My poor body was crying out for his hand to just slid inward a bit, to press between my thighs.
Finished with his frustratingly chaste, yet wholly erotic, reapplication of my tape, his gaze slid up in my direction, but taking its sweet time to move over my body, making every inch of me hum under his inspection.
I knew I really needed to lift my head, to look anywhere but down at him, letting him see the desire that was etched across my features.
I didn’t do that, though.
And when his dark gaze met mine, I knew what they were seeing. Every bit of desire that was thrumming through my body.
Whatever was going on in his mind, though, was a mystery to me. Nothing was reflected back at me as he watched me, as he took in the cheeks that had to be pink and the eyes that must have been heavy-lidded.
A rumbling sound moved through his chest.
Then, “Fuck it,” he said as his head ducked and his hand yanked my skirt even higher, exposing my very plain black panties.
His other hand grabbed ahold of those panties, yanking them to the side.
His mouth was on me then, and the surprise of it sent a shock through my body, making me jolt hard as his tongue traced up my cleft before finding my clit and working it in circles.
Both my arms shot out at once.
One settled on the back of his head, holding him to me like he had any intention of pulling away.
The other slapped down on the sink vanity behind me, steadying me as I swear my legs lost half their strength immediately.
He worked me with perfect pace and pressure, never relenting, never giving my desire even a second to ebb away.
My hips rocked into his movements as my hand crushed into the back of his skull.
God, it had been so long.
And no one, I was sure, had been anywhere near as good as he was, as intuitive, as determined.
As he drove me closer and closer, I was torn between the desire to shut my eyes and focus, and keep my gaze on him as he kept working me.
The latter won out, finding myself oddly fascinated by watching the man in his fancy slacks and button-down, with his silver-streaked dark hair, buried between my thighs.
My slight whimpers grew to muffled moans as I tried to keep my lips together, knowing there was a restaurant with guests just a couple of feet away.
Sensing the orgasm, he kept the same pace, but applied just a little more pressure.
And it was seconds, actually seconds, before the orgasm was slamming through my system, making a choked sobbing sound escape me while the waves crashed over and over again.
He worked me through it, dragging it out.
But I swear I’d just come back down when my panties were snapping back into place, he was pulling away, and my skirt was falling back down to cover me.
Before I could even open my eyes to look, he was at the door, then making his way out.
He didn’t look back.
What the actual hell?
I jolted back to myself, reaching to tuck my boob away, then buttoning my dress with shaky fingers as I turned to face myself, seeing the proof of the orgasm clear on my face, but knowing I didn’t have the time to let my flush calm down, or school my features into calm nothingness.
So I smoothed my hair back, splashed a little cold water on my cheeks, and made my way back out into the restaurant, feeling like everyone was going to know what had happened.
But no one paid me any mind as I moved back behind the counter, noticing that Salvatore was standing beside his table, fiddling with something, then turning and walking to the door.