Ah, so Eric rose to the challenge of terrible culinary-based dirty talk. She snickered. "Lingering?" She deliberately stopped her foot's progress forward, circling her big toe over the same spot, digging in. "I'm sure we can find something along those lines." Amber could sit here all night, fondling him through appetizer and main course and desert-- but he might not find 'lingering' so appealing a taste after all.
Having made her point, Amber continued with her foot's rise. The real tantalizing would come in at and around his groin, and she was curious as how hard he was. And hard he had to be, judging from the curving of his back, the pinching of his face that he couldn't hide.
"I want the Thai chicken.” It was the only thing she remembered seeing during her faux-review of the menu. On the verge of laughing-- at the waiter, at the fun of sneaking around, at the anticipation of Eric having to talk with her foot eliciting his hard-on-- Amber let her attention slip. A serious mistake. With a few key maneuvers, Eric turned the tables on her, so to speak.
At least now she knew how hard he was.
Sure, with the new set-up more of her leg was over him, but the position twisted her too awkwardly, giving her less mobility for subtler motions. So she slipped her leg down, just in time to savor him playing along her thigh, light and casual and wonderfully teasing. Her heart rate exploded as his fingers brushed her wetness and she couldn't not tip her head back, eyelids fluttering.
Had anyone noticed? Did they suspect? Wasn’t that other couple looking their way?
Amber wanted to kiss him, to bite his lip, to scrape his beard against her throat. That she couldn’t, not without waving a flag declaring what they were up to, only made her want it all the more. So she went for more sly contact, fixing her gaze on Eric’s shining eyes. God, his excitement was so sexy. She loved that they were in this together, surfing the same waves of joy and frustration. Her hand snaked beneath the tablecloth, cupping his tenting crotch, feeling yet another flash of desire. “I want you inside of me,” she said as conversationally as possible, but she couldn’t keep the edge from out of her voice. “I want you to fuck me on this table, hard.”
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Having made her point, Amber continued with her foot's rise. The real tantalizing would come in at and around his groin, and she was curious as how hard he was. And hard he had to be, judging from the curving of his back, the pinching of his face that he couldn't hide.
"I want the Thai chicken.” It was the only thing she remembered seeing during her faux-review of the menu. On the verge of laughing-- at the waiter, at the fun of sneaking around, at the anticipation of Eric having to talk with her foot eliciting his hard-on-- Amber let her attention slip. A serious mistake. With a few key maneuvers, Eric turned the tables on her, so to speak.
At least now she knew how hard he was.
Sure, with the new set-up more of her leg was over him, but the position twisted her too awkwardly, giving her less mobility for subtler motions. So she slipped her leg down, just in time to savor him playing along her thigh, light and casual and wonderfully teasing. Her heart rate exploded as his fingers brushed her wetness and she couldn't not tip her head back, eyelids fluttering.
Had anyone noticed? Did they suspect? Wasn’t that other couple looking their way?
Amber wanted to kiss him, to bite his lip, to scrape his beard against her throat. That she couldn’t, not without waving a flag declaring what they were up to, only made her want it all the more. So she went for more sly contact, fixing her gaze on Eric’s shining eyes. God, his excitement was so sexy. She loved that they were in this together, surfing the same waves of joy and frustration. Her hand snaked beneath the tablecloth, cupping his tenting crotch, feeling yet another flash of desire. “I want you inside of me,” she said as conversationally as possible, but she couldn’t keep the edge from out of her voice. “I want you to fuck me on this table, hard.”