He cuts himself off when the waitress arrives with the burgers.
As soon as she’s gone, he finishes, “... instead of quietly in front of the whole restaurant.”
My eyes widen as he drags one of the plates in front of me.
“Eat,” he whispers in my ear.
“Uhm, Quill,” I begin.
His hand reaching up my shirt and resting dangerously on my side has me cringing again.
“I’m very ticklish,” I hiccup.
“Yes, you are.” I can’t see it, but I justknowhe’s got an evilgrin plastered on his face. “Be a good girl and eat your burger. Or else.”
I pick up my burger gingerly and accidentally inhale a glob of ketchup when he slips his hand up a bit more and presses a finger on my armpit.
I’m so focused on the coughing fit that follows that I don’t even notice him unbuttoning my jeans until his other hand has wriggled its way inside and under my panties, and is clamped over my pussy.
“Quill!” I choke out, my face as red as the ketchup still smeared on my cheek.
“Keep eating, cricket,” he breathes dangerously in my ear, and I can’t tell what is driving me crazier, the fingers on one of his hands circling my clit or the other finger very lightly stroking my armpit.
Thankfully we’re sitting in one of the corner booths half-shielded by long wooden walls, and I can only pray that means the other diners don’t see what Quill is doing to me. They probably only see me jerk around uncomfortably on his lap and are wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
It takes an insane amount of willpower for me to choke down the burger as Quill continues to torment me. Two of his fingers are pushing in and out of me while his thumb presses against my clit, and his other fingers continue to lightly stroke my armpit, driving me absolutely crazy.
It all makes me soaking wet, and I gasp with relief as I come all over his fingers while swallowing the last of my burger.
Finally.
Not that I don’t love riding Quill’s fingers, but this session was absolute torture.
But it doesn’t look like he has any intention of letting me go as he whispers, “And now, the fries.”
“Quill!”
Then I practically snort one into my left nostril as he digs his finger harder into my armpit.
“Go on.”
I start shoveling them in my mouth, thick sweat clinging to my skin from the intense sensations Quill is causing me in this very embarrassing public setting. Still, when he pauses his hand in my panties, I groan in frustration.
“Take your time,” he breathes. “I know I am.”
He really fucking is. I’ve never known him to go so slow before, and it’s maddening. He very lightly circles my clit, and this time, he doesn’t finger me at all. It makes me more frustrated than anything else, but when I try to arch toward his fingers, his hand at my armpit digs into my skin, warning me to stay still.
I don’t know how I manage to not implode as he strokes my clit very lightly to an orgasm that makes me shudder with how frustratingly gentle it is. I need a lot more than this, and I rock my hips against his lap, trying to wring out the last bits of sensation from my folds.
He groans and I smirk at how frustrated he must also be feeling.
Then he buttons up my jeans just as the waitress comes back to the table, her bright smile reassuring me that she has no idea what just happened.
“Can I get you folks anything else?”
She turns her head to Quill’s uneaten burger. “Not hungry, hon?”
“Want it?” Quill asks me with a knowing glance that has me blushing furiously.
