“I need to stop by the ladies’ room.”
He pointed his head toward the restroom sign. It was inside of the small area designated for private dining. Ishmael was on my heels as I made my way across the room.
He pushed the door open upon arrival. I stepped inside, happy to have freed myself from his trance. He was breathtaking. I breathed out, releasing the breath I’d been holding.
Click.
The sound of the door locking behind me stiffened my frame. Within a millisecond, I’d become immobile. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think.
Ishmael’s hands were on me at once. My back was against the door. And, my thong was a torn piece of drenched fabric.
His fingers touched my sensitivity. The sound of my arousal against his extremities was nauseating. His breath against my skin was intoxicating.
“Ridiculous,” he whispered under his breath.
Still, I heard every word. Every syllable.
“Please,” I begged, needing to feel parts of him I’d deemed off limits.
“I’m trying my hardest to respect you in public, but you’re making it impossible, my baby.”
Three fingers entered me. They turned toward him, and then pulled forward.
“Ish—uhhhhh.”
“I can’t keep letting you walk away from me with all this shit pent up inside of you. You need to clear your cache. So you can clear your head. And your ears. And get a better understanding of who the fuck is in charge here.”
He spoke to me calmly, yet firmly. His fingers hadn’t moved another centimeter. I desperately needed them to. He knew it as much as I did.
“Ishmael.”
“I like the way you call my name, but that ain’t gone work, my baby.”
“Pleas–”
“Are you ready to listen, Royce?”
I nodded, rubbing my walls against his fingers. He ejected his fingers, leaving me powerless. I was feeble, weak, and withering by the second.
I needed Ishmael. Not later. I needed him now. He’d turned on my facet and then folded the hose, causing build up at a rapid rate.
Desperate, I caught the tail end of my dress and shoved my fingers into my wetness. The pressure around my wrist forced me to reconsider.
“Uhhhh–”
Ishmael removed my fingers from my center. He lifted them up to his mouth and opened slightly. One finger at a time, he cleaned the traces of my intrusion from each extremity. His eyes were on mine, chastising me for my disobedience.
“Keep your hands,” he demanded, placing another finger in his warm mouth.
“Off shit that doesn’t belong to you.”
He placed another in his mouth.
“Ishmael, you’re killin–”
He pushed into me again.
“Yesssssss.”
