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Then I feel Lock’s lips on my thigh.
My pussy throbs and aches at the touch. My brain, as fucking nonfunctional as it is, tells me that this is not the right place to be doing this.
But the tequila? The tequila says that I don’t care.
I lift up the tablecloth.
My eyes fall on Lock between my legs. He looks up at me with that grin I expected.
“What that fuck are you doing?” I mean to sound pissed and annoyed, but my voice comes out husky and wanting.
“Testing your theory.”
Oh, so now he has jokes.
“Here? In public?”
“Why not? You wanted a good time.”
A tiny woman who looks like a six-hundred-year-old Thai version of Tina Turner takes the stage to the sound of thunderous applause.
I cannot even begin to tell you how thankful I am for this applause right now. All the insane clapping masks and drowns out the hungry moan that I let out when I feel Lock’s lips kissing my clit through my panties.
I look down under the table again, and all I can see are his broad shoulders. His head is up under my fire engine red dress, and the scruff on his cheeks is tickling the inside of my thighs.
The thrill of it all has me nearly exploding like a fucking geyser.
“You’re fucking bad,” I hiss at him.
But I don’t do anything to stop him, either.
From across the table, Becky gives me a thumbs-up and grabs my bottle of tequila from me.
Up on stage, the Tina Turner impersonator has started singingWhat’s Love Got To Do With Itin Thai. If it wasn’t for the music itself, I’d have no fucking clue what song it was.
“Ooooohhhhh, fuck.” There’s a tremble in my thighs, and I grip the edge of the table.
Lock’s pushed aside my black lacy underwear, and his tongue has found my swollen clit.
I was already incredibly fucking soaked from the kiss.
Now, I’ve reached a whole new fucking level of wet.
His tongue is moving up through my folds slowly. Like he’s licking the tallest fucking ice cream cone ever made.
Lock’s tongue reaches the underside of my cli, and gives it a firm flick that makes me feel like Zeus threw a lightning bolt at me from Olympus.
I’m orgasming. I’m fucking orgasming in the middle of this goddamn bar—and I’m loving it.
I’m loving every fucking minute.
I’m loving it so much that as soon as the orgasm subsides, another one starts to build in its place.
If Lock makes me come again…oh, god, the dulcet tones of Ladyboy Tina Turner won’t be able to drown out the sound of the next orgasm. I won’t be moaning then—I’ll be fuckingscreaming.
I reach under the table to lift my dress from his head and grab a fistful of his hair.
It’s just as silky smooth as I thought.
