A fawning waiter showed us to our table, fussing and generally getting on Damien’s nerves.
“I’ll call you over when I’m ready,” Damien said brusquely. The man bent at the waist in a little bow and scurried away from Damien’s dark face.
“I’m sorry, Damien,” I said, concerned that my performance on set had caused this bad mood. “I’ll get over it. I’ll do anything I can to get over my fear of spiders. I’m so sorry,” I repeated. “Please don’t be mad at me because of it.” I reached for his hand. “I owe you so much for giving me this break. I’ll do anything I can to make it right.”
Damien checked around at the other tables to see if anyone could overhear before he looked at me, his eyes cold. “That isn’t what I want,” he said, a tic twitching in his cheek.
I took the twitch to be a sign of how Damien really felt, and that in spite of his reassurances that everything was fine, he really was mad at me.
“I can get counseling or something,” I said anxiously. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s only a fake spider.”
His eyes chilled me. Oh God, it was all over! He’d made a mistake in giving me the role. I could read it in his face. He was monumentally pissed at me and was having a hard time covering it up. The cracks were showing and I felt so weak and helpless.
“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” Damien said through clenched teeth.
He stood up and almost toppled his chair with the back of his legs as he pushed it away and threw his napkin onto the table.
“Is everything all right, miss?” the waiter asked, almost wringing his hands with concern at Damien’s abrupt exit while some of the others muttered behind their hands.
“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” I murmured as I fingered the shiny fork nervously. “We’re just a little tired, what with work and everything.”
The guy did his little bow and inclined his head before gliding away and leaving me to an anxious five minute wait.
I excused myself from the group and followed after Damien. When I saw him in the men’s room I gasped. The sight of him standing there with his pants unzipped while he stroked himself roughly held me enthralled. He wasn’t mad at me at all. He was horny!
He looked so sexy like that, swollen and huge and sensationally hard, his eyes hungry while he stared at me. I watched him for a few seconds, feeling my insides melting as my body reacted to the sight of such a beautiful male animal in full-blooded arousal.
A whimper mewled from me and I was overwhelmed with the urge to touch him.
“God but that’s so hot,” I sighed. “I love seeing you like that. And it’s just like you said, it’s such a rush to know we could be caught any second.”
With a glance at the door, half-expecting the pain in the ass waiter to come checking, I lifted the hem of my dress to my waist and walked towards Damien.
He watched me approach, his fist moving more urgently while I felt his eyes lasering onto my underwear.
When I reached him I leaned forward for a kiss, filled with a sudden, desperate need to feel his tongue in my mouth. I wanted his hands on my breasts and between my legs; I wanted the girth of him stretching me while we went at it hard and fast and deep.
I remembered the first time Damien had taken me, when he’d made me kneel on the sofa with him behind. This time I wanted to sit on him, to face him as my body accommodated every glorious inch of his maleness. That way I could watch his face while I moved, my body clenching and oiling with desire. He could maul my tits and pull my face down to kiss his mouth as I milked him to orgasm.
When I tried to push Damien back so his butt pressed up against the sink and I could lift one leg to slide onto him, he stopped me by putting a hand on my shoulder. He slid the underwear to one side with his fingers and went at me with his mouth like he was going to devour me.
His tongue felt incredible, probing and lapping and sliding over my clit. I groaned at the sight of Damien using his mouth on such a private place. It had never been like this with Rafe; I always felt a little uncomfortable about letting Rafe see me in such a vulnerable position, like I was shy or embarrassed at the way my own body might look to him. But with Damien it felt so wonderful when he looked at me down there; I felt beautiful and wild and free; I felt like a woman with Damien, that he was a man who could love me. I wanted to please him, and if he wanted to look at me between my legs, to touch me, to taste me, I was only too happy to flaunt my sex at him. It felt so damned sexy, so naughty.
At first, just as Damien began to pleasure me so expertly with his tongue I kept my eyes on the door. I was certain that someone was going to come in and catch us like that, me with my legs akimbo and my modesty so lewdly compromised. But as Damien’s magic tongue began to charm me, I soon forgot all about being interrupted.