Amber shivered at the sudden intimacy of Eric's touch, hot and firm and absolutely right in all ways. But she quickly reigned in her reaction. This was a game, and rule number two was to be as discreet as possible. (The first rule was: have outrageous fun.) Even as Eric's hand climbed, closer and closer to where she really wanted to feel him, Amber maintained a calm expression. Only her rapid heartbeat and growing wetness would've given her away-- and only Eric could pick up on those indications.

"It's hard to go wrong, here." Amber crossed her legs, extending an invitation by granting more access. She could hardly wait. "But if you ask me, the best dishes are the strong, spicy ones." She punctuated the adjectives with more force than necessary; nothing in this world was cheesier than food double entendres, but if they were going to make out in public, she might as well go all out.

At worst, Amber would end up horny and desperately needing a proper attention; at best, she could come. Either outcome was fine with her. Eric, on the other hand, had more to lose. Not only was he more self-conscious of his image, but his horniness or orgasm would have far more visible signs than her own. If this came down to a game of chicken, she was confident of her odds. Her grin stronger than ever, she extended her leg further and higher, rubbing his knees and the inner curve of his thigh. How different and exciting to sense him through her toes; it was like looking underwater, familiar sights distorted into new forms.

In her peripheral vision she saw the waiter approaching and almost laughed, wondering how Eric would react.