"I like something rich," Foreman said. "Lingering." He was determined not to back down, even if Amber wanted to assault him with bad puns. He might end up with the world's worst case of blue balls, and have to sit here long after their food was finished to wait until he could walk out of the restaurant without advertising exactly what had been going on under their table, but he wasn't going to let Amber get the best of him. Her foot had found its way past his knee, and Foreman had no doubt where Amber meant to move it next. If she started pressing against his crotch, curious and exploring, he wasn't going to be able to hold on to his composure. Sweat was gathering in his armpits, running down his back, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing even. Pleasure jolted through him like electric shocks each time Amber's foot rubbed him higher up. Fuck. Fuck, he was getting hard. She shouldn't be able to do this to him, so easily. And, to top it all off, Amber's glance lifted over his shoulder for a second, her smirk growing. The waiter with the perfect fucking timing.
"Have you decided what you'll be having?" the waiter asked, looking at Amber as if he was on his guard against her.
It meant that he wasn't paying attention to Foreman. Under the guise of listening closely, Foreman shifted his chair an inch or two closer to Amber's, until he was more or less beside her. It was all the extra room he needed. He gripped Amber's ankle firmly, preventing her from going any further with her teasing. He pulled her closer, until her leg rested in his lap, giving him full access to return the favour. She might feel his erection against her outer thigh, but he was free now to tease every inch of her inner leg, hitching her skirt higher under the cover of the tablecloth. "I've heard the kebabs are good," he told the waiter quickly, before his voice could give him away. "I'll have that with the roasted potatoes and green salad." He hadn't so much as glanced at the menu, and he was more or less making a stab at what might go with the kebabs. Once the waiter nodded, accepting his order, Foreman paid full attention to Amber. To touching her. Nothing too firm, nothing that would give her any relief. Skipping and brushing his fingertips up and down her thigh. All the way, this time, and he hadn't been imagining it, she was already wet. He could feel it through her panties, through the nylons. Knowing that sent another surge of sensation through his cock, and he tightened his right hand on Amber's thigh, pulling her leg closer against him. His heartbeat was so loud he was surprised the waiter couldn't hear it. He could only be glad that his skin hid any blush. Refusing to show any reaction (he'd worked with House for three years; he could hide how he felt for five minutes), Foreman slipped his finger over the damp spot at the juncture of Amber's thighs, soft and fleeting and, he hoped, as frustrating as possible.
no subject
"Have you decided what you'll be having?" the waiter asked, looking at Amber as if he was on his guard against her.
It meant that he wasn't paying attention to Foreman. Under the guise of listening closely, Foreman shifted his chair an inch or two closer to Amber's, until he was more or less beside her. It was all the extra room he needed. He gripped Amber's ankle firmly, preventing her from going any further with her teasing. He pulled her closer, until her leg rested in his lap, giving him full access to return the favour. She might feel his erection against her outer thigh, but he was free now to tease every inch of her inner leg, hitching her skirt higher under the cover of the tablecloth. "I've heard the kebabs are good," he told the waiter quickly, before his voice could give him away. "I'll have that with the roasted potatoes and green salad." He hadn't so much as glanced at the menu, and he was more or less making a stab at what might go with the kebabs. Once the waiter nodded, accepting his order, Foreman paid full attention to Amber. To touching her. Nothing too firm, nothing that would give her any relief. Skipping and brushing his fingertips up and down her thigh. All the way, this time, and he hadn't been imagining it, she was already wet. He could feel it through her panties, through the nylons. Knowing that sent another surge of sensation through his cock, and he tightened his right hand on Amber's thigh, pulling her leg closer against him. His heartbeat was so loud he was surprised the waiter couldn't hear it. He could only be glad that his skin hid any blush. Refusing to show any reaction (he'd worked with House for three years; he could hide how he felt for five minutes), Foreman slipped his finger over the damp spot at the juncture of Amber's thighs, soft and fleeting and, he hoped, as frustrating as possible.