I tilted my head to the side and locked eyes with the smiling waiter. “Can you bring us the check?”
The waiter nodded and turned away.
“Are you ready to go already?” Michael asked.
I folded my arms under my boobs and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Really?”
He grinned. “I’ve still got half a glass of wine.”
“Well,” I said. “I’m ready.”
He drank half the remaining wine. “You sure?”
I shook my head. “If you could feel my pussy, you wouldn’t ask me that.”
He turned his hand over and curled his index finger into his palm. “Come here.”
I knew what he wanted. At least I thought I did. I glanced left. I glanced right. “Huh?”
“Come. Here.” His voice was stern.
I stood, walked around the edge of the table, and stopped at his side. I fought to cure my overly dry mouth. The simple three-letter word didn’t come easy.
“Yes,” I murmured.
With his eyes fixed on mine, he grinned and reached into his right pocket. A pronounced click caused me to shift my focus to his right hand. My eyes widened at the sight of a folding knife cupped in the palm of his hand.
I held my breath as he slipped it beneath my dress. My eyes nervously scanned the aisle for onlookers.
I felt his hand against my inner thigh. Slowly, he raised it up my leg until it came to rest against my hip. With his eyes still locked on mine, he pressed the back of his hand against my hip, then I felt slight pressure as he tugged against my panties.
The blade cut through the material with little effort. He slid his hand to the other side, dragging his free fingers against my wet pussy in the process.
Again, the knife cut through the material effortlessly. My jaw and my panties hit the floor at the same time. Feeling slightly embarrassed, I started to bend down and pick them up.
“Leave. Them. Lay,” he breathed.
The tip of his finger circled my swollen clit. My eyes darted around the half-filled establishment. The waiter walked toward us, his face covered in a grin.
Michael slipped a finger inside of me.
I gasped. My face went flush.
His mouth twisted into a smirk. I bit down on my lip. He forced another finger inside.
I closed my eyes and gulped a breath.
“My apologies, sir. I’ll come back.”
Shit, the waiter.
I held my eyes closed tight.
Michael forced his fingers a little deeper into my eager pussy. “You’re just fine. Leave it on the table.”
I bit down on my lower lip. Oh God.
“You appear,” the waiter cleared his throat. “Rather busy, sir.”
“Just leave it lay, I’ll get to it when I’m done here.”
“Very well, sir.”
Michael pushed his fingers in deep, slid them out fully, and then poked them back in. He curled the tip of one finger against my G-spot. A tingling sensation shot through me like a lightning bolt. My legs wobbled. I fought to remain standing. The tingling continued for a few seconds, rushing through me from head to toe.
“Thank you,” I heard Michael say.
“No hurry,” the waiter responded, his voice fading as he obviously turned away. “Take your time.”
Michael worked his fingers in and out of my throbbing pussy twice, teasing my G-spot each time. “I certainly will.”
I heard the waiter walk away. I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I wanted to bask in the feeling of him fingering me in the open restaurant. It was the sexiest thing I had ever been involved in, and as much as I wanted to leave and see what was next, I didn’t want it to end.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
I complied.
His fingers slid free of my soaking-wet pussy. I fully expected he’d wipe them on my thigh or maybe the hem of my dress.
He didn’t.
With trembling legs and a quivering lip, I watched as he pulled his hand free of my dress, held his glistening fingers in front of his face, and then sucked my juices from them.
Oh. My. God.
He opened the leather check holder, placed three $100 bills inside, and flipped it closed with the tips of his fingers. He then stood up and leaned forward, pressing his cheek against mine lightly as he moved his mouth to my ear.
My legs went weak. I closed my eyes, held my breath and waited. His warm breath against my ear caused goose bumps to rise along my upper arm.
“You better hope you’re ready,” he whispered.
I nodded to assure him, but it did nothing to assure me. “I am.”
I wasn’t.
His little finger bang trick beside the table had me feeling like he owned me. Maybe he did.
“Grab your purse,” he said.
I did. And I walked at his side to the door, still in somewhat of a trance. When we got to the car, he reached for the door handle and leaned toward me. His lips pressed against my ear. I raised my shoulder instinctively, but by no means wanted him to stop.