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He shakes his head, and his lips find my ear.
“I told you that I wasn’t the gentleman that you thought I was,” Stan whispers, and his voice is deep, descending a few decibels, causing my whole body to shiver in anticipation.
I can tell that he’s enjoying this. His devilish smirk is promising no good. This kind of foreplay and the adrenaline of being caught, and I’m not scared by it. On the contrary, I’m ecstatic by this side of him.
“I’m not convinced yet,” I provoke him, biting my lip.
Stan pulls away as his green orbs focus on me. His gaze intensifies as a hand slides to my upper thigh, sneaking under the dress. Everything is spiraling, especially when his fingers get close to my panties. I hold back a whimper when the tip of his finger drags over the lace, the light pressure teasing me, but it’s more than enough to turn me into a mess.
Heat goes to my cheeks, spreading all over my face. I don’t want him to stop. Biting my lip harder, I try to stay focused and not give in entirely to what he’s doing to me. Part of me still can’t believe that this is happening, and the other half is going crazy because it’s finally happening. Stanley puts aside the tension and his armor to give in to what we both want.
Gently, I part my legs, allowing him to have better access, something that he thanks me by guiding his hand to my core. My extremities are trembling as he traces my slit through the lace of my panties and then focuses on drawing a slow lazy circle over my sensitive nub. My breasts feel heavy, craving attention that they won’t get.
God, I wish we weren’t here.
I don’t want dessert anymore nor any waiters approaching the table. What I doneedis to feel his touch directly on my skin. The waves of pleasures, although small and soft, have me wanting more from him, the intensity of the moment having me almost on the edge of the seat. I’m hypersensitive to his contact, becoming pleasant torture that I can’t get enough of.
“Stan...” My voice fades when he slides the fabric to the side, and his rougher skin grazes my clit. Inevitably, I buck my hips as I choke back a whimper.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Do you want me to stop?” Stan asks in a soft tone, almost as if he was testing me.
Gulping, I shake my head.
That’s the last thing that I want. God, I think my legs are trembling with just a touch from him. He knows what he’s doing and how to drive me insane. I’m overwhelmed with sensations.
“I think I might hit you if you stop,” I mumble, my voice full of need.
I’m sure that if I allow my mouth to open to pronounce more words, I’m going to end up moaning in the middle of a restaurant, and everyone will know what’s going on. The fear of getting caught turns me on even more.
He laughs, clearly enjoying this.
But I can’t let him win, so I lead a hand to his lap, sliding the tip of my fingers up to meet the bulge in his pants. He’s hard, almost as hot as I am. I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one suffering now.
“You’re a little devil,” he groans when my hands start stroking him gently over the fabric.
“Don’t start a game that you can’t finish.”
Stan bites his lips, and the corners of his lips fight a grin.
“Oh, but I want to finish it, Bree. I can’t wait to see youfinish,” he says, but his fingers stop touching me, and I start to complain until I see our waiter walking over with our dessert. I force myself to smile, but I know that I won’t be able to talk. My red face is already an indicator that something is going on. “Thanks. Oh, while we eat, can you bring us the check?”
The waiter walks away, and I allow myself to breathe, the heat present in my body. How am I supposed to eat when I just want to continue what we started? I’m wet. No, I’m soaking. My panties are fucking soaking. I don’t think that I’ve ever been this horny in my entire life.
“Eat,” Stanley orders.
“You can be bossy when you want to,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.
My voice is hoarse, like a teenage boy going through puberty. My turned-on voice is probably the least attractive, but it’s his fault that he chose to turn me into a mess. I had the suspicion that he liked to do public things. However, it’s different to experience them. Not that I’m complaining, though.
“You were the one who wanted dessert,” Stan reminds me and unfolds the spoon from the napkin to stick it in the cheesecake.
Leading it to his mouth, Stanley lets his tongue taste the portion. He repeats the action of digging the spoon in the cheesecake, this time offering it to me. I accept because I’m weak for dessert and because I know that we’re not leaving until we finish it.
The faster, the better.
My friends decided to go out tonight if we wanted to use the apartment alone without it being awkward. We have enough time to get back there and finish what we started here. I’m still on edge from the teasing, desperate to find some release.
