The Private Serials Box Set(52)
I was paralyzed with the fear we would be caught, but also frozen from the thrill of feeling him inside me, feeling something very private in this very public place.
The waiter smiled and walked away, leaving us to presumably enjoy our dinner. I looked at Preston and he picked up his fork and continued to eat his pasta, his finger still pressed fully inside me.
He swallowed and then said, “Your food is getting cold, sweetheart.”
“You want me to eat while you finger me?”
“No, I want to give you an experience you’ve never had before. I want to watch you writhe and squirm and sweat, all the while fearing someone will catch us.” He moved his finger out, but then pumped back in again, this time with two. My hand slapped down on the table, palm open, making an obnoxiously loud “thwack”. A few people turned their heads toward us, but turned away when they saw nothing of consequence.
“Preston, please,” I said quietly as his fingers retreated again, this time coming forward and circling my clit.
“Tell me what you want, Lena.”
His question was tied together with so many layers of meaning I was lost between them. Did I want him to stop finger f*cking me in public? Maybe? Did I want to be with him in the way he was asking? Probably. Did I want to take the plunge to make these things happen? No. Not right now.
“You can’t do it,” he whispered as his fingers dove back into me, this time pumping back and forth in tight, swift blows. “Until you’re absolutely sure what you want, I’m going to take what I need from you.” He leaned toward me, pressing a kiss to my cheek, and from anyone else’s perspective in the restaurant I’m sure it looked innocent enough, but then his mouth moved to my ear and he whispered, “I’ll do whatever you want, Lena. You just have to let me know.”
With that, his fingers reprised their slow thrusts while the heel of his palm began a firm, circular grind against my clit. I was thoroughly wet and only getting wetter. If I listened closely enough, I could hear the sounds our bodies were making from rubbing against each other and even though I knew, soon enough, others might start to hear, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I started to daze, one hand gripping the arm of my chair, the other wrapped around my water glass as if I were about to lift it to my mouth. In and out. Around and around. He was slowly building me toward an orgasm that would surely have me screaming the roof off this high-brow, classy restaurant.
In an effort to control myself, I lifted the water glass to my lips and sipped the water slowly. Preston shifted, his fingers sliding in even farther, then he curled his fingers, hitting an elusive bundle of nerves head-on, causing me to moan into my water.
I clamped my legs closed, trying to stave him off, trying to stop what I knew was inevitably unstoppable. Even with my knees locked together he still managed to continue to finger me at the dinner table. My clamped legs seemed to actually just keep his hand right where he wanted it. My life was compounding at that very moment. Everything was colliding and I had no control. The only thing I could do was let Preston lead me. Trust him to show me the right way.
In an instant, I put the water glass down, grabbed the cloth napkin from my lap, and tried as gracefully and inconspicuously as I could to groan into it.
I came ridiculously hard and surprisingly quietly. With my release came the relaxation which freed Preston’s hand from my * just long enough for him to lift his hand and suck his fingers into his mouth, never breaking his gaze from mine. Even coming down from a shattering orgasm, even just after coming in a room full of strangers, I was still ridiculously turned on by his blatant sexuality, and would have climbed on top of him had we been in a different setting.
We didn’t say another word to each other until we left the building. The longer we sat at the table, him ignoring what had just happened, the longer my emotions had to advance from being sated, to confused, to full of rage.
He held my coat up for me and I shoved my arms through the sleeves violently, then I took loud and hard steps through the restaurant, my heels clacking along the tile floor, until we were out on the street and I was walking at a fast clip.
“Hey, Lena, wait.” He sounded like every other man I’d ever heard try to deal with an angry woman; like frustration mixed with fear. He didn’t know how to handle me angry.
“Wait for what, exactly?” I shouted back to him.
“Wait for me. Look,” he said, jogging up next to me. His hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me, and he turned my body to face him. “I’m sorry.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “No, you’re not.”
“Well, not one hundred percent, no…” His voice trailed off and I yanked my arm free.
“Ugh. Just take me home, Preston,” I said as I continued to march down the street. He caught up, keeping pace with me but not reaching out to touch me.
“You’re not going back to your house, Lena.”
I sighed loudly, realizing even though he thought I meant I wanted to go back to the house I shared with Derrek, I’d really meant his condo. It figured that when I was really angry with him I’d have a Freudian slip.
“Fine, we’ll go to your house, but you’re sleeping on the couch.” I turned the corner and entered the parking garage where he’d parked his Lotus. I made it to the elevator and the doors opened for us immediately. Once inside we stood at opposite ends of the car and while I maintained my best angry face, when I stole glances at him, he still looked confused and a little distraught.