“Mason, please stop,” my voice didn’t sound like my own.
“Why, baby? Don’t you like it?” he teased but immediately stilled.
“You’re going to make me come,” I whimpered.
“That’s the idea.” He went back to stroking my G-spot.
“Mason, please...”
“Why, Claire?”
“I’m going to squirt, and I can’t bear the embarrassment of walking out of this restaurant drenched in my cum and needing to pay for a chair,” I was so close to the release I begged him not to give me, tears pricked my eyes.
He pulled out of me gently, covered my pussy with my panties, and slid his fingers into his mouth. He fisted the same hand in my hair and dragged me to him so his mouth was tight against my ear, “Are you telling me if I make you come hard enough, I get to drink your pussy as well as eat it?”
“Yes,” I whimpered, scarcely able to believe his dirty words.
“God, Claire, I have got so many plans for you.” He used my hair to turn my face to his, crushing his lips to mine in a brief but consuming kiss. He tasted like wine and sin. “Feel me.”
I reached toward him with timid, appreciative fingers. My confidence disappeared about the time he told me all the ways he hoped to consume me. I gasped softly at how hard his dick was. Inspiring that reaction in him had me writhing in my seat.
“That is for you,” he promised as I pulled his zipper down and slid the impressive length of him out of his silk boxers and slacks. The tablecloth covered him perfectly. No one could see anything.
My fist gripped him tightly as I worked his shaft up and down. His face remained so impassive it insulted me. I squeezed him hard, and a little grunt slipped between his perfect lips. “That’s what I’m talking about,” I whispered to him, running my thumb over the head of his cock spreading his pre-cum.
“As good as that feels, Claire, I’m not planning to fuck your fist tonight.” He pulled my hand away, tucked his erection into his pants. He lifted my thumb and pressed it against my lips. I relented, tasting his cum with a smile. “Mm,” I ground my pussy against my chair, desperate for friction. He slid his place setting back and returned to the opposite side of the table.
“Where are you going?” I couldn’t help pouting.
He reached out and pinched my lip between his thumb and his forefinger in the same fashion he had earlier. “Far enough from you that I don’t put your ass over this table and fuck you for everyone to see. Now, eat your dinner.”
I obeyed, ignoring the way I ached for him, and we ate in loaded silence. The tension hung so thick it nearly solidified between us, trapping me there permanently. Nothing interrupted us but flirtatious smiles. He ordered tiramisu to share. It was one of my favorites. He already knew how to read me so well, “How did you know?” I asked as the server set the dessert down.
“Lucky guess,” The green dancing in his eyes shined more vibrantly than normal—summer instead of spring. The mascarpone was light and delicious and the ladyfingers were fresh. I was so pleased I couldn’t help the little smile on my lips.
I thought back to the words he said before he picked up my leg and turned me into a puddle. “What did you mean when you said you’re dangerous, Mason?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he quickly settled them into an expectant expression.
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “There are a lot of things I have done that I’m not proud of.” He hesitated, guilt marred his features, “Let’s talk about it later.”
He waved our server down and paid the bill with a sleek black credit card. He ran his fingers mindlessly over the back of my hand as we waited for the waiter to return. “I’ll answer your questions, Claire, but you may not like all the answers,”
“How bad could they be?” The words were teasing, but the look he gave me was anything but.
“I try to be a good man, but I have not always succeeded at it.”
“Are you a good man now?” I whispered, not sure why I trusted him so much despite his words and my better judgment.
“I like to think so,”
“Then that is enough for me.” The server returned with the check. Mason signed the paper and tucked a crisp hundred into the folder.
“Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand and led me to my feet. I trailed slightly behind him, staring at the way his suit held onto his shoulders. The night was chilly, and the breeze raised goosebumps on my legs and arms. When we reached the car, he opened the door for me, but before I could slip inside, he caught me around my hips and pulled me tightly against him. His hands slid to my thighs pulling me up and wrapping them around him. My dress rode up and his erection pressed into my pussy.
His hands slid up my legs to grip my ass. He kept one hand there, helping to support my weight, then moved the other tightly into my hair. I wanted to kiss him so badly. I hovered an inch above him but his unrelenting grip stopped me from descending on him, “Kiss me.” I demanded as I ground my hips against him. He laughed softly, tightening his hold on my hair. “Ah,” my mouth fell open as some strands ripped straight from the root.
He used my moment of weakness to pull me down, capturing my mouth with his, and forced his tongue inside. His strength and dexterity melted me until I slumped against him. I moaned outright as his hand slid out of my hair, down my shoulder, and over my breast. My nipples pressed against the fabric of my dress. His thumbs met the peaks reverentially.