He tilts his head, his expression stern. “I seem to recall coming to an agreement as to the rules.”
“My answer,” I say, “is still no. Not because I’m feeling rebellious, but because I’m not wearing any.”
I see the flare in his eyes that tells me I’ve surprised him. “Oh, really. Well, in that case...”
The hand that has been on my thigh moves up, and his fingers slip into that secret pocket. I gasp, though, when I feel the warm touch of his fingertips against my bare thigh.
I turn, shocked. “What—how—?”
“I really didn’t see the point of a pocket when it was so much more convenient without that seam.” He grins wickedly. “Full access.”
“But—”
With his other hand, he silences me with a finger to my lips. “Spread your legs,” he says.
“We’re in a restaurant.”
“Then I hope that when I make you come, you can refrain from screaming.”
“Ryan,” I say, but though my tone is a protest, my actions are not. I spread my legs, and when his hand slips down and finds me already wet, already excited, Ryan lets out a low whistle.
“You like this as much as I do,” he says, “getting off in public. Knowing that you’re mine. That I can touch you anywhere, make you come for me anywhere.”
His fingers slide over me, and I am wet—so wet that there is no denying the truth of his words.
A waitress comes to check on our wine and asks if we’d like to order the meal. I manage a polite smile, and all the while Ryan’s fingers are stroking me, dipping into me, taking me higher and higher.
As if to torment me, he asks her to recite the specials, and as she does, I reach under the table and clutch my own knee, trying to stifle the urge to squirm, to get his hand to move faster, tighter. To take me that much further.
As soon as she’s gone, I round on him. “Bastard!” I snap, but he only catches my mouth in a kiss and then whispers, “Come for me. Come for me now, kitten,” as he thrusts deep inside me.
I grab the edge of the table and stare blankly into space, willing my body not to move as the orgasm ripples through me. It is as if all that energy, all that explosion, remains centered in my cunt, and my body clenches and clenches around the fingers he has thrust inside me, all secret, all hidden inside my skirt and beneath the tablecloth of this fancy, five-star restaurant.
“I hate you,” I say when I come down from the high.
“No,” he says. “You don’t.” He pauses for a moment, then slides his hand out of my dress. “I have another present for you,” he says.
I decide it is safer not to ask, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coil of ribbon with a hook on the end.
“What is that?”
“A leash,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “It will latch onto that loop even with the lock charm on the necklace.”
I smile, feeling bold. “All right,” I say. “Attach it. Then lead me back to the room and fuck me properly. But Ryan, you work here. I wonder what people will think.”
“Probably that I’m the luckiest man in Vegas. But you do raise a good point.” He reaches over and hooks the clip to the necklace. Then he lets the ribbon trail down, tucking the long end down my cleavage so that the remainder is hidden beneath my skirt.
I raise a brow. “People will still know.”
“Let them.”
I lick my lips, still aroused and more than willing to take this further. “Ryan,” I say. “How would you feel about skipping dinner?”
He laughs. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
He waits until we are out of the elevator and walking down the hall to the penthouse to pull out the leash. When he does, though, I like it. There’s pleasure in belonging to him, comfort in knowing that he is there. That I can rely on him. Go to him.
Talk to him.