“You love to push the limit,” I say.
“So do you.” He circles my clit, and I have to disguise my gasp as a cough. “Eat your dessert, babe.”
I hold back a moan as he picks up a fork with his free hand and scoops up a bite of tiramisu, holding it to my lips.
“Open wider for me.”
Somehow, I know he’s not talking about my mouth, so I open my legs more, giving him all of me as he feeds me. The combination of the rich mascarpone on my tongue and the pleasure soaring through me is almost too much.
“How is it?” he asks.
“So good.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
“More?”
I nod, ready to beg.
He feeds me another bite and then another, fucking me with his fingers the whole time, and I’m trying so hard to look normal. I dab my lips with my napkin while his thumb slowly works my clit in tight circles that make it impossible for me to think.
Every time I get close, he backs off, slowing his pace until I want to scream. Then he builds me up again, a little higher each time, pushing me closer to the edge before pulling me back. It’s torture, but also, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. I’m so fucking turned on.
“I want to watch you come,” he says against my ear so only I can hear. “Right here. Can you stay quiet for me?”
Words are beyond me now.
He picks up the pace, and I’m staring at the candle flame, watching it flicker, trying to focus on anything except the pressure building between my legs. A couple walks past our table on the way to the bathroom while Patterson’s fingers keep going.
When I break, it hits me so hard that my vision blurs. Patterson’s mouth covers mine, swallowing the moan I can’t hold back, and I’m gripping his thigh under the table so hard that I might leave bruises. My whole body is clenching around his fingers, and he’s still moving inside me, slower now, drawing out every pulse until I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.
Tiny tremors roll through me while he kisses me like we’re not in a crowded restaurant, like I’m not falling apart under a white tablecloth. His thumb brushes my clit one more time, and I jerk against him, but he doesn’t pull out. He holds me there, two fingers deep, letting me come down while his mouth moves against mine. I taste wine and espresso and him, and when the kiss is broken, I have to remember how to breathe.
“Mmm. That’s my girl.” He pulls his hand away and brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean while holding my gaze. “Better than tiramisu.”
I can’t speak. I can’t move. I’m not entirely sure I’m still on this planet.
Once we’ve finished dessert, the server approaches with a pleasant smile. “Can I get you anything else?”
Patterson glances at me. “Anything else, sweetheart?”
“I’m fully satisfied,” I say with a sweet smile.
He pays and pulls me to my feet, steadying me when my knees wobble. “How was it?”
“An experience,” I whisper. “That’s a first for me.”
“Five out of five stars?”
“Yes,” I say.
He brings the finger that was inside me to his nose and inhales before lacing his fingers through mine and leading me toward the door. “And to think, the fun has just begun.”
When we step outside, I’m still floating, still feeling the aftershocks rolling through me. Patterson’s arm wraps around my waist, and I lean into him, not caring how we look, not caring about anything except the way my body is still humming.
Then the flashes start.
“Cross! Over here!”
“Kendall Hart! Are you two together?”
