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Richard stands. “I’m sorry for my wife’s mouth. She speaks without thinking.”
When he’s gone, Al leans back in his chair. “And then there were three left standing.”
“Indeed,” Jafar says with a snarl.
The chef comes out with the next course, looking relieved that Jasmine is gone. “Your first main course is spicy Thai chicken.”
I take a bite. Holy cow, it’s hot. But I love it. Al pales, and he coughs.
“Something wrong?” Jafar asks.
“Are there peanuts in the sauce?”
The chef nods, looking worried. “I was told no one had allergies.”
“I don’t have an allergy,” Al says as he stands. “Peanuts just don’t sit well with my stomach.”
He makes a pained sound as he rushes toward the house. The chef looks distraught as he slips behind the partition where his food is hidden from sight.
Jafar leans in, whispering, “And then there were two left all alone.”
“We should go to the house, too.”
“Should we?”
I’m about to say yes when his hand lands on my leg.
“What are you doing?”
“What I’ve been dying to do since that night.”
Slowly, his hand moves under my dress. It’s dark enough that the chef won’t notice, but I know this is wrong. So why don’t I stop him?
“Spread your legs, little mouse. Let’s see how quiet you can be while we eat the rest of our meal.”
The chef comes out as our plates are removed, and I spread my legs for Jafar. There are a million reasons I should stop this, but I don’t. Because I’ve been thinking about that night too. Far more than I should. And now that we’re here, I can’t seem to find a reason to stop him.
“The eighth course is another palate cleanser. It’s a lemon sorbet.”
Jafar reaches my mound. At the same time, he lifts his spoon, taking a bite. I watch as his tongue swirls the spoon in the same fashion as his finger teases my clit.
“Try your sorbet.”
I do as he says. When the spoon touches my lips, I let out a groan. He rolls my clit, sending sparks of pleasure through me. This feels so much better than when I do it myself.
His breath hits my ear. “Good, isn’t it?”
“So good.”
I take another bite as goosebumps rise on my skin. I’m so freaking wet that his fingers slide with ease. When he slips one inside of me, I can’t stop the gasp that slips between my lips.
“Fuck. You’re drenched.”
The servers come to remove our plate while he pumps his finger in and out of me. I grip the edge of the table just to have something to hold on to.
The chef speaks as the next course is brought out. “In front of you is stuffed lamb with roasted rosemary potatoes.”
“Be a good girl and try the lamb,” Jafar says as his eyes dance.
