His eyes narrow. “Why would you be embarrassed?” I see his hands move, and the toy buzzes to life inside me. This time the vibrations are not soft, they’re firm, and rotating, one side of the vibrator increasing in intensity while the other falls and vice versa. The result is a cycle of sensation bouncing back and forth between my clit and my G-spot, never letting me recover. “Kara,” Jet says softly, “why would you be embarrassed?”
I put down my fork, and it clatters a little too hard against my plate. I try to push the pleasure out of my head long enough to think, but my mind is going blank. What was the question? I squeeze down on the toy, thinking it might minimize the vibrations for a second, but it only makes it stronger. “It’s private,” I say, forcing words out. “I don’t want people to see me come.”
The toy turns off at once, and I huff out a breath, feeling the absence as both loss and relief. If he had kept it up for much longer, I would have come, and I was telling the truth. I don’t want people to see me.
Jet is looking at me like I’m more delicious than the food on the table, his eyes fierce with something I don’t name. “Anyone who sees you come should recognize how fucking gorgeous you are, and that what they’re seeing is a privilege.” His manner suddenly eases, and he leans back against the chair. “You are going to come before dinner is over.” He says it simply, as if it’s predetermined.
“We’ll see about that,” I say, challenging him. I’ve never been more confused about what I want to happen. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, and every time I feel the toy turn on, I’m more aroused by the fact that he’s teasing me here where anyone can see. But I don’t know if I’m ready to have an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant which is becoming more crowded with each passing minute.
He doesn’t respond, only smiles while taking a bite of the salmon. After a few minutes of silence he asks, “I want to know how you came to work in a sex shop.”
“It’s not a very interesting story,” I say.
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear it.”
A waiter appears with wine, and I use it as a distraction, taking a sip of the glass he serves me. “I was working at a market research firm, and they downsized. The way the economy is right now, there are more people than jobs. At first I was only applying at other market research firms, but when that didn’t work after six weeks, I started applying everywhere. Pleasure Chest is one of the first places I got an interview.” I finish the little spiel with a shrug. “I went with it because I like researching new things, and…almost everything in that shop is new.”
“Maybe a few less now.”
I laugh. “Definitely.”
Jet raises his glass of wine, and we touch our glasses together in a toast.
“I hope you don’t find my next question offensive,” I say, “but you are single, right?”
“Yes, I am single.”
A small knot in my shoulders releases with that confirmation. “I just had to make sure. You want to know how I feel about the toys, and the only reason I could think of was that you wanted to buy the toys for someone else.”
He nods. “I am very single. I should have made that clear earlier. The only person who has my attention is you.” His hand goes to his phone, and as if to prove his point, the toy flares to life, a truly intense buzzing that forces a sound from me. I’m approaching an orgasm so fast, that I shift my hips, trying to ease the pressure just a little. But the toy doesn’t move, and I know that Jet is right—I am going to come before the night is over. Just as I’m about to go over the edge, it stops, and I gasp, suddenly breathing hard and trying to keep my composure as the waiter comes and replaces our salmon with a plate of sushi.
“How close were you?” he asks.
“Way too close,” I say. “For that, I get an extra question. What do you do for a living?”
He unwraps a pair of the chopsticks that the waiter brought. “I’m a businessman.”
“That was impressively vague.”
“Thank you.”
I pull out my own chopsticks, and the sushi is absolutely amazing. “If you won’t tell me more than that, can I at least ask if your visits to the store have something to do with your business?”
He nods. “In a way they do, yeah.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what it is.”
He thinks for a moment. “I will. But not yet.”
“Okay,” I say, studying him. I can’t think of a reason for secrecy, but then again, we did just meet.
“What did you do before the market research?”
I make a face. “I was a perpetual student. I really like learning, and so it was a lot of fun. But now I’ve got a lot of degrees I can’t use and a lot of student debt to show for it.”
“How many degrees do you have?”
I count in my head. “Three bachelor’s and a master’s.”
His eyes go wide. “What subjects?”
“Well,” I say, going for more wine, “I did two of the bachelor’s at once, Art History and Communication. After that I did the third Bachelor’s in Marketing. I did a Master’s in Education with an emphasis on literature.”
“Did you have a goal in mind?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, I just liked all the things that I was learning. I thought maybe in the future I could teach something, but those jobs are few and far between for what I’d be qualified for.”
“It’s very impressive.” His voice is sincere, almost in awe.
I blush, not used to that kind of genuine admiration from people where my academics are concerned. Most people think I’m stupid or crazy for spending so much money on school. I can’t explain to them how everything fell apart. How my father who had everything decided to abandon me and leave us with nothing. How someone who used to be comfortable with money had a mountain of debt she didn’t know what to do with and degrees she didn’t have the support system to use. I think I’ve done well in the transition, but it’s not something you can just blurt out to people.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you from New York?”
Our sushi has quickly disappeared, and the waiters replace our empty plates with plates of beef and steaming vegetables. The food makes me want to weep, it’s so delicious. There’s suddenly a low buzzing from the toy and I jump. Jet’s phone is on the table, and his fingers aren’t on it. That cheater has the actual remote in his pocket. I glare at him, and he just laughs. But the buzzing doesn’t disappear.
“I grew up in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. Not much to do in that town. I decided I wanted to live in New York City when I was young and I saw it on TV, and from then on it was always the goal—get to New York. Everything I did was to make sure I could get out of that town and to the city. And it worked. I came here, went to Columbia, and I stayed. I’ve been living in the city for…twelve years now?”
“Long time,” I laugh. “I’ve only been here for five.”
The toy is still humming. It’s so low that I could almost ignore it, except for the fact that it’s sending little jolts of pleasure through me every time I move in my seat.
The waiters come back, but this time not for us. They seat an older couple at the table that’s nearly adjacent to us. We make eye contact, nod and smile as they settle in. I hope desperately they can’t hear the humming coming from my chair.
We back off to more innocent questions. He asks me my favorite color: green. I ask him his favorite kind of food: a tie between sushi and Italian. My middle name is Elizabeth. His is Henry. I probably won’t remember that though, because the vibrator ticks up a notch.
I glance over at the couple next to us. They seem nice, the woman with an elegant gray chignon and evening dress, the man in a dapper suit. They seem like the picture perfect grandparents you would want to have, and to not find out you were being sexually teased at dinner. “Jet.”
His face goes faux innocent. “Yes?”
“You’re not going to stop are you?”
“Do you want me to stop?” He leans closer to me, and I can tell the question is a genuine one.
Do I want him to stop? The way he’s looking at me now, like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, I love that feeling. The past three days he’s been in my head while I’ve masturbated, his smirk flashing in my mind and his voice urging me on as I come. Now I desperately want him watching me. I want to see his face as I have an orgasm, see what it does to him. Even if it is in the middle of this restaurant. “No. Don’t stop,” I say softly.
Our eyes are locked, and I feel like we’re fighting a silent battle of sorts. The vibrator ticks up again, and I fight to keep my face even, to keep my composure despite the fact that my muscles are starting to shake and my body has adjusted to the rhythm, sending waves of pleasure swirling outward at regular intervals. The waiters clear our table, replacing it with the ice cream we ordered. I keep glancing over at the couple next to us, but they don’t seem to know anything is out of the ordinary. Yet.