“Can I try it?”
“Sure.” I lean across the table and hand him the bottle. He sniffs it first, his nose wrinkling, then brings it to his mouth and takes a small sip.
He coughs immediately with his hand flying up to cover his mouth as he wheezes out, “Christ. That’s strong. What the hell is that made of?”
“It’s the best you can get from Russia.” I shrug and take the bottle back for another sip.
He’s still blinking hard like it physically hurt him. I enjoy his reaction more than I should. One day, he will appreciate vodka.
“Are you done with the food?”
He nods.
“Good. Because I want my fucking dessert now.”
I push back from the table, walking around to his side. He’s already watching me with eyes that flick down, then up again like he doesn’t trust what I’m about to do.
I reach for his chin with my thumb, brushing slowly underneath it, then drag my fingers up to his ear and slide them around the back of his neck.
Then I drop to my knees.
I shift his chair to pull him closer. His hands land on my shoulders immediately. “Wait. You mean here?” His voice is tight, breathless. “What if someone walks in? The servers … don’t they usually check in or ask how the food was?”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“If they open that door, I’ll put a bullet in them without pulling out of you. Let them watch me fuck you while they bleed out.”
His fingers tighten on my shoulders. He’s trying not to react to my words, but I feel the way his thighs tense under my hands. He’s torn between fear and arousal, and both responses make me want to devour him right here on this chair.
I unbuckle him and drag his pants down, press my palm to his stomach, and push him back into the chair. He leans back, eyes wide, cock already half-hard and twitching. I take him into my mouth before he’s even fully hard and feel him swell against my tongue.
My tongue drags down the underside, swirls around the tip, slow and wet, before I take him deeper. His moans start low and tight, growing louder when I pick up pace, hollowing my cheeks. I work him down until his hips jerk, and he twists his hands into my hair.
I reach down and dig into my pocket, pop off him for a second to rip open a packet of lube with my teeth. Squirt it into my hand, throw the wrapper somewhere on the floor, and take him back into my mouth like I’m starved.
Slick fingers trail down, past his balls, along his taint until I reach his hole. I circle, slow, teasing, then push one finger in. “That’s so good.” His voice shakes as he grips my hair tighter.
I groan, loving the way he clenches. I work him open, second finger sliding in, then third, taking my time stretching him with soft thrusts until he’s panting. My mouth never stops, tongue working him while my fingers fuck him open.
When I’ve had enough, I stand up and drag my fingers out slow, watch the way his thighs tremble. His cock’s flushed and leaking, stomach tensing with every breath.
I push my pants down enough to pull out my cock and slick the head with leftover lube still coating my fingers. The things on the table are in my way, so I grab the edge and tilt it up, letting everything slide off in one loud crash. Plates, glasses, the candle, all of it shatter against the floor. I set the table back down flat and empty.
“What are you doing?” he blurts, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“Come here.”
He swallows hard and mumbles something about insane Russians.
I grab him gently by the throat. Walk him backward until he hits the table. Slide my hand around to the back of his neck and crush our mouths together, tongue sliding into his, swallowing the sound he makes.
It’s messy and perfect. I don’t stop until I can’t breathe.
I lift him up onto the edge of the table, guide his hips toward me, then line myself up and look at him.
He meets my eyes and nods, jaw tight, already bracing. I start pushing in. My head drops forward, breath stuttering. He grabs the edge of the table, body tensing, a soft moan slipping out.
