood up. He came over to me and took the napkin off my lap, baring me once again.
“Stand up,” he directed gently. He offered me a hand and I took it. He pulled me against him, and I couldn’t ignore the way my well-spanked backside pressed up against his cock.
“You left quite a wet spot on the chair, naughty girl,” he chided, and I looked down at the chair to see that he was right. I’d been so distracted by his enormous cock nestled right in between my sore cheeks.
His hand curled around the back of my neck. He rubbed his thumb back and forth. Goosebumps rose all over my arms and my eyes practically rolled back in my head. I could feel all his power surrounding me at once and all of it was centered in the tip of his thumb.
I stopped breathing for several seconds as he held me like that.
Then he reached for the table and grabbed a clean napkin.
“Clean off the chair, little girl,” he instructed, and I whined openly in shame now, even as my clit was practically throbbing out of my body. My thighs were slick as I squirmed. I bit my lip and took the napkin from him. I leaned over and he didn’t move, which only pressed me closer against him.
