Chapter 8 #2
The radio plays a soft tune, and Hartford focuses her attention on the passing quaint scenery of downtown Magnolia Ridge. Boutique shops line the streets the closer we get to Moore’s Restaurant.
“Just remind me again this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had,” she whispers.
I glance at her before focusing back on the road. She’s nervous, and as fucked up as it might be, it excites me more.
“This is not the worst idea you’ve ever had. That time you tried to dye your hair blonde would be the worst.”
She groans, covering her face. “Yeah, that was a horrible idea.”
“Breakups do that to you. You wanted change, and while it wasn’t the best change, it was still change.”
“Thanks a lot.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “You’re perfect. You don’t need to change anything.”
“Smooth talker.”
I smile as I park the Jeep in Moore’s lot and look over at her. “I’m honest, not a smooth talker.” We stare at each other, and, for a second, I feel like there’s sexual tension in the air. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, but I still felt it. I wonder if she did too.
“You ready?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
We head across the lot toward the entrance, adorned with twinkling fairy lights.
Moore’s Restaurant is an upscale place. A rustic-chic place with seasonal American fare, unique wines, and craft beers, courtesy of yours truly, and outdoor seating.
It’s not the fanciest joint—you have to head into Saint Pierce for fancy-schmancy—but it’s cozy, with an intimate ambiance due to a single candle on each linen-covered table.
“Paxton, Hartford, it’s so good to see you,” Willow Moore says with a shy smile. “Want a table, or are you going to the bar?”
Willow’s older brothers run this restaurant. It’s been a staple in our small town, and it’s also one of our longest running accounts. We grew up with the Moore’s and they’re stand-up guys.
Willow’s a few years younger than us. Every once in a while she comes into Atta Boy. I don’t know her story, but I can tell she has one. It’s not my place to ask her private questions, so it’s always just been casual pleasantries.
“Hey, Willow. We’re going to sit at a table tonight,” I say, placing my hand on the small of Hartford’s back.
Willow smiles. “Let me check to see what I have available.” She heads back into the dining area while we wait at the front.
A sense of pride rushes through me when Hartford shivers at my touch. I pull out my phone and open the app for the vibrator. This is going to be fun. I press the On button, keeping the vibrations on low, and let it go for five seconds.
“Oh,” she says, widening her eyes as she stares at me. “It’s going to be difficult to keep a straight face. What if everyone knows I’m getting off? What if I go all When Harry Met Sally in here?”
“Can’t wait to see that.”
“What’s the name of the app? I’m going to download it too.”
I turn on the vibrator again for a few seconds. “I’m in control here, so don’t say things that will cause me to have a twitchy finger.”
Yep, I like the feeling of power rushing through me right now. It’s fucking hot, and she already looks a little flush from it.
Willow returns. “This way,” Willow says, grabbing menus off the hostess station.
We follow her, and I’m grateful for this small break from staring at Hartford.
I can’t get enough of staring at her tonight.
Maybe it’s because I know she’s wearing the vibrator in her panties.
At the thought of that, my mind wanders into uncharted territory.
What do her panties look like? Cotton? Lace?
Thong? Boy shorts? So many possibilities that have me practically drooling, wanting to discover what’s underneath her dress.
Once we sit down, Hartford opens her menu and I study the nine different modes to choose from in the app. I want to start slow, so I hit the first one.
“Oh damn,” she whispers, lifting her brown eyes to mine. I swear they darken the longer I keep it turned on.
Fuck.
The waitress comes over to our table, and I switch it off. We place our drink order, two Crab Daddy Pale Ales from Atta Boy Brewery, and the server brings them back quickly. Once we place a quick order of salmon for Hartford and a steak for me, we’re left alone.
An awkward silence descends over us, and our eyes lock as she bites down on her bottom lip. It’s sexy as hell and makes my dick pulse.
I switch to the second mode and she squirms in her seat, biting down harder on her lip. Neither of us is willing to break the eye contact we have. There goes rule number two. My blood pumps through my veins at a rapid pace.
“Feel good?” I whisper.
She nods, a soft pink hitting her cheeks at the admission.
“You want more, Hartford?”
We’re surrounded by sexual tension and it doesn’t matter to me that we’re in a crowded restaurant. The possibility that someone could catch us only adds fuel to the fire that is burning within me.
Hartford moves again and lets out a soft moan, causing my dick to press against my zipper. It’s hot, and I’m incredibly turned on seeing the pleasure on my best friend’s face.
I switch to the next mode and she clutches the edge of the table so hard her fingertips turn white.
“Paxton,” she breathes out.
Hearing her say my name while she’s experiencing pleasure has me reaching down to adjust my cock, but I’m not close to being done with her. I want to tease her. I want to watch her face while her orgasm crashes over her when she least expects it.
Pink stains her cheeks as she shifts in her seat. “Oh,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
Fuck, this is more intense than I imagined. In the best possible way. Watching her experience this ecstasy is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I reach down and rub my hand on my hard dick as I watch her. “Look at me, Hartford.”
Her thick lashes flutter open, and she stares at me. The heat I see in her caramel irises causes me to curse under my breath.
“Hartford, I thought that was you.”
Fuck.
I quickly turn off the vibrator as Hartford’s pink cheeks turn a deep shade of red.
“Oh, hi, Claire.”
I glance up and smile at Claire, along with the other gossipy women from the local Biddies Book Club, aka the Busybodies.
They’re a funky bunch, with a few blue-haired women in the group.
The others sport gray bobs, and Helen has a head full of white hair.
Sure, they read books and discuss them, but they love to discuss all the gossip they can get their older hands on more.
They’re nice, but lonely. They’re all either divorced or widowed and the book club is their life. Their big-mouthed gossiping lives.
“How is your mom doing? We miss having her in the club,” Claire says, patting Hartford’s shoulder.
Awkward.
“Oh, she’s good. Mom and Dad love being down in Florida visiting.”
“That’s great. And what about you? How’s everything?” Her gaze zips to me before looking back at Hartford and pulling her pink shawl further up her shoulders. “Any new love interest?”
“Nope, nothing like that. Paxton and I are just friends.”
Laughter erupts from the group, but when Claire, the apparent spokesman for the Biddies, stops first, the others follow suit.
What is this, some kind of mob bullshit? A book club mob?
The Biddies believe most of the Atwood brothers are players and a decent woman shouldn’t waste her time, so it doesn’t bother me or shock me. I’ve heard much worse.
“We know that, Hartford. You’re holding out for a decent young man.”
I pick up my phone and grin. “Nothing decent about me,” I say, hitting mode one.
“No,” Hartford whispers under her breath, narrowing her eyes at me.
I turn it off, even though what I want is for the Biddies to walk away and let Hartford and me get back to where we were.
The server arrives with our food, and the book club ladies step out of her way.
“Well, we’ll let you get back to your dinner.” Claire smiles at Hartford but gives me such an evil eye that I wonder if she just put a spell on me.
Thankfully, the Biddies move along to prey on another table of victims.
“That was fun,” I say, spearing my steak with my knife.
“Not uncomfortable at all.” Hartford pushes her plate to the side and takes a sip of water as she stares at me.
“You want more, don’t you?” I grin and take a bite of my potatoes.
“Shush.”
“No, don’t do that. It was fun and you know it.”
She bites her lip and nods, blushing slightly. “It was.”
I don’t ask again. I just pick up my phone. This time I don’t warm her up. I know what she can handle and I go right for mode three. She lets out a soft moan as she squirms in her seat. Her eyes lift to mine and that heat is right back, making my cock harden again.
I take a risk and switch to the fourth mode. She nearly jumps out of the seat. Her body movements and the way she’s biting her lip pull us right back into that sexual bubble.
“Hartford, fuck,” I say, stopping myself from saying something I might regret. Something like, ‘I want to replace this vibrator with my mouth, or I want to bend you over this table and finish you off.’
“Oh god,” she breathes out as I switch to mode five.
Just then my phone rings and it’s Tripp. I quickly end the call, keeping my eyes on Hartford.
“Bro, Cooter ball is like the new thing for real,” Tripp’s voice rings out from my phone at full volume.
“Dammit,” I grumble, realizing I put him on speakerphone. I swiftly scan the area, ensuring no one heard him while I tap on the phone.
“Pax, turn the vibrator off,” Hartford half moans and half hisses, and I panic, trying to end the call. I pound my finger against the phone, but it doesn’t hang up. Something else happens.
“Oh fuck,” I say, glancing from my phone to Hartford.
“What?
“I accidentally deleted the app.”
“Paxton, you there?” Tripp says.
“Hang up,” I tell my brother. I finally end his call, trying my best to pull up the app that’s no longer visible on the screen.
“What?” she says, followed by a breathy moan. “Seriously, Paxton, turn it off. It’s too much.”
I pull up the download for the app and hit it, but the Wi-Fi sucks, and it’s barely moving. I lift my eyes to hers and the heat is gone, replaced by panic.
“I’m trying, but the Wi-Fi is terrible.” I run my hand down my face, trying to think. “Just take it off.”
She shakes her head, trying to fight against the vibrations. “It’ll look like I’m touching myself.”
“It’s going to look a lot worse if you don’t do it.”
“Paxton, get it downloaded, hurry.”
It’s only halfway loaded, and she’s not going to make it. It’s not pleasurable anymore. For either of us. “Just pull it out.”
“Hell no, not here. I’ll go to the bathroom.”
“You can’t sit still. You think you can walk across the entire restaurant to the bathroom without drawing attention to yourself? Just slip your hand under your dress, Hartford. Nobody’s looking.”
She appears pissed and panicked. “No. I can’t,” she moans out, her eyes closing.
“Holy crap, I’ll do it.”
“No way.”
She leaves me with no option. I stand and move my chair next to her. She reaches over the table and tries to stop me, knocking over her glass of water, which spills onto her lap. She jumps up and yelps, a slight tremor passing through her body.
“Are you all right?”
“It shocked me,” she says, fighting back tears.
“Like a take-you-to-the-hospital shock or a static-electricity shock?”
She steps away from the table and wipes her dress with a napkin. “Like a pay-the-bill-while-I-sit-in-your-Jeep-and-remove-this-broken-thing kind of shock.”
She walks away while a few onlookers stare at me with curiosity.
I shrug. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”