Pressure quickly builds in my clit. I’m grinding against his fingers, using him to satisfy my need to come. He pricks me again and again, and after the fifth one, the fucking floodgates open.
I bury my face in his neck and bite down into his flesh where his neck meets his shoulder. He groans but doesn’t pull away or stop rubbing me until I slump against him in a heap.
My eyes are closed, and bright stars dance behind my eyelids. I’m not sure how long we sit there, but when I finally pull away, my face is red for a whole different reason now.
I just got fingered in a fucking restaurant.
Dante is able to read the emotions on my face, but instead of reassuring me that everything is fine, he just smirks like the cocky bastard he is.
I frown at him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“You’ll be alright,” he teases, kissing the tip of my nose.
Dante cleans his hand as much as he can—and by “clean” I mean he licks me from his fingers and uses his napkin to wipe off the rest.
When the waiter comes with the check, he takes out his wallet, pulls out some cash and tucks the bills inside the check holder.
I panic when he stands up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing the alarm on my face.
My hands sweat as I’m hit with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
“How am I going to stand up?” I ask him quietly, looking around the restaurant to make sure no one is looking at us.
“Well, typically, people will lean forward and push themselves up…” he says sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and punch him playfully on the thigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Just stand up. No one will notice as long as you act like a normal human being.” He says that last part pointedly.
I shoot him a glare but take his proffered hand and stand up. My cheeks are on fire right now, so I don’t say anything as I grab my purse and follow Dante out of the restaurant.
When we’re finally out into the cold October night, I take a deep breath and exhale. Dante hands his ticket to the valet, and we stand on the sidewalk while we wait for the truck to be brought out.
“I’ve never been so mortified in my life. Maybe I should let them know that the seat needs to be cleaned?”
“Do you really want to go back in there and explain to them why?” Dante asks. “You know they’ll need an answer.”
“You’re right,” I say on a sigh, then I smack his arm.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“I told you that was a bad idea!” I complain. He just taps my nose like I'm a cute little kid and tucks me into his side. I wrap my arms around his waist andsnuggle against him, savoring the safety his body heat provides me.
The valet finally comes around with Dante’s truck. He gets out and starts to walk around to the passenger side to open the door for me, but Dante stops him.
“I’ll do it,” he says a bit curtly. “Thank you.”
The valet, a young guy who’s probably in his late teens, nods quickly and wishes us a good night. Dante helps me into the truck before getting into the driver’s seat and leaving the restaurant parking lot.
I look over at him and frown. “Did you really have to scare the poor kid like that?”
He shrugs. “No one gets to pull your chair out or open your door but me.”
I chuckle. “You don’t want anyone to be nice to me?”
“Of course I do. But I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to steal you away from me.”
