23 - UNDER THE TABLE
Lacey
Ricardo drove me to a restaurant I'd never been to, one that promised something the moment we pulled up.
It sat on a quiet side street downtown, the kind of place that didn't announce itself.
Golden light spilled from tall windows framed in heavy velvet.
He came around and opened my door, offered his hand as I stepped out.
I was wearing the dress he'd asked me to wear, short, loose, and silky, brushing high on my thighs, the neckline low enough that going braless had felt like the obvious choice.
He'd been specific about it on the phone, and I'd liked that, a man who knew what he wanted me in.
The air raised a shiver on my skin that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Le Jardin Noir was dark and intimate and quietly expensive.
Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, the walls a deep charcoal that drank the light.
Real candles flickered on every table. The air smelled of butter and garlic and roasting meat under a faint thread of old wine, and jazz covered the conversations without making anyone raise their voice.
Half the tables sat in nooks made private by tall wooden screens and heavy drapes.
Ricardo spoke to the host and asked for one of the deepest nooks, the one where a floor-length cloth draped to the ground on every side.
The host smiled like he understood something and led us there.
We slid into the curved booth, the cloth brushing my bare legs.
It felt like a small hidden world of our own.
The conversation was easy at first. He took my hand across the table, his thumb circling my knuckles. "Tell me about your week, Lacey. Any tiny hearts that needed saving?"
I laughed, warmer than I expected. "A few.
" I told him the sweeter stories, like Jessica, and skipped the challenging cases.
He listened like it mattered, asked real questions, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
In return he told me about a piece he was writing for guitar, a slow piece he'd been working on late at night, thinking about the way I'd moved against him the last time.
The memory of that night pulsed and pulled at me.
We ordered a heavy red. Ricardo poured, the wine catching the candlelight, and I let the first sip spread through my chest. I was surprised how relaxed I felt across from him, the second man I'd ever slept with, and under the calm ran a steady insistent want.
Every time I shifted, the dress rode higher.
My nipples tightened against the thin fabric.
I was already wet, and we hadn't finished the first glass.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to the register that always tugged at me. "There's an ulterior motive to tonight."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
A small smile, a little shy at the edge of it. "Remember I told you the biggest thrill for me is public? Where you might get caught. That's always been the fantasy."
The want pulled tighter at the words. I'd loved it too, the idea of it, watching people at the club knowing eyes were on them. "Yes," I said, breathier than I meant. "What's it got to do with the restaurant?"
"It's a fantasy of mine. Something I've seen in films, read about.
Never actually done." He went a little red and cleared his throat.
"I'm young, and I grew up religious, so I've only let myself want these things for a few years.
Shorter than you'd think. I love the idea of you getting corrupted.
Janice thinks that's a bad thing. What she doesn't know is I got corrupted too.
Books, films, an imagination that always ran too hot. It brought me here."
It was sweet and a little raw, him telling me that, and it turned me on, and I still didn't follow.
"I know, Ricardo. And I told you, next time at the club we can leave the door open.
" The thought of someone watching us pulsed through me.
Still hard to believe these were my thoughts.
"Or in a month. I think I could get there. "
He shook his head, the smile spreading. "No. Here. At the restaurant."
Now I was lost. "What at the restaurant?" I looked around the dim room. A quiet nook, sure, but people everywhere. This was too public. "Ricardo, anyone could see us."
"Look at the table."
I looked down. Was he talking about doing something on it?
"Do you trust me?"
I didn't, entirely. I was also so aroused I could barely hold still. "Promise me. Whatever you're planning, we don't get caught."
"Nobody's going to know." He nodded at my seat. "Scoot to the edge."
"The edge?"
"Just do it, Lacey."
I slid forward, and before I'd finished the thought, his hand was under the hem of my dress and hooking my panties at the hip.
"Ricardo!" I grabbed his wrist. What the hell?
"Lift up. Come on." He was smiling, already tugging, and I could hear how badly he wanted it, the plea right under the words, and God, that was the thing about him, he wanted me so much he couldn't wait for me to catch up.
I pushed his hand away. “I’ll do it, don’t make a scene.” I lifted my hips before I had time to chicken out, and the fabric slid down my thighs, my knees, off over my heels. Was he going to finger me, right under the table? The idea was thrilling, taboo. “Okay, now what?” I asked.
He grinned at me like a boy who'd gotten away with something.
Then he was gone, sliding down under the table!
What is he doing? "Ricardo," I hissed, leaning toward the cloth. "Ricardo, get back up here."
"Pretend nothing's happening." His voice came muffled through the drape. "Nobody can see me."
I looked up and around, feeling like there must be a neon sign over my head, but nobody was looking. Then I leaned and looked at the table. He was right, the tablecloth fell to the floor.
His hands found the insides of my thighs, warm and steady, no sign of nerves or doubt. I put it down to how much he wanted this, how long he'd held the fantasy.
“Relax, Lacey,” he whispered. “Let me do this for you.” For me?
But I did relax. His hands eased my knees apart, gentle. Why am I letting him? My breath came in short shallow catches. Because I want it. The answer arrived so fast I almost flinched from it. Fuck yes, I did want this.
A waiter drifted near, caught my eye, started over. I waved him off, hoping he didn’t see panic in my face.
Then Ricardo's breath landed on the inside of my knee, his lips after it. Did I look strange? Was I sitting wrong? I scanned the room. Nobody cared. For years I'd lived like everyone was watching, and nobody was, and nobody cared, and the realization was almost as good as his mouth.
His lips moved up my thigh, soft and hot, and I was ready, my heart going hard. He nudged my legs wider and I let him. I wanted to sink back into the booth and knew it would look wrong. Then his breath on my wetness, warm, and just as it landed I heard the voice above me.
"More wine, ma'am?"
I startled, eyes open. A different waiter. Ugh! "No. I'm fine."
The waiter tipped his head. "And the gentleman?"
"He had to step out for a call. He'll be back. I'm fine." The last word broke as Ricardo's mouth touched me. Restaurant politeness above the cloth, chaos beneath it. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to run. I wanted to sink into his mouth.
The waiter gave me a small, confused look.
"Excuse me, I have to make a call," I said, my voice almost normal, and grabbed my phone.
He left. I put it to my ear as Ricardo's tongue found me and an electric jolt went through my whole body.
I held still, ground my teeth. My eyes wanted to close and I made them stay open.
I needed to see the room. Needed proof this was really happening, that I was the woman letting it.
"Ricardo," I breathed into the phone. His tongue flicked over my clit, then deeper, opening me. I don't know what sounds I made. I tried to be quiet. Then he stopped, and through the cloth I heard him, low.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No," I said, loud enough that a waiter turned. I fumbled the phone like I was mid-conversation. "No, no." Quieter. His mouth moved again, and intense pleasure flooded me, dark and certain. I felt powerful and filthy and it ran together into one bright thing.
His tongue dragged slow up through me and circled my clit, tight and relentless, then closed over it and sucked, a delicious vibration straight down.
I bit the inside of my cheek. My free hand fisted in the tablecloth.
The phone pressed so hard to my ear it hurt, my fake call reduced to shaky little "mm-hmm—yes—I understand. " I just wanted to stop thinking.
Two fingers slid into me without warning, curling up while his tongue went faster. Wet, obscene sounds reached me, and the terror that someone else would hear them only wound me tighter. My thighs shook around his shoulders.
The pressure built like a tide I couldn't outrun. My hips jerked and I couldn't still them. Ricardo doubled down, and my vision swam, the restaurant lights smearing. A broken little whimper escaped.
"Oh God, yes," I gasped into the phone, my voice cracking. The same waiter glanced over. I forced a smile and nodded like I was agreeing with someone, my pussy clenching around his fingers.
He didn't stop. The orgasm hit without mercy.
My whole body locked. I slammed the phone against my ear, jaw so tight it ached, a strangled cry dying in my throat while it rolled through me in waves.
My free hand flew under the table and fisted in his hair and held him there, my hips grinding shamelessly against his mouth now, chasing every last pulse.
A soft sob slipped out. My thighs shook, the aftershocks smaller and still wrecking me, until I slumped back, boneless, chest heaving.
One last kiss, gentle, against me, and his fingers slid free. Then his voice, satisfied, from under the table where I couldn't see his face.
"Tell me when it's safe. I'm not coming out till you say."
I sat there dazed, thighs still parted, throbbing, trying to breathe and look like a normal woman at a quiet dinner.
I checked the room, waited for a clear moment, and told him it was safe. Ricardo surfaced grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips still glossy, his eyes dark. "That was amazing," he breathed.
I was still panting, half sure every eye was on me. Nobody was looking. "Oh my God, Ricardo."
He leaned in. "I'm so worked up. You're wonderful. So responsive." His eyes dragged over my flushed face. "I'm throbbing. Literally. Lacey, can I keep them?" He showed me the corner of my panties, hopeful and maybe shy.
I laughed. “After all this? Yes, Ricardo, please keep them.” Then a dirty idea arrived, the way they came so easily now.
I kicked off a shoe and set my foot in his lap.
He gasped, jaw clenching. I found the hard line of him through his trousers and worked it, slow.
He dropped a hand to my ankle and held it there, guiding.
I'd always half laughed at the idea of anything sexual about feet.
This was not funny. My own foot was more sensitive than I'd have guessed, the arousal pulsing again.
He was young, in the middle of his own fantasy, and it took him barely a minute.
I pushed harder when I felt him get close, almost cruel about it. "Come, Ricardo. Do it."
Who said that? Whose mouth was that?
"Jesus," he groaned, and shuddered, one hand flying up over his face.
I kept going, loving it, loving how easily I could make this beautiful man come apart.
Then he caught himself and pushed back from the table, breathing hard, looking down at himself.
Half a smile, half a grimace. He shook his head.
"I've never done that. Ugh. What a mess. "
The thought of it, hidden under his trousers for the rest of the night, made me bite my lip.
We ate, after. That was the strange part, how the meal just resumed, how the waiter came back with the plates and Ricardo praised the sauce and asked if I wanted to try his, and I sat there in the candlelight with no underwear and ate like a woman who did this.
The jazz kept playing. The room stayed indifferent.
Nobody had known, just like he'd promised.
He was lit up across the table, chattering. "You were incredible," he kept saying, rearranged three or four ways. "You don't understand. Most people freeze. You didn't freeze." He said it like I'd passed some test.
Near the end, over the last of the wine, he leaned in and dropped his voice. "Next time." He stopped, grinned, shook his head like he'd embarrassed himself. "No. You'll think I'm insane."
"Tell me."
"Next time I want someone to see. Not the whole room. One person. Someone who knows it's happening and watches and lets it happen." His eyes were bright with it. "Would you ever? For me?"
"Maybe," I said. "Someday. I'd have to work up to it."
"Someday," he agreed, delighted. It was the easiest thing in the world, planning the next impossible thing over dessert, two people who wanted the same shameful thing and had finally found each other to want it with.
Ricardo wanted to stay with me after the dinner, but I had lunch with Dad and Carol the next day and needed to be rested for that.