Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
Lillian
M y head feels heavy. I shift my eyes around the empty restaurant, and the chairs and tables swirl around.
I’ve had too much to drink.
I couldn’t help it. I probably took a sip for every bite of food I swallowed. If my mouth was full of something—anything—then Charlie couldn’t do… whatever he was planning on doing. I didn’t attack my plate or anything, but I kept a steady flow of food to mouth, wine glass to mouth. Charlie kept up with me, to my relief. I wonder if he wanted to dispel suspicion of me being an alcoholic.
That might have been better for me, actually, if I was one.
I rarely drink, and now I’m feeling like hitting the bottle so hard was a mistake. But I have to pull it together. Can’t fall apart at the final course.
“Would you like more wine?” Charlie offers, already reaching for the bottle.
“No!!” I say a little too loudly, then shake my head to smooth over my reaction. “Mm, I’ve probably had enough by now!” My head is nodding too much, I can’t control it. I’ve been nodding too long.
Charlie is just looking at me, amused. When he’s sweet like this, it feels good. So good. I’ve never had a man as attractive as him give me so much attention. The man is charming in a way that makes me feel warm all over. His eyes are on me now, sweet chocolate brown.
That must mean the waiter is behind me.
“Pardon me,” the waiter murmurs as he sets two decadent desserts before us.
“Ohh my!!” I gush, my hand flying to my chest and jostling the diamond there. “Oh!!” I pat it to make sure it’s okay, then smile apologetically at the waiter. “S-sorry, I… I don’t know why I’m apologizing, actually!” He shares a laugh with me before departing. I like him. I watch him go, my head swiveling to follow his trail.
I gasp suddenly. Charlie’s fingers dig into my skin just above the knee, making my leg jerk and forcing my attention back to him. I slap quietly at his hand, but the pressure only increases.
“Flirting with other men right in front of me? Is that going to help my campaign?” he says lightly, keeping his expression clear. If anyone caught sight of us, he’d just be a man leaning in close to talk to his girlfriend. I steady myself, keeping my posture relaxed as I pry at his iron grip.
“I wasn’t flirting with anyone.” I try to defend myself, but it comes out as a hushed whine.
“Now you’re lying right to my face? I know what I saw.”
“I-I’m just, I drank too much, that’s all.”
“Drunk girls are more honest. You wanted to put on a little show for him, didn’t you?”
“Noo, what are you talking?—”
“Let me help you put on a show for him.”
His warm hand softens and melts, flattening to stroke the area where his fingers dug into me. My hand hovers over his as I regard him suspiciously. It takes a lot of effort to focus on his face—his hand feels so big on me, almost hot. It tugs my attention to the warmth building in my body. I forget how alcohol can feel nice like this.
But what did he mean by?—
Charlie’s touch shifts to the outer side of my thigh, and then I know what he’s doing. I sit up straighter and cover up what he’s aiming for.
“Put your hands on the table and keep them there.” His tone leaves no room for argument. But I can’t move.
“Don’t, Charlie,” I whisper.
“If you aren’t going to play your part, you can leave.”
He picks up a dessert fork and gestures to the small shiny dome on my plate. There are gold flecks on its surface, and I can only imagine what rich filling is contained inside. We don’t move. He’s waiting for me to answer.
I could get up and leave, easily.
My response is a protesting groan, the kind of sound a child would make when faced with eating all the veggies on their plate.
I fold my hands and place them on the table. He’s back in motion at once, plunging the fork into my dessert—ruining its superb presentation—while he slips his hand into the slit of my dress. I flinch at the feel of him creeping above my knee, then shifting between my legs. His fingers impatiently prod into the tight space.
“Oopen uup,” he drawls. He hovers the fork just before my mouth, his fingers between my legs no less insistent. He’s crudely wiggling into the flesh where my thighs meet. His touch is so hot, it makes me feel like I’ll start sweating. Worse, I…
I want to feel him deeper.
I know he can force his way in, but he wants me to yield. This is the game he wants to play.
Is my head feeling heavier? I haven’t had more to drink, but I’m hotter, almost dizzy.
I open my mouth and spread my legs for him, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see the expression on his face.
I still hear him, though, teasing me. I hear the smirk in his voice.
“Good pet.”
I feel the fork enter my mouth and close my lips over it. I try to focus just on the flavor. It’s so rich, a swirl of dark chocolate and raspberry on my tongue. It makes my mouth water at once. It tastes as good as it looks, and I want more.
“Mmm,” I moan, melting in my seat.
“You like it?” Charlie murmurs, slowly sliding the fork from between my tightly pressed lips.
I savor the taste and feel myself swaying. I’m rocking slightly.
Rocking against his fingers.
My eyes snap open to find him watching me intently, soaking in my expression. I want to panic, but he’s offering me another bite.
I can’t help it. I do want more.
I open my mouth to accept him.
His touch is melting me through my panties, slipping over the thin cotton as he caresses my lips gently. My mind latches on to the way his middle finger blazes a trail of fire along my slit, making my sensitive clit awaken and respond to even the barest hint of him. That’s what’s making my hips rock. I want to feel more of him on my clit. But he won’t let me feel the full pressure of him.
“Answer me.”
“Mmhmm,” I moan, letting my lids fall heavily as I suck the sweetness from my tongue.
“What do you like?”
No!
He’s going to make me say it.
I whimper in protest and feel his fingers stop. I barely open my eyes to register the impatient look on his face.
“What do you like?”
A fresh bite is waiting for me on the fork. I lick my lips. My cheeks are burning.
“I like… y-you touching me.” I whisper.
Charlie inches the fork closer to my lips, letting me catch a whiff of its tantalizing aroma. His fingers resume their strokes, hampered now by how wet my panties are. I’m starting to soak through.
“Nnn!”
“Touching you where?”
He roughly presses into me, between my lips, and finds my slick clit. He kneads the button hard, making me gasp. I can’t think.
“Touching you where?” he repeats, working his fingers harder.
I stifle the moan I want to let leak out and reach for the words. All I want is for him to keep going. I want to open my legs wide and give him all the access he wants. I feel a wild need possess me.
My hands tremble on the tabletop.
“T-touching, ah—hh… touching… my pussy.”
Charlie rewards me with a fat bite. My moan vibrates along the fork, and I can’t look away from him. His eyes are locked on to mine, his expression not betraying what he’s getting up to under the table, how fast and hard he’s massaging me, about to get me off.
I’m aching for him. My breath is coming faster now. I want to come right in this restaurant, right here, with him watching me.
But his fingers still, and he smiles warmly at me. I feel them retreat quickly, smoothly.
The waiter!
I have to compose myself. My eyes widen in fear at Charlie. His smile widens devilishly.
Fuck!
This was the show he wanted me to put on for the waiter! I don’t have time to chastise myself for letting him get the better of me. I have no idea what I was even thinking, but I was just so lost in pleasure, and it’s still written all over my face.
What now, what now?
The waiter is getting closer, about to reach the table.
“I should probably freshen—oh!!” I grab my clutch from the table and let it slip upside down from my hands. Its contents spill out noisily onto the floor.
“Let me help with that!” the waiter calls, springing into action as he reaches our table.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stammer, making only small, non-committal motions to get up from my seat, but I’m honestly scared I soaked through my dress as well. I’m fucking swimming over here.
“I’ll help, too.” Charlie gets out of his seat to help collect the random things Amber packed for me. There was my phone, lipstick, a little perfume stick, some mints and—a condom. I watch Charlie quickly snatch it up and pocket it before the waiter can notice. I make a mental note to strangle Amber later.
“I’m so sorry again, thank you,” I say to the waiter as he hands me my clutch. During the brief commotion, I gathered myself enough to push away the cloud of lust fogging up my head. Now it’s just the wine making me feel unsteady.
“You’re welcome. How did we find dessert?” he continues cheerfully. I can’t hold his eyes. Did he possibly catch Charlie’s hand between my legs? I don’t want to see his knowing look.
“It was delicious. Right, Lillian?”
“I loved it!” I gush. “Everything was perfect.”
“Especially the dessert. Wasn’t that your favorite part?”
“Oh, mmhm. Soo good.” I laugh a little nervously. Actually, looking at Charlie right now is a little worse than the waiter, who is beaming at us pretty innocently.
“Yes, our dessert is a crowd pleaser,” the waiter agrees, turning away with our used plates. Both of them.
My face crumples into confusion. I know they were small, but did Charlie really feed me both of them?
I turn to him with that question on my lips, but the plate in front me stops me dead.
On a fresh dessert plate rests an open velvet box, displaying a fat twinkling diamond. Beneath it is the condom from my clutch.
“I hope you have room for a little more,” Charlie quips.
He covers his mouth with his hand, as if wiping something away, and discreetly smells his fingers.