Full Service (Pleasure Chest 2)

6

Jet is waiting for me as I make my way back to our table, and he pulls out my chair for me before taking his own seat. Sitting down pushes the toy deeper inside me, and I’m even more aware of it now. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

“This is surreal,” I say.

“What is?”

“This,” I say. “The limo, the restaurant, the toys.” I keep that last part under my breath. The menu isn’t long, and none of the items have prices attached. That only confirms that I could never afford to eat here in a million years. Only places that cost more than your arm don’t list prices, and only people who don’t need to worry about money actually eat there.

But the menu mainly consists of drinks, as the food is Omakase—or the chef’s choice—with various add ons: Omni Beef and a special dessert ice cream featuring white truffles.

“Do you like beef?” Jet asks.

I nod. “I do. I don’t think I could ever be a vegetarian.”

“Good.” He smiles. “The beef here is delicious.”

He signals a waiter with one hand, and he appears out of nowhere, practically silent. I open my mouth to greet the waiter, and freeze. The vibrator is turned on. It’s just a low setting, but enough to make my whole body tingle. Jet greets the waiter, and orders our meals, adding on both the beef and the ice cream. I barely hear him, I’m so distracted by the feeling in my panties.

The feeling disappears as the waiter leaves and another server appears with glasses of water. I immediately reach for mine, and Jet chuckles.

“So, Kara Bishop,” he says, “tell me about yourself.”

I finish downing about half of my water. “What do you want to know? Other than that I’m willing to take sex toys from strangers?”

He leans forward onto the table. “I want to know what I always do. Everything.”

“Okay,” I say, “but I want to know about you, too.”

He smiles. “Question for question, then?”

“I’ll go first,” I say, taking another quick sip of water. “What’s your last name?”

“Kincaid.”

“Jet Kincaid,” I say, rolling it across my tongue. “Nice name.”

He smiles, taking a sip of his own water. “It is now. Jet is short for Jethro. I didn’t like my name so I started going by Jet pretty early on. By the time I got old enough to change it, it was so second nature that I didn’t even bother.”

“Jethro?” I stifle a laugh. “I would never have said you looked like a Jethro.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he says, and suddenly the vibrations are back.

I manage to catch my gasp just in time, but my whole body jumps in surprise. Jet places his phone on the table, and I see an unfamiliar app. I was right, he’s synced his phone to the vibe. As I watch, he places his finger on the screen, stroking upwards. The vibrations flare in intensity, and I grip the edge of the table. He grins, moving his finger in a circular motion, the vibrations rising and falling in time with the movement. God, this is so hot. I can’t take my eyes away from his finger, wondering what I’ll feel next.

The vibe is pressing into my G-spot, and little waves of pleasure are rippling outward. I take a shaky breath, and the feeling is gone. He’s turned it off again. I was right before—if I don’t jump him before the end of dinner, I’ll be very lucky.

“How does it feel?” he asks, and it looks like he’s studying me.

The waiter appears with our first course, seared salmon and a garnish I don’t recognize. Jet thanks the waiter without taking his eyes off me. I wait for him to disappear before I speak. And when I do, I have to think about what to say. My reactions probably already tell him enough about how good it feels. Finally, I say “I like it. Even though I know that I shouldn’t.”

I take a bite of the salmon and almost moan. It’s easily the best fish I’ve ever had, buttery and so soft it nearly dissolves on my tongue. Only one bite in and I know that this restaurant has earned its reputation.

“Why shouldn’t you like it?”

“Because,” I say, as I take another bite of the salmon, “as previously stated, we don’t know each other, and I’m letting you play with me. In public.”

That wicked little smirk from the shop appears, and I feel that sense of curiosity. I want him to tell me everything that makes him who he is. “You like what you like,” he says. “There’s no shame in that. I think we put too much stock into ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t.’”

“I guess that’s true, but feeling that way doesn’t erase the stigma, or the embarrassment.”

His eyes narrow. “Why would you be embarrassed?” I see his hands move, and the toy buzzes to life inside me. This time the vibrations are not soft, they’re firm, and rotating, one side of the vibrator increasing in intensity while the other falls and vice versa. The result is a cycle of sensation bouncing back and forth between my clit and my G-spot, never letting me recover. “Kara,” Jet says softly, “why would you be embarrassed?”

I put down my fork, and it clatters a little too hard against my plate. I try to push the pleasure out of my head long enough to think, but my mind is going blank. What was the question? I squeeze down on the toy, thinking it might minimize the vibrations for a second, but it only makes it stronger. “It’s private,” I say, forcing words out. “I don’t want people to see me come.”

The toy turns off at once, and I huff out a breath, feeling the absence as both loss and relief. If he had kept it up for much longer, I would have come, and I was telling the truth. I don’t want people to see me.

Jet is looking at me like I’m more delicious than the food on the table, his eyes fierce with something I don’t name. “Anyone who sees you come should recognize how fucking gorgeous you are, and that what they’re seeing is a privilege.” His manner suddenly eases, and he leans back against the chair. “You are going to come before dinner is over.” He says it simply, as if it’s predetermined.

“We’ll see about that,” I say, challenging him. I’ve never been more confused about what I want to happen. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, and every time I feel the toy turn on, I’m more aroused by the fact that he’s teasing me here where anyone can see. But I don’t know if I’m ready to have an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant which is becoming more crowded with each passing minute.

He doesn’t respond, only smiles while taking a bite of the salmon. After a few minutes of silence he asks, “I want to know how you came to work in a sex shop.”

“It’s not a very interesting story,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear it.”

A waiter appears with wine, and I use it as a distraction, taking a sip of the glass he serves me. “I was working at a market research firm, and they downsized. The way the economy is right now, there are more people than jobs. At first I was only applying at other market research firms, but when that didn’t work after six weeks, I started applying everywhere. Pleasure Chest is one of the first places I got an interview.” I finish the little spiel with a shrug. “I went with it because I like researching new things, and…almost everything in that shop is new.”

“Maybe a few less now.”

I laugh. “Definitely.”

Jet raises his glass of wine, and we touch our glasses together in a toast.

“I hope you don’t find my next question offensive,” I say, “but you are single, right?”

“Yes, I am single.”

A small knot in my sh

oulders releases with that confirmation. “I just had to make sure. You want to know how I feel about the toys, and the only reason I could think of was that you wanted to buy the toys for someone else.”

He nods. “I am very single. I should have made that clear earlier. The only person who has my attention is you.” His hand goes to his phone, and as if to prove his point, the toy flares to life, a truly intense buzzing that forces a sound from me. I’m approaching an orgasm so fast, that I shift my hips, trying to ease the pressure just a little. But the toy doesn’t move, and I know that Jet is right—I am going to come before the night is over. Just as I’m about to go over the edge, it stops, and I gasp, suddenly breathing hard and trying to keep my composure as the waiter comes and replaces our salmon with a plate of sushi.

“How close were you?” he asks.

“Way too close,” I say. “For that, I get an extra question. What do you do for a living?”

He unwraps a pair of the chopsticks that the waiter brought. “I’m a businessman.”

“That was impressively vague.”

“Thank you.”

I pull out my own chopsticks, and the sushi is absolutely amazing. “If you won’t tell me more than that, can I at least ask if your visits to the store have something to do with your business?”

He nods. “In a way they do, yeah.”

“But you’re not going to tell me what it is.”

He thinks for a moment. “I will. But not yet.”

“Okay,” I say, studying him. I can’t think of a reason for secrecy, but then again, we did just meet.

“What did you do before the market research?”

I make a face. “I was a perpetual student. I really like learning, and so it was a lot of fun. But now I’ve got a lot of degrees I can’t use and a lot of student debt to show for it.”

“How many degrees do you have?”

I count in my head. “Three bachelor’s and a master’s.”

His eyes go wide. “What subjects?”

“Well,” I say, going for more wine, “I did two of the bachelor’s at once, Art History and Communication. After that I did the third Bachelor’s in Marketing. I did a Master’s in Education with an emphasis on literature.”