“I believe you are correct. Peaches.” There was just enough of a pause before the last word that no one else would know he was addressing her.
She swallowed audibly, her throat tight.
“Try another bite. I love hearing your enjoyment.”
He’s telling me to swivel. Godsakes, the man can control me without any tethers whatsoever.
She forked something off her plate and chewed on it, not tasting it. Her flesh pulsed against that leather finger without a single hip movement, simply from his gaze and this private-in-public game they were playing.
He arched a brow.
She circled her hips slower. While she’d played in public, she’d never orgasmed at the table during a formal dinner, without anyone touching her. The idea was titillating, but she felt suddenly shy.
Why am I shy? This is my type of play. Certainly, this particular crowd would be more likely to applaud than condemn her performance. But would Robert feel exposed? He’d said he did not enjoy public play.
He was still watching her, assessing her reaction from her expression. His gaze dipped.
She glanced to where he was looking. Her nipples stood hard and proud through her chemise and dress, pointing at him.
She looked at him through her upper lashes. “I find the potatoes a little firmer than normal, don’t you, Mr. Orford?” she said with a grin.
“They taste perfect to me.” He licked his lips.
She nearly orgasmed on the spot—no rotation needed.
“No more.” He held her gaze. “You may not finish at the table.”
She bit her lip. That solved her dilemma about exploding during dinner, but she was not sure she could hold off.
Dessert was served, a small bowl of creamy custard with a slice of peach decorating the plate.
She groaned again and met his gaze.
His smile bloomed slowly. Dratted man.
“No more movements. Eat your dessert and I shall help you up after dinner.”
She really hoped “up” referenced her pinnacle of pleasure. Watching him savor the custard, licking then sucking it off the spoon after quick glances to ensure no one observed his poor etiquette, nearly undid her. She was almost incoherent with desire, afraid to swivel any more for fear of creating a wet spot on her gown. When he bit into the peach slice with a grin, she had to clench to avoid going over. Closing her eyes, she panted.
Robert’s hand gripping her upper arm brought her head around to him. Dinner was over, and the guests were standing and moving toward the doors, ready for the games to start.
She was beyond games, wanting only Robert. Here and now if he was amenable. She was ready to clear a few place settings out of the way or drop to her knees to suck him in supplication.
“You should have asked. What if those were a custom order for someone and I did not have the measurements with me to recreate them?” His voice was a gruff whisper, and he kept glancing around to check that no one could overhear them. He pulled her out of the path to the ballrooms where the crowd milled, discussing their options of games.
“Are they?” She peered up at him through her lashes, trying to judge his mood.
“No. They’re a new design. At least now I can get feedback.” The grin he shot her was quick but wide.
She opened her mouth to praise the garment.
He hastily raised his finger to her lips. “But not here, please.”
“Right, then.” She refrained from rolling her eyes at his prudishness. “Were you planning to participate in the games tonight?”
Belatedly, she realized her predicament. She’d been so focused on the slippery flesh sliding against the leather at the juncture of her thighs and the thought of moving again, she hadn’t heard Cheltie’s announcement. Remembering how many times he had teased her to the edge of orgasm then eased back, she feared his answer.
Please take me to your room. I cannot believe I don’t want to play games, but I don’t.
