“Little bird, I asked you a question.”
A simper plays across her lips, and it takes most of my restraint not to push her down onto this booth and kiss her until she can’t breathe. “I can’t imagine anything being leaked that would be upsetting. It only excites me.”
Goddamn. There isn’t a part of me that’s ever been intrigued by the fetish, until she refers to it as “exciting.”
The waiter returns with my drink and something red and sugary in a martini glass for Ella. When he puts it down in front of her, I take my hand away.
“Oh,” Ella says, clearing her throat and sounding so disappointed that my cock twitches. I can’t help but to smirk.
“Would you like something else?” The waiter is genuinely concerned, his eyebrows knitting together. “I can get you anything else.”
“No, no, no.” Ella offers him an apologetic yet somehow bright smile. While he’s still watching, still trying to gauge what was wrong, she sips it. “This is delicious.”
I order my meal for the sole purpose that I know I’ll be able to pick up a piece of the tagliata and slip it between her lips. The thinly sliced steak is simple, delicious, and I can already hear how she’ll moan from the tender taste.
Ella orders next. All the while, Ella makes sure to give the waiter special attention. Beaming up at him. It would make me jealous if I didn’t know she was only doing it to smooth things over. One thing I love about her is that she strives for those around her to be comfortable, her friends especially, but even people she’ll only interact with once as well.
The waiter steps away, and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Ella’s eyes go wide and she scolds me in a whisper, “You stopped.” How fucking adorable for my little submissive to show her disappointment.
“I did.”
She pouts, that plump bottom lip tempting me to nip it.
“Did you think I would give you an orgasm before our food arrives? That would be too early into dinner, don’t you think?”
I’ve never seen her face redder than it is right now.
With my forearms on the table, I lean over to speak directly into her ear. “You keep your thighs apart for me, jailbird. I’ll tease you as long as you’re good.”
“Tease me?” Her voice is breathy. Oh, she can’t hide how needy and desperate she is. Her eyes consider me for a moment, the reality sinking in. With her fingers toying with the napkin on her lap, she questions, “You’re not going to let me come?”
“No.”
The corners of Ella mouth turn up, almost as if she doesn’t believe me. “I can’t believe you’d do that. Tease me to the brink and leave me …” she licks her lips, glancing away at the martini glass before concluding, “unwell.”
I huff a laugh at her word of choice, but that’s all she gets.
A bread basket arrives, dropped off by a passing server, and I wait until Ella has the first bite in her mouth before I touch her again. She’s spread her legs under the table just like I told her to. She swallows the bread as I brush my fingertips over the softest part of her.
Petting her until her eyes go half-lidded.
“That bread must be fucking delicious,” I tease her in a low groan. I’m hard as fuck watching her enjoy this without anyone else knowing. We’re in a corner, and there’s no one who can see. So long as I keep an eye out for the waiter.
Ella, in all her stubbornness, says nothing, merely rocking into my touch.
“You’re going to keep talking to me, jailbird. No matter what I’m doing to your clit.”
“I think,” she says, her voice breathy and light, “I’d like to visit a bookstore.”
Her statement comes out of nowhere, and a quiet laugh leaves me. I don’t stop, though, not my petting and not the conversation.
“Why’s that?”
“I haven’t replaced many of the books in the house in a long time. I don’t want to feel like I’m living in a staged apartment.” Her lips part as warmth rises to her cheeks and her eyes beg to shut so I drop my fingers lower, no longer concentrating on her most sensitive bundle.
With an exhale of relief, her shoulders drop and she reaches for her drink. “You know?”
“I don’t know.” Waiting for her to have a sip and place the glass down, I circle her clit, and her body tries to get more of my touch, which I deny her. “Your books aren’t yours?”
“I don’t have many on the shelves. I was into a more minimalist—a more minimalist design before. But now I think I’d like to read. What do you like to read?”
“I don’t have a lot of time for it.” Her eyes dance over my face. “I listen to music in the evenings, or podcasts. If I have time to read, I like science fiction and thrillers.”