“Griffin tarte tatin, a delicacy in Fyre. I know you’re an adventurous eater, my little chef. I’ve wanted to try The Saffron Valley’s version of this for a long time. With you at my table, the timing feels right.”
I swoon as I take another bite, leaning heavily against Grogoth as the texture melts on my tongue. “It’s incredible. Have you had it elsewhere?”
“My maker was a Fyran. Though he created me for the sole purpose of selling me into servitude, he was a decent man. Some of his culture rubbed off on me.”
“Do you miss him? Or the other you mentioned from your past, the king?”
Grogoth picks up a juicy cube of stone indri and feeds it to me. I lick every last drop from his thumb, feeling the cock lodged inside me have a visceral reaction, though his stoic mask reveals nothing.
“Though they were good to me, I don’t miss them individually. I suppose I miss the companionship that their presence had in my life.”
“You don’t have anyone like that now?”
“No.”
My heart winces at the loneliness he must feel, and I chide myself for not speaking to him sooner. Had I only pushed my insecurities aside and revealed my crush, maybe we would be celebrating this Bliss Day as a bonafide couple.
“And you? Have you comradeship?”
“No.” I slide my hand under the table to pet his thigh, flashing him a coy smile. “But I’m hoping for something like that in the future.”
The rumble that wracks through him feels like an earthquake under my palm. His cock makes itself well-known inside me, trembling like it wants badly to release.
Grogoth guides my hand down his thigh to grip the stiff length in his trousers, past his waistband to grip the hard stone itself. I touch it gingerly at first, but at its surprising girth, I try to fit my hand around it. I can, but barely. He leans close, the scent of mulch and lavenderpermeating the air. His breath is a warm promise on my temple. “I will give you everything you’ve ever desired, and when you run out of desires, we’ll scour the world for more.”
A shiver races down my spine. A subtle cough comes from the curtain. I realize I’m basically laying over Grogoth’s lap at this point and jump back like a teenager caught by their parents, but Grogoth doesn’t even twitch. Nor does he allow my hand to leave his lap.
“How’s everything tasting?”
“Very good, thank you,” I respond with a rush. A drop of pre-cum kisses my thumb, my hand reflexively tightening. Through it all, the only sign Grogoth is as turned on as I am is the pulsating cock jammed up my pussy.
“Please bring boxes and bill me for dinner. It has been lovely, as always,” Grogoth intoned. “Send my regards to Chef Lennae.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the curtains close behind Damion, I glare at Grogoth, who has the gall to laugh.
“This is your idea of funny, is it?” I grip his length harder and pump my fist, sending more precum trickling over my fingers. Grogoth’s head tips back and I relish that he’s finally struggling to conceal his desire. “Taste your own medicine, gardener.”
“Mmm. You don’t understand,” His tone is rough like gravel scraping on gravel. “I don’t care if they watch. Everyone in this restaurant would be lucky to see all of the many, many ways I will have you.”
He supplants me from the booth, planting me firmly on top of him. Straddling his hips, I know my dress isriding up in the back and can only hope my plugged-up pussy isn’t on full display. With handfuls of my ass, he grinds my swollen clit against his coarse linen tunic and down over his cock. I collapse against him, my heart hammering at the thought of all the possible wandering eyes.
“And do you know what I think, my sweet hummingbird?”
“Hmmmm?”
The cock inside me slides out and back in. He toys with it for a moment, shallowly thrusting it with his hand until I’m mewling and scratching his shoulders like Whiskers does to my mat. There’s a pause, then asnap, and something swipes through the liquid spilling down my thighs.
“I think,” he goads, nipping my earlobe. “I think you wouldn't mind that either, little Miss Yoga Pants.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“You like to be watched.” A stone object I assume by the size must be a finger prods at my asshole. “Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t.”
The cool, smooth digit probes the first inch of my sphincter. It works its way inside and locks into place. We pause that way, my breathing coming raggedly now. I peer at him from the crook of his shoulder and the smile he gives me is radiant, more than mere lust. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and kisses my forehead, sending droplets of yearning through veins.
