Well, if Eric was going to play dirty, of course he was going to win, and he was a cheater, big, huge, dirty cheater, and Amber could've burst from sheer pride. So he played to win. 'This time,' he he'd said, which meant there'd be a next one and then, oh, yes, Amber would be ready for his underhanded ways.
This round, though, she had to concede defeat, her heart dashing against her chest, her thoughts so muddled she couldn't keep track of what was happening, what hand was where and what Eric was doing but did it really matter, as long as he kept doing it, kept on pushing deeper and harder. Her wrist, he'd gripped it so tight it almost hurt, but the chafing, it only added to the senses assaulting her, his cologne's scent as he leaned in towards her, and his skin, it was slick with sweat, hers must be too, christ, what did it matter, where they were and who was watching, she just wanted--
"Eric," she breathed, peaking so high, like she was flying, here in this chair with him right next to her, and she bent her head, moaning, "Oh, god," and kissed him as she soared through clear blue skies. His mouth was so hot, so wet, and she sucked him in, channeling her gasps into him, and she could taste the wine and god, yes, could feel his pulse as fast as her own, and she never, ever wanted to come back down.
But back down Amber came, and of all the places to come back to, this one was pretty good. Opening her eyes to peer around the restaurant, she verified that no one was making a huge fuss over what had just happened at their table, and then looked back to Eric. She couldn’t tell if he was indignant, turned on, or tremendously embarrassed. Probably all three. “You’re no fun,” Amber teased, squeezing his hand between her thighs again. He was uncomfortable, she knew, and wouldn’t take well to further innuendo, but coasting on a good mood, she couldn’t resist pushing him. She twisted her wrist out of his grasp and encircled his balls, thumbing the base of his penis. It throbbed, strong and insistent. He wanted this, how could he not? “C’mon, give in,” she invited, flashing a promise-filled smile. “For me.”
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This round, though, she had to concede defeat, her heart dashing against her chest, her thoughts so muddled she couldn't keep track of what was happening, what hand was where and what Eric was doing but did it really matter, as long as he kept doing it, kept on pushing deeper and harder. Her wrist, he'd gripped it so tight it almost hurt, but the chafing, it only added to the senses assaulting her, his cologne's scent as he leaned in towards her, and his skin, it was slick with sweat, hers must be too, christ, what did it matter, where they were and who was watching, she just wanted--
"Eric," she breathed, peaking so high, like she was flying, here in this chair with him right next to her, and she bent her head, moaning, "Oh, god," and kissed him as she soared through clear blue skies. His mouth was so hot, so wet, and she sucked him in, channeling her gasps into him, and she could taste the wine and god, yes, could feel his pulse as fast as her own, and she never, ever wanted to come back down.
But back down Amber came, and of all the places to come back to, this one was pretty good. Opening her eyes to peer around the restaurant, she verified that no one was making a huge fuss over what had just happened at their table, and then looked back to Eric. She couldn’t tell if he was indignant, turned on, or tremendously embarrassed. Probably all three. “You’re no fun,” Amber teased, squeezing his hand between her thighs again. He was uncomfortable, she knew, and wouldn’t take well to further innuendo, but coasting on a good mood, she couldn’t resist pushing him. She twisted her wrist out of his grasp and encircled his balls, thumbing the base of his penis. It throbbed, strong and insistent. He wanted this, how could he not? “C’mon, give in,” she invited, flashing a promise-filled smile. “For me.”