I’m going to die in here. I amactuallygoing to die.
Leo chuckles—and even that does it for me. My tongue pokes out to wet my bottom lip, and I wish I had the confidence to employ my hands to bring myself to the finish line just so I can get myself through tonight.
If I thought the drive to the restaurant was painful, it’s nothing compared to pulling up to the restaurant and blindly accepting the valet’s hand to help me out of the car while forgetting that if I move, the toy moves. I clamp my lips together and avoid eye contact at all costs as the toy pushes against my G-spot.
Leo’s there in a second to pull me away from the guy, and I’mjustcoherent enough to notice that he tipped the person who opened his door, but not the one who opened mine.
An asshole thing to do? Yes.
But does the jealousy turn me on? Absolutely fucking yes.
His hand finds the base of my spine, and he leads me up the steps, keeping close. I almost trip over my new chunky boots that give me six inches of height. They’re gorgeous, but they weren’t designed for me to walk in.
I blow out a flustered breath and try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other,noton the way my underwear is making the toy’s antenna rub against my clit.
Look, I realize this is essentially the first time we’ve had an outing as a “couple.” I also realize that it’s entirely possible someone pulls out their phone, snaps a picture, and sells it to any news media who might be interested.
Except right now, it feels like I’m getting fucked and stretched while I walk. I’m flushed, panting, and still far too hot to enjoy how the cool night air feels against my skin.
“Problem?” Leo says, subtly smirking.
All I manage is to glare up at him. If I open my mouth, I might moan instead.
At least I successfully nod my thanks to the person who opens the door for us, but that’s as far as my abilities go when we get to the hostess’s station.
Maybe if my vision wasn’t blurred around the edges from lust, I might be in awe of our current location. Heavy crimson drapes line the walls surrounding the deep-mahogany furniture. There is an assortment of fresh flowers everywhere I look, and real vines and other plants I don’t recognize hang from the ceiling like a chandelier.
When another one of my senses kicks in, the anxiety starts. It’s so loud. Chatter hits me from all around. The clink of cutlery. Knives scraping against porcelain. Soft strings of a violin. Laughter. Shoes hitting the wooden flooring.
My skin burns with awareness as I tuck myself closer to Leo’s side. It feels like everyone in here knows there’s basically a purple ticking time bomb in my vagina that could go off at any moment, and people will start chanting “shame.”
The anxiety detaches me from my libido enough to follow the hostess to a booth at the very corner of the restaurant, ease myself down onto the seat Leo pulls out for me, pick up the menu, and actually read what it says—well, it takes a couple goes to register the words, but at least I’ve regained cognitive function.
Which is poor timing because now the only thing I notice is the prices.
I set the menu down and tell Leo, “How about we get drive-thru?—”
“Good evening, my name is Tedd, and I will be your server this evening.”
I slam my mouth shut and am suddenly reminded of what’s going ondownstairs. It feels wrong to even be near another person when I have the toy inside me, so I keep my attentionsomewhere over Leo’s shoulder, who’s giving me a pleased smirk.
The only silver lining in this situation is that my back is to everyone, and the table directly beside us is still empty, so there’s no one to witness my demise.
“Can I start you off with anything? Water, or a cocktail? We also have a selection of wines available if you’d like me to show you.”
“I’ll just have still water, but she’ll have an espresso martini.”
Do I even want to know how he’s worked out that’s my favorite cocktail?
Tedd nods. “I’ll bring that over shortly.”
Our server leaves, and I shift uncomfortably in the seat, trying to ignore how the toy moves and that almost every item on the menu is over a hundred dollars.
“Have you spoken to your mother?”
I blink. He wants to talk about thisright now? The memory sobers me and makes me sick to my stomach. “No. Which is worse.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “It means she has time to stew and come up with theories about how she’s the victim in this.”
The dread I’ve been feeling since yesterday sinks deeper into my stomach, not stopping until I’m nauseous.
