Chapter 7 Sunday Night #2
I pretend to be thinking as I huff out a breath, but really I’m relieved that we’ve changed the subject and I try to tell myself that maybe, just maybe, I was imagining everything.
“It definitely depends on the dynamic, different people obviously have different kinks and fetishes, so you work with that.” I’m blabbering, my brain still running on emergency mode, trying to steer the conversation any which way but back to Amber’s question of more.
“I think we both enjoyed playing these roles. You like being possessed, it makes you feel safe, it makes you feel-”
“Loved?” She interjects, and my heart plummets straight out of my ass and into the damn floor. Her brown eyes are gazing intently at me, and she raises her eyebrows. “That’s good, right? To feel love in a situation like that?”
She said love that time, not loved. I can’t decide if it matters.
I can’t decide anything, because her eyes are staring straight into my soul like they did right before the first time I kissed her.
I know now that was a mistake. This whole weekend was a beautiful, catastrophic mistake, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“Feeling cared for and feeling loved are… They’re very, uh, similar.” God, now I’m stuttering. “And yes, in that situation, you want it to feel like, you know, you want it to feel…” Well, what the fuck do you want it to feel like, you useless asshole?
Amber clutches my hands tighter and shakes her head.
“I’ve made it weird, haven’t I?” She wrinkles her nose.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be awkward.
I just wanted you to know that no man has ever made me feel the way you do, and that’s good.
That’s what I wanted, right? So, you know, mission accomplished. ”
“You didn’t make it weird, honey. I think I did.” I try to laugh and sound lighthearted, holding on to her long fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you. And I would never want you to feel that I had let you down, or that I had used you.”
“I thought we established I like being used,” she says with a sly grin, and I feel heat again but not in my damn face, no, in my fucking groin that still isn’t getting the idea that this is a serious discussion and getting turned on right now is bad.
“Yes, we did,” I say with a breathless chuckle. “I mean, in a way you don’t want to be. I would never do that to you.”
“I know that.” Her eyes are still on my face when I feel something rubbing along my thigh.
Amber’s foot is rubbing along my thigh under the table.
That panic/pleasure combination seizes my brain again, and I don’t know that anything I say right now is going to diffuse the situation.
I should just shut up, and change the subject.
This isn’t going to get any better in a restaurant where there are other people.
Mercifully at that moment our food arrives, and Amber’s foot drops from my thigh. I mumble some thanks to the waitress, my mouth just as useless as my brain, and Amber smiles at her brightly, completely nonplussed while I’m the bumbling fool across from her.
“This looks so good,” Amber says, inhaling deeply over her plate. “I’m starved.”
“Me, too.” I’m grateful for the couple of minutes of silence as we eat to try and gather my thoughts.
Am I overthinking this? Am I reading something into this that isn’t there?
I want to ask her for clarification, but then I’m really risking fucking things up, and actually making this into a problem.
Just calm down, Rembrook. Let her lead this conversation. Don’t make things worse.
“So, what do you have planned for the rest of our evening?” Amber’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up to see her smiling at me.
Exactly. Just relax. Enjoy the night. Stop overthinking.
“Aside from taking you home and showing you a good time?” I ask with a grin, and she covers a giggle.
“I thought that was obvious.” She flicks her hair back, artfully sending the strap of her dress loose down her shoulder. “I was wondering if there were any specifics, sir.”
I’m not going to survive this meal. With a laugh, I put my hand on the table and look over at her.
“Are you wearing panties, Miss Pope?” I ask in a low voice, and her eyes sparkle.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to go to the bathroom and take them off,” I tell her. “I want you to put them in your purse and bring them to me, and then I want you to sit down and finish your meal. Do you understand?”
She nods, plucking her purse from her chair.
“What’s that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Amber sweeps from her chair, leaning over me, the loose strap of her dress allowing it to fall open enough for me to see her breast. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs against my ear, sweeping up the strap of her dress as she stands, and makes her way across the restaurant to the bathroom.
If this is our last night, then we’re going to enjoy it.
She returns after a few minutes, sashaying towards me, letting me know her ass is bare under her dress, and it feels like yet another delicious, filthy secret.
A few men in the restaurant turn to watch her as she passes, their open admiration making my cock swell even more.
Yes, she’s beautiful, she’s gorgeous, she has a body to die for, and I get to take her home and fuck her til she’s screaming my name. I’m a fucking caveman.
She slides into her chair, and clicks open her purse. Under the table, she passes me something scant and lacy. I pass my fingers over the fabric before tucking it into my pocket, and tut quietly.
“Your panties are so damp, Miss Pope. Are you turned on?”
“I think I am, sir.” She bites her lip, and picks up her cutlery. “I watched one of those naughty videos I made with my professor while I was in the bathroom, and it made my pussy so wet.”
I am so fucking glad we’re well away from anyone else in the restaurant so they can’t hear us acting like sex-crazed deviants.
“You should eat, like I told you to, Miss Pope,” I say, and even my voice can’t hide just how aroused I am.
Amber demurely finishes her meal, and I try to do the same. Damn that hour drive home. It’s so fucking far.
The waitress comes and asks if we want dessert, to which we both say no.
I give the waitress an overly generous tip and pull on my coat before we cross the restaurant to cover the bulge in my pants.
Amber lets me slip an arm around her waist as we walk out, and she smiles sweetly at me as I open the door for her.
“Thank you, sir,” she says in a husky voice, and walks out into the crisp air.
The parking lot is quiet as we cross it, no sound but the wind whispering through the leaves, and I thread my fingers through Amber’s.
“It’s so cold tonight,” she says, snuggling against my arm. “I’m definitely going to need warming up.”
In the car, I gun the engine, and we weave our way through the dark streets back towards the highway.
“Pull up your dress,” I say to her, and see her head snap in my direction out of the corner of my eye. “Your dress, Miss Pope, pull it up around your waist so your cunt is bare.”
I can practically feel the smile roll off her, and she spreads her legs, the fabric of her silk black dress swishing as she shimmies it up her thighs. Once it’s up around her hips, she leans back in her seat, gazing over at me.
“Like this, sir?”
I glance over, and my cock hardens ridiculously at the sight of her spread out like this next to me.
“That’s perfect, Miss Pope.”
“Do you want to touch?” She asks, stroking her fingertips along my arm. “Or do you want me to?”
“I want you to keep your hands away from that pussy, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,”she purrs, and her hand drops to my crotch, feathering over my rock-hard dick. “Do you need something, sir?”
I grit my teeth as we turn onto the highway, definitely skirting the edges of the law with my speed. I curse the endless blacktop stretching out in front of me, but I also want her squirming and aching for me by the time we get home. I don’t intend on sleeping much tonight.
“Get your tits out of that dress,” I growl, and her sharp intake of breath betrays her surprise. I glance over at her, gauging her reaction for fear or dismay, but she just looks lustful and sinful and holy fuck I want that cunt in my face right now.
She peels the straps from her shoulders and pushes the fabric below her tits. “Like this, sir?” She suppresses a squeak as I reach over and pinch her nipple hard.
“Perfect.” I put my hands back on the steering wheel, breathing through my own desire. “Tell me which video you watched.”
“The one where you’re-where my professor is fucking me from behind.” She slips so easily back into our little role-play.
“And did it make your pussy wet, watching him put his dick inside you?”
“Yes.” Her hands stray along her thighs, and she moans softly. “I wanted to touch myself.”
“And did you?”
“No,” she breathes, “But I wanted him to follow me to the bathroom. I had a fantasy.”
“Tell me about your fantasy, Miss Pope.”
She lets out a ragged breath, shifting in her seat, spreading her legs even more. “That he came in after me, and he didn’t lock the door. He bent me over the counter, and gagged me with my panties, telling me I had to be quiet.”
“And what did he do then?”
She breathes out, her fingers brushing over the gear shift. “He pulled up my dress, and I heard a zip, and he spat in his hand so his dick was wet. Then he told me I had to watch him in the mirror.”
Just hearing this fantasy playing out in the car has me cursing myself for not thinking of it myself. I want to free my cock from my pants and stroke myself while she tells me this story, but I force myself to wait. It’s not that much further, not really.
But every mile feels like an eternity.