“Oh! My. God! Serious.” She was already wet, already highly aroused, already flushed from head to toe.
“Lift.”
“Hell no!” She pressed her butt down harder on the seat to prevent whatever he intended to happen next. The pressure in turn made her body throb and pulse. Her mind, her strongest erogenous zone, did the rest. “You’re cra—”
Cruz’s breath felt hot and humid on her hip, followed by the cool nip of his teeth against her skin. Then Mia felt, rather than heard, the small riiip.
She sucked in a shock breath. Sure everyone in the restaurant must’ve heard rending fabric. “That’s my favorite pair!”
“I’ll buy you two dozen,” she thought he said. Hard to tell as he kissed his way around her navel, his voice muffled.
A quick, frantic perusal of the diners around them showed that no one was looking their way. But for how long? They were in a booth in the corner, so only the tables in front of them would be able to see—what? Mia almost giggled. God. What if other dinners saw Cruz’s feet protruding from beneath the tablecloth?
Dear God, this was an arrest just waiting to happen. And yet—heated blood roared through her veins, and the sensation of Cruz’s smooth lips exploring her tummy while the people at the next table drank their wine and laughed and talked was such a turn-on that she pretty much didn’t care.
She contemplated, for about two seconds, that getting arrested at this juncture could possibly ruin her LBO. But it would be worth it. She was beginning to realize that she was willing to give up just about anything for Cruz.
The next table over was practically an arm’s length away. If she concentrated, she could hear snippets of the two elderly couples’ conversation. All it would take would be for one of the sweet-faced grandmotherly types to turn her head, glance down . . .
Mia had a flash image of the scene from the movie with Meg Ryan pretending to climax in a restaurant, and tried to press her knees together. Cruz was having none of that as he wedged his shoulders between them, separating her legs, and at the same time sliding the damp scrap of fabric across her labia so that she jerked in response to the stimulation.
The waiter stood beside the table with their bottle of wine as Cruz teased and tormented her with his mouth, his tongue hard against her clit, so that all Mia heard was her own heartbeat in her ears.
“May I pour or would you like to wait for the gentleman to return?” She didn’t hear him—she read his lips through sex-hazed eyes.
“No—I. Go ah-ahead and pour, I’m sure it’s fine.” Mia was positive if she picked up the glass to sip her wine to ease her dry mouth, she’d snap the delicate stem. She curled her fingers on the edge of the table as Cruz’s tongue slid in and out of her slick folds, lingering, sucking, blowing.
What seemed like a nanosecond later, the waiter returned with dishes of—who cared? “Should I return these to the kitchen to keep warm?”
She shook her head a little frantically. If she were resting on a pillow, her head would be thrashing. The waiter gave her an expectant look, the plates held aloft as Cruz’s tongue found her clit. The first brush of his hot mouth right on the exquisitely sensitive tight bud made her whimper. Deep, throbbing pleasure sharpened, then widened in concentric circles, pulsing through every nerve.
Oh, shit. The waiter was still standing there, plates in hand, still looking at her. “J-Just leave everyth-thing. Tha—” Her eyes crossed and she forgot what she was saying as she started to crest, but she should’ve known Cruz wasn’t done torturing her, as he let the pressure build, then drew back.
She took a shaky moment to gulp down half a glass of wine. The waiter was halfway across the restaurant before she could function on any level once again. People were leaving, more were arriving. The restaurant was bustling on a Thursday evening, and the tables were all full and close together.
“He knows you’re under there!” Mia hissed under her shaking breath.
She was close to panting, but it was impossible to catch her breath when he kept driving her higher and higher. Pushing her up Everest, then leaving her hanging on the highest damned precipice with no oxygen.
“Nuh-uh,” Cruz’s negative murmur vibrated against her inner walls.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Mia shifted her hips restlessly as he lifted his head, kissing a damp path up and down her inner thighs while he explored her butt crack with inquisitive fingers.
“Ahh.” One hand behind her, the other in front. An all-out assault. Her breath snagged, then stopped all together. A slow slip-glide. Up. Down. Up-down. In tandem. Over. And over. Until she was quivering, on the edge of her seat, nerves torqued impossibly tighter and tighter. “Our w-waiter’s coming!”