Page 22 of Addicted

I didn’t say anything. Just held the door open and waited.

She climbed out, and I closed the door behind her, then placed my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the restaurant entrance. When we reached the door, I opened it for her too, letting her walk in first.

The hostess greeted us with a bright smile. “Good evening! How many?”

“Table for two,” I said.

“Right this way.”

She led us through the dimly lit restaurant to a booth in the back corner. It was private, away from the other diners. Perfect.

Indie slid into the booth, and I sat across from her, my eyes never leaving her face.

The hostess handed us menus and told us our server would be with us shortly. Then she disappeared, leaving us alone.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, a young Black dude with a nervous smile.

“Good evening, folks. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Cognac,” I said. “Neat.”

“I’ll have a Moscow mule,” Indie said, her voice softer now, more polite.

The waiter nodded and left to get our drinks.

Indie opened her menu and started scanning it, her eyes moving over the options. I didn’t bother looking at mine. I already knew what I wanted.

Instead, I just watched her.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was fucking beautiful. The way her curly hair framed her face, the way her full lips pursed slightly as she read, the way her brown eyes focused intently on the menu.

And that pussy...

Fuck.

I done been in some good pussy before, but Indie’s pussy was something else. The way she gripped my dick, the way she got wet for me, the way she came. It was superb.

I planned to get back inside her shit a few more times when we got back to the crib. Maybe take her from behind this time. Or have her ride me while I watched those titties bounce.

The waiter returned with our drinks, setting them down in front of us.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

Indie nodded. “I’ll have the salmon and loaded mashed potatoes.”

“Excellent choice,” the waiter said, scribbling it down. He looked at me. “And for you, sir?”

“Steak. Medium rare. French fries.”

“Perfect. I’ll get that in for you.”

He left again, and we were alone.

Indie took a sip of her drink, then finally looked up at me. Our eyes locked, and we just sat there in silence, staring at each other. The tension between us was thick and damn near suffocating. After a long moment, she spoke.

“Can I call my brother?” she asked. “Let him know I’m okay?”

“No.”