I came for him, came on his fingers, moaning and writhing in the dark. It was a desperate orgasm, one that didn't satisfy, but made me want more. I wanted another one.
He kept going, but I thought I heard someone at the door, and terror pulsed through me. Now my clit was too sensitive, vulnerable in the dark, trying to pull away.
Panting, I pushed his hand away, overwhelmed. “Wow,” I said.
Someone knocked on the door.
I quickly rearranged my panties and pulled down my skirt, not that anybody was going to see anything in that pitch-black room.
He said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and the scent of hot food filled the little room.
I grabbed for my ice water and sucked it back.
In the utter darkness, Mr. Thorne said, “Ah, that'll be the first course. Perfect timing.”
4: Even More Dining in the Dark
I'd pulled my panties back into place to cover myself, and the hem of my skirt as well, though I also had to laugh at my modesty, since the room was so dark that I could have been butt naked and the waitstaff wouldn't have known.
The person who brought in our first course explained what we'd be eating—a mushroom risotto. This was what I had ordered, and apparently Mr. Thorne had requested to have the same thing.
“Something in common,” he mused as the bowls were placed in front of us.
The person explained more about what we'd been eating, as well as the instructions for us to press the buzzer on the wall if we needed assistance. The person's voice was low, but didn't quite sound like a man. In the dark, I was unable to identify the sex of this person by voice! It was the strangest thing.
I asked, “Do people ever panic?”
“No, no,” the person assured us, and I thought, yeah right.
After the person left, Mr. Thorne said to me, “Was that a guy or a girl?”
I laughed, loud. “I don't know!”
“And like hell can they guarantee people never panic.”
“I know, right? Like if my mother was here, she'd be hyperventilating right now.”
His spoon clinked against his bowl. The risotto smelled heavenly, all wine and chicken stock and deliciousness. I didn't even care about the next course.
He asked, “Is your mother afraid of the dark? Or claustrophobic? Many people are.”
Him talking about claustrophobia, plus my mother, put my nerves on edge. The black walls of the room seemed very near, and the air hot.
“She knows how to fend for herself,” I said. “She'd whip out her trusty lighter and set something on fire for light.”
Mr. Thorne laughed at this.
“I'm serious! She would. Never take my mother to a place like this.”
“I'll try not to,” he said, then he was silent, presumably eating the risotto.
I pinched my arm and screamed at myself in my head to not mention my mother again.
We ate all of the courses, enjoyed more wine, and tried to figure out the sex of the person serving us. At one point, we had the clever idea to ask the server his/her name, but the server said, “K.”
I asked, “And how do you spell that?”
“You don't,” K said. “It's just one letter, K. We all have one-letter names here.”
Mr. Thorne said, “Of course you do,” and laughed heartily.
I giggled. “Yes, of course. It makes perfect sense. Goodness knows you wouldn't want people to find out your identity. Oh, wait, but we can't see you, so ...”
The room was quiet, and I imaged K rolling his or her eyes.
K said, “Can I get you anything else?”
We'd already been served after-dinner coffee and dessert, so Mr. Thorne dismissed K.
We were alone, and the food had all been eaten. My dessert had been something with poached pears, raspberry sauce, and chocolate. I had a bad feeling I'd be craving it from that point on.
I was grateful the restaurant was fine dining, and therefore light portions. I felt full and satisfied, but not bloated like I would have after a big dinner with family or friends.
“Lexie,” he said, my name sounding like a command.
“Yes, Mr. Thorne?”
“Ooh, I like it when you call me Mr. Thorne.”
“Of course, Mr. Thorne.”
“Do you have your panties off yet?”
My breath stopped and my heart started to hammer. You'd think I'd be more relaxed after a few glasses of wine and a lovely meal and conversation, but I was terrified.
“No,” I said cautiously, wondering if no was the right answer.
“Why don't you slip them off, and bend over this table. I've got something for you.”
My mound throbbed with desire, hungry for what he had for me. “We shouldn't do things in here,” I said. “What if there's a spy camera in the room, like an infa-red camera?”
“There isn't.”