This may be even better than a kiss.
It might just be the best ever.
“Stop touching yourself. We’re getting dinner and I don’t need you horny in a restaurant.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with being horny in a restaurant?” I gasp and then squeeze his hand a few times. “I could suck your dick under the table.”
“No. You won’t.”
“I mean, I could be really quiet.”
“Bane, you won’t suck my dick in the restaurant. The floor is dirty.”
“So?”
He sighs and then goes silent, his mind mulling over my offer, I’m sure.
“Behave until we get to the airplane, and then I’ll consider our options.”
That makes me wiggle even more. So much so that he has to press his hand to my thigh to get me to stop.
It doesn’t work. I wiggle in excitement all the way to the small restaurant he’s plugged into his GPS. I don’t know why he is insisting on this place. I don’t think Georgiy has ever been to Alabama, but he told me there’s no negotiating.
And I honestly don’t care.
I just want to eat a raw steak and then suck on his dick some more.
Maybe eat his ass for dessert, if he’d let me.
I giggle, and he peers over at me as he parks.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m imagining you letting me put my tongue up your ass.”
He turns the car off. “That will never happen.”
“You also told me you’d never touch me unless you were taking me apart, and look at us now. You kissed me.” I smack my lips again, and Georgiy grabs onto my chin, making me stop.
“I have. And now I wear your ring.”
“You do,” I breathe.
He meets my stare for a second. It’s charged and intense. He likes it. He likes me.
Mine. All mine.
“Come. Let’s eat. I can hear your stomach rumbling.”
It responds with a loud roar, and I hop out of the car, following Georgiy toward the entrance. I glance at the sign: Russian Supers.
Oh, is he taking me to a Russian restaurant? The only Russian food I’ve eaten was when I snuck around Mikhail’s house. It was delicious.
We step inside, and the first thing I see is the gold panels on the ceiling, before my eyes go to the red and blue chairs. The walls are rustic stone, and at the far end of the room is a wooden bar. For a place in rural Alabama, this place is quite busy.
“Are you going to feed me food from the motherland?”
He huffs. “Yes. I think it’s only fair.”
