Page 98 of Darcy
I just can’t seem to get—
Arlo’s finger returns, penetrating my ass with ease, and I gasp at the sudden, dual invasion.
Every muscle from my toes to my fingertips locks and my spine stiffens as I come with a quiet gasp. My head falls into the crook of his neck, and he groans, my orgasm drawing his forth. His cock twitches inside me, and for a second, we just sit there, cradling one another. The other two retreat, giving us our space, and I sigh in contentment, burying myself into Arlo’s chest. Then I start to panic as I realise we didn’t think this through.
“What about the mess?” I hiss, trying to draw away.
His hands squeeze my ass, keeping me in place. “There are napkins.”
My eyes are wide as I look down and catch sight of the objects in question. “They’re fancy cotton ones,” I hiss. “I’m not leaving one of those behind for someone to clean up.”
His smirk undoes me. “Or you can walk to the bathroom with my cum dripping down your thighs. I know which one I’d prefer.” My pussy clenches around him where he’s still buried inside me, and he raises a single brow. “Something you want to confess, Dark?”
Where has the soft, quiet man from before gone? I have no idea how to deal with this sexy imposter without getting flustered.
“Want me to order you to do it?” he whispers. “Then you can blame me for it when it turns you on.”
I shake my head, because I may just have fucked his brains out in public, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of kinky stuff yet. Arlo just shrugs and hands me a napkin without forcing the issue.
“Dinner’s still warm,” Dodger informs us as I slip free of Arlo’s grip and back to my seat.
“I’ll be back for it later,” Arlo mumbles, zipping his fly and squeezing past Slate as he heads for the bathroom.
Thirty-Three
Darcy
Ieat my food in a daze, unable to help my burning cheeks as I dart glances at the rest of the restaurant. I wonder if anyone suspects what just happened in our booth. Would they say anything if they did?
The guys are acting as if nothing has happened, and when we’re all finished, I try to sneak away to pay again, but Dodger practically jumps to get there first.
“Let me,” I protest.
He pins me with a look so dark it’s almost haunting. “Baby girl, I know you’re independent, and I’m sure you could pay if you wanted, but… let me?”
Ordinarily I might’ve argued, but something in his tone convinces me not to.
I turn to Arlo and catch him sneaking the napkin I used to clean myself up into a pocket of his jacket. At least some poor server won’t find it.
“Can I have my panties back?”
He shakes his head. “I think I earned them.”
“Come on,” Slate mutters. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
We leave the way we came in, and I don’t dare look back to see if our activities left a wet patch. Oh well, it’s leather, right? It’s wipe-able.
Forcing down the sudden urge to hunt down some antibacterial wipes to clean a mess that may or may not—okay, it totally does—exist, I fall to the back of our group and let Dodger guide me out of the restaurant with his arm around my shoulders.
“Will you ever let me pay?” I ask, the lightness in my tone hiding my curiosity as we stride back down the street, now humming with clubgoers chatting happily amongst themselves.
Dodger’s hangup seems to be money, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s related to what Arlo told me earlier.
“No.”
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
He runs a hand through his hair and glances away. “You could, but I don’t think you’d understand the answer.”
