"I love how hot you get for me, Ms. Smith," he murmurs.
"As excited as you get for me," I reply, tilting my foot to drag along the sides of his cock, one after the other.
"You know what I want to do to you right now?" he asks, his voice low and thrumming with heat.
"Tell me," I reply, continuing to stroke his cock with my toes. It takes effort, and I’m forced to give up when he pulls his chair around to my side of the table, pressed close against my side. He pushes my panties aside and runs one finger along my slit, between my lips, making my eyes unfocus and my lips part with need.
"I want to pull you out of that chair, throw these plates to the floor, bend you over this table and fuck you right here, in front of everyone," he murmurs. At the same time, he begins to stroke my pussy faster, not entering me, not yet, but circling my clit with his thumb at the same time that his fingers stroke along my slit.
My mouth parts, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to remain sitting upright. I grip the edges of the table with both hands.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the waiter looking our way, and I freeze, worried he'll be able to tell what's happening underneath this long tablecloth.
Cannon doesn't stop, though. He just keeps stroking me, faster, rougher. "Does the thought of that make you hot, Ms. Smith?" he whispers. "The thought of being fucked right here in public, bent over this table, having your dress yanked up around your waist? Exposed to the world..."
I lick my lips. Try to regain my composure, my self-control. But fuck, it's hard when he's touching me like this. And talking like that. "Yes," I admit in a low whisper. "I like thinking about you taking control." I lean closer, lower my voice to a sultry whisper. "I like it when you take what you want from me, whenever and wherever you want it."
"And if I want you here?" he murmurs, bending closer across the table. "Now?"
I lick my lips. Lock eyes with him. "Where do you want me, sir?" I breathe against his cheek.
He searches my gaze. I wonder if he's checking whether I mean it, whether I'm serious. But he must know me by now. He knows how much I'm up for.
Finally, his mouth quirks into that dangerous, deadly grin that I love so much. "Bathroom," he murmurs. "I'll meet you there."
I swallow hard. We're really doing this?
The movie theater was one thing. It was dark, mostly deserted. Chances of anyone actually seeing us or overhearing us when I was going down on him in the middle of that movie were slim to none. But now, this... The restaurant is pretty empty. People will notice if we both leave the table, and don't come back.
Then he curls his fingers and pushes one inside me, gently, slowly, an inch at a time. I grind my hips against the chair, against the heel of his hand where it cups my pussy, pressing my clit against his palm, and I decide, fuck it. I don't care. Let's do this.
"Wait a minute before you join me," I hiss. Then, with a tremendous surge of effort and self-restraint—because my body wants to stay right here, wants to keep his fingers inside my pussy, stroking me until I come—I force myself to stand, smoothing the hem of my dress back down around my thighs as I rise. I flip my shoes back upright under the table, step back into them, and then, with a deep, steadying breath, I stride away across the restaurant. I smile and nod to the waiter as I pass, then duck into the bathroom, heart racing.
Luckily it's a single stall, one of the big handicapped ones. And surprisingly clean, though I guess that makes sense for a small restaurant out this way.
I barely have enough time to check my face in the mirror, make sure I still look more put-together and less out of control than I feel, when there's a faint knock at the door.
I open it just wide enough for Cannon to slip inside and slam it shut behind him again, turning the lock.
"That was—" I start to say, but he cuts me off by grabbing my face, cupping it between both hands, and pulling me into a searing hot kiss. I forget what I was about to say. I forget about the restaurant, the world outside. I forget about everything but his tongue sliding between my lips, his kiss hungry and desperate and wanting. His hands slide down my hips, grip them and pull me flush against him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, grab for the hem of his shirt, pull it up and aside so that I can push one hand under the waist of his pants and down to grip his ass, hard.
He walks backwards, keeping me pinned against him, our mouths still locked in the heated kiss, as he shoves one shoulder off my dress off. Only then does he break away from the kiss, and just long enough to shove my bra down and kiss and suck at my nipple, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin while it hardens into a pebble between his lips. I gasp, letting my head fall back, and he takes advantage of my distraction to hoist me onto the sink, perching me on the edge as he continues to lick and suck my breast, his hands sliding down to my waist to hold me in place.
"Rina," he moans against my skin, and I can't help it. The sound of my name in his deep voice sends a thrill straight through all my nerve endings, a plummeting feeling in my stomach.
I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, tugging him closer to me. At the same time, I grab his shirt, begin to undo the buttons as fast as I can, my hands trembling with the combination of adrenaline and the pleasurable sensations that fly through my veins every time he strikes another nerve ending, biting or kissing or licking just the right spot. He kisses his way back up to my collarbone, along it, and then up the side of my jaw. My head falls to one side, and I gasp aloud as his teeth rake across the sensitive spot just below my earlobe, where he always loves to kiss, to drive me wild.
I push his shirt down his arms, and he pauses in his caresses just long enough to yank his hands out of the sleeves and let it fall to a puddle at his feet. Then he's back, grabbing me around the waist and pinning me against the mirror, my ass arching against the sink, my hips angling toward him. Through the fabric of his pants, I can feel the hard bulge of his cock, and it makes me want to rip those pants off, just to get them out of the way, to get what I want.
His body, naked, against mine. His cock inside me, filling me. Making me feel closer to him than I ever thought possible. Taking his pleasure from me even as he gives me so much ecstasy in return.
But he's teasing me tonight. Cannon leans back to study me, his eyes drinking me in while his hands roam from my waist to my ass to grip tightly, pulling me against him. "God, I love watching you get all worked up for me," he murmurs against my neck, his lips grazing my skin as he speaks.
"You know just how to do it," I breathe against his cheek, even as I run my hands up his back to his broad shoulders to grip tightly, bracing myself between him and the sink.
"What can I say? You're a fun mark to learn," he murmurs. At the same time, he slides one hand up my skirt again, pushing the fabric until it bunches around
my waist. In one swift motion, he tugs my panties down my thighs, exposing my bare pussy to him. He gazes down at me in appreciation, and I notice his eyebrows rise as he sees. "Did you get waxed for me?" he asks, a sly grin on his face.
"Maybe," I admit, shifting against the counter, angling myself to grant him a better view. "What do you think?"
He breathes out sharply, in a sound that's almost a sigh, almost a groan. Then he slides his hand along the plane of my stomach, down to my smooth mound, which he traces with his fingers, exploring me, savoring the smooth, bare skin. "I think it's sexy as hell that you did this for me," he admits, and for a second, our eyes lock, our breaths hitching in sync.
See. Moments like this. In moments like this, I feel like I glimpse another side of Cannon. A side that's normally hidden behind the miles-high shields he has up around himself, protecting himself. But moments like this, I can see through that into his heart. And there, I get a glimpse of what he really wants.
And I think, just for one, impossible, magical, insane moment, that that might be me.
He might want me, just the same way I want him.
"Rina..."
Then he breaks his gaze from mine, and the spell shatters, the illusion gone. It's just us in this tiny bathroom again, the heat rising as he draws me against him, pulls me in for another deep kiss, his tongue penetrating my lips, toying with mine, his scent and his unique flavor flooding my senses, while his hands move my legs, fold me up to yank my panties the rest of the way off, and drops them on the floor beside us, before he grips my waist and suddenly flips me around.
"Let's try something different," he suggests with a sly grin.
I gasp as he shifts our positions, bending me over the sink in front of him. From this angle, it's easier for him to keep stroking my pussy, spreading my lips and caressing me, his fingers exploring every inch, slowly, maddeningly. I buck against him, and he laughs softly.