“You can’t,” I whisper. As he slips two fingers inside of me, I grab the edge of the table with my free hand.
“I am,” he purrs, taking another sip of his wine. “Don’t make a scene.”
He expertly works his fingers, knowing exactly how I like it and where to move to send me reeling, and I move my hand harder, faster, against his cock, keeping my hand over his dark slacks.
I bite back a whimper as he curls his fingers against my most sensitive spot. “Drink your water,” he instructs.
Using my free hand, I pick up my glass and bring it my lips with a shaking hand, trying not to choke as I take a sip. My hips rock against his hand with a whimper as the pressure builds inside me, and I shoot him a desperate look.
“Not here,” I beg.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“...No.”
“Good girl.”
He moves faster, sending me careening toward the edge of climax as a muffled grunt escapes him. His dick pulses beneath my hand and I stare in amazement at the composure he keeps plastered on his face as he comes. I’m damn near ready to shatter and he’s stoic, looking nothing more than deep in thought. The only thing betraying his secret is the heaving of his chest.
With one more hard curling of his fingers, I come undone, covering my face with my napkin as I use every strength I have not to scream in the middle of this restaurant.
He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean before turning to me with a smirk.
“Dinner is delicious, don’t you think, baby?”
“Uh-huh,” I breathe, holding my napkin over my mouth as I try to shop trembling.
Somehow, we manage to tuck into our meals, acting as if nothing happened. Well, Colt pulls that part off well. I think my performance is probably slightly less convincing, but I try.
We make our way home shortly after and relieve the sitter before climbing into bed together. He pulls out his phone to make sure his alarm is on for tomorrow morning, and I catch a text message from Davis dropping down from his screen.
Davis:So does this mean I get my room back?
THIRTY-NINE
Rowan
Four Months Later
“Shhhh! We have to be quiet,” I whisper, pressing a finger to my lips. “We don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Macie giggles even more, now that laughter is forbidden, and she adjusts her clay figure on the table to make sure it’s at the perfect angle. I prop her painted canvas behind it, then move to the other side and repeat the same with my own creations.
Dusting my hands off, I take a step back and give the table a once-over with my hands on my hips. We each made a painting – mine, an abstract piece in shades of brown and black, kind of messy because, well, I’m not an actual artist; and Macie’s, a painted family portrait featuring herself, Colt, me, and Emmett. When she told me that’s what she was going to paint, I expected stick figures, but she really went all out trying to make a detailed painting.
In front of Macie’s canvas sits her clay sculpture of a flamingo. Why a flamingo, I have no idea, but I love it. In front of mine, sits a clay sculpture of…a shape. I don’t know, it’s got a loop at the center and another above it, with a wider base to hold it up. Like a twirly figure eight. I tried, that’s what counts.
“Perfect,” I comment, giving my sister a quiet high five.
I reach for the plate of glazed donuts, stacked tall, and set it between the two offerings before shoving a bunch of candles into the one on top. The dining room table looks freakishly similar to a shrine, now, but it’s the thought that counts, and I never once in my life claimed to be a master decorator.
“Alright,” I tell my sister. “Go get him.”
Those little feet pat toward the stairs at record speed until both her tiny body and the sound of her footsteps disappear.
She returns several minutes later, dragging Colt by the hand along with her as he rubs the sleep from his eyes with a yawn.
“Happy birthday!” The two of us shout in unison and I lift my arms over my head.
