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He smirked against my throat and swept my hair aside. Lightly, gently, he placed lingering kisses down my throat and up over my neck.
"I would never force you. You will always want it."
My heart twisted in my chest. I know, I know, I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
His breath was hot on the back of my neck. "Do you think I won't be able to please you? Is that it?" he whispered, and I felt his words sink into my skin, into my bones, zipping down my body, electrifying me. I wanted him so badly, but how could I tell him that obtaining orgasms with him was the least of my worries?
His leg pressed against mine. The heat of his body seeped through the fabric between us and I wished I'd been more prudent and worn pants instead of a skirt. His fingers alighted on my thigh and began to trace shivering patterns across my skin. Lips and tongue played with the sensitive nape of my neck, and his hand drifted down my arm, fingertips skimming the outside swell of my breast. Between my thighs, I felt myself grow hot and slick.
"I could make you come right here in this restaurant," he murmured, and his voice was hoarse. "Right in front of everyone. I'll make you scream."
His words set me on fire. "I'd like to see you try," I whispered back. Bravado. My voice shook.
But it wasn't a lie.
Pulling back, he graced me with another one of his faint smiles. "You are the perfect woman for me," he said. "Defiant, with nowhere to run. You'd rather die on your feet than live on your knees." His fingers drifted up my leg, up under my skirt. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.
"I'd rather live on my feet than die on my knees, thanks," I told him.
He laughed, then looked shocked that he'd done so. I saw him forcibly recover, but I had no time to bask in my tiny victory. One long, hot finger brushed against the soft mound above my pussy, robbing me of thought.
"You may live on your feet," he whispered, "but I will bend you over and fuck you all the same."
And he slipped under the table.
It was so quick, so unexpected, that I was still staring at the spot where he had been and trying to muster the presence of mind to react when I felt his large, hot hands on my knees.
My god. He was kneeling under the table, hidden by the long table cloth. He was going to—going to—
I wish I could say I put up a fight. But my thighs parted at the slightest pressure from his hands, and I opened to him.
He pushed my skirt up, rearranging the table cloth so that it fell across my lap and hid my sudden indecency from the rest of the lunch crowd. All around me conversation carried on as usual. Glasses clinked, knives scraped against forks, someone tittered at an amusing joke. And Anton Waters gently pushed the crotch of my panties aside, parting the slick folds there.
I felt the rough tip of one finger poised at my entrance. Then it slid up, up, up, almost touching my clit, but he only grazed it before sliding back down, pressing against my waiting channel. I was biting my lip so hard I could almost taste blood. Up his finger came again, gently teasing me, then down it went. Up, and down. Up and d
own. Up, and down again, each time pressing ever so slightly into me.
It was torture. My cheeks burned. I wanted to reach down under the table and slam his face against my pussy. I wanted to leap up and kick him. I didn't dare do either of those things. I knew I was soaking through my panties and probably staining my skirt, but I couldn't bring myself to push him away. My whole existence was his finger and my aching cunt. The restaurant faded around me and I closed my eyes, trying to maneuver my hips into his finger yet again. I needed him to touch my clit. I was going to die without it.
But he didn't. Instead, he paused again at my entrance, and I could feel his gaze on me, staring straight into my quivering folds. I was exposed to him. All my defenses were stripped away, need spiraling out of control.
Slowly, surely, one long finger entered me. I convulsed around him.
“Miss?”
Oh no. No, no, no. Not now. Go away...
“Miss, is there anything I can bring you?”
I forced my eyes open to see the waitress hovering at the side of the table, looking at me curiously. Surely she knew what was happening. It had to be obvious.
The finger inside me curled, and my toes curled along with it.
“No!” I said. “Nothing. Thanks!”
She looked at me strangely. “Your lunch will be out shortly. There's a bit of a backup in the kitchen.”
Don't care! I wanted to scream.
