Foreman frowned fiercely, his eyes shutting against his will, as Amber's breath--the word amazing--puffed against his throat, his ear. Yeah. Oh, fuck, yes, it was amazing, more than that, but he didn't know if he could keep this up. Arousal and adrenaline sent his heart slamming against his breastbone. Amber's gasps--barely held back, badly concealed--heightened his urgency so much that he didn't know if he was going to come or panic. They were being watched. He knew that, and yet he hadn't pulled back, hadn't insisted on at least escaping the goddamn room. Their food would be here any minute. If the waiters weren't watching them and laying bets as to how far they'd go. Foreman felt caught, like he'd been carried away in a whirlwind, with no will left of his own; Amber's hand was hot and deliciously tight around his cock, sending surges of thought across his mind. Give in. Let go. Come.
His mouth drifted closer to Amber's throat. All he wanted was to suck her pulse point to the same tight, hard rhythm of his hand. Kiss her, finally, ravage her mouth until she couldn't push out another sound past the seal of his lips. The second he started, he'd be lost. Kissing her would give them away. Even once. Foreman wouldn't stop himself then, from groaning harsh and loud, from letting their badly-kept secret become a public indecency charge. He let out a quick, hot breath, but didn't let himself close the last quarter-inch between them. With his right hand, he let go of her leg and grabbed her wrist, gripping it tight enough to stop her. Maybe he was a coward, maybe he was an idiot, but he couldn't let her finish him off, not like this, not in front of a restaurant full of people. "I won't lose," he said. "This time."
He lifted his left hand--still trapped under the bunched material of her skirt--and finally pushed his fingers underneath the elastic of Amber's nylons and panties. She was slick and wet and it felt so amazing that Foreman stopped breathing altogether, until his lungs ached from lack of oxygen. No leverage this way, and he couldn't keep up the same rhythm of hard, driving strokes, but he could curve his wrist, thrust his middle finger deep inside, press up into Amber's tight, slippery heat, feel her muscles constrict around him. Like he meant it? This was more than that. More. Plunging in, his palm squeezing Amber's clit, his finger rubbing her inner walls. Anyone--that woman across the restaurant--who was looking--they'd see his shoulder moving; he couldn't conceal that anymore than Amber could hide her expression, but Foreman couldn't stop. Couldn't stop staring, watching Amber's face, wanting exactly what he'd told her--for her to come for him. He didn't care about anyone else, what they saw, what they heard. For him.
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His mouth drifted closer to Amber's throat. All he wanted was to suck her pulse point to the same tight, hard rhythm of his hand. Kiss her, finally, ravage her mouth until she couldn't push out another sound past the seal of his lips. The second he started, he'd be lost. Kissing her would give them away. Even once. Foreman wouldn't stop himself then, from groaning harsh and loud, from letting their badly-kept secret become a public indecency charge. He let out a quick, hot breath, but didn't let himself close the last quarter-inch between them. With his right hand, he let go of her leg and grabbed her wrist, gripping it tight enough to stop her. Maybe he was a coward, maybe he was an idiot, but he couldn't let her finish him off, not like this, not in front of a restaurant full of people. "I won't lose," he said. "This time."
He lifted his left hand--still trapped under the bunched material of her skirt--and finally pushed his fingers underneath the elastic of Amber's nylons and panties. She was slick and wet and it felt so amazing that Foreman stopped breathing altogether, until his lungs ached from lack of oxygen. No leverage this way, and he couldn't keep up the same rhythm of hard, driving strokes, but he could curve his wrist, thrust his middle finger deep inside, press up into Amber's tight, slippery heat, feel her muscles constrict around him. Like he meant it? This was more than that. More. Plunging in, his palm squeezing Amber's clit, his finger rubbing her inner walls. Anyone--that woman across the restaurant--who was looking--they'd see his shoulder moving; he couldn't conceal that anymore than Amber could hide her expression, but Foreman couldn't stop. Couldn't stop staring, watching Amber's face, wanting exactly what he'd told her--for her to come for him. He didn't care about anyone else, what they saw, what they heard. For him.