Page 96 of Darcy
“Don’t think about them. This is about you and me. Trust me, Dark. I’d never let anyone see what belongs to us.”
I see my own face, lips slightly parted, reflected back at me in his glasses.
“Take your glasses off,” I challenge. “And maybe I’ll consider it.”
The corner of his lips twitches, but he does what I say, releasing my chin to remove them, then discarding them on the table with a flick of his wrist.
The fingers at my thighs stroke again, asking entry, and my pussy weeps, begging me to acquiesce.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I do as he wants, hitching my dress up and letting my thighs fall open.
Arlo’s eyes smoulder as he watches. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
I cup the outline of his cock over his tight jeans. “I have some inkling.”
I can’t help myself looking at the curtain again, but this time it’s Slate who grabs my hair, turning my head towards him to claim my mouth in a desperate kiss.
“Let Lo play,” Dodger says, scolding him. “It’s his turn, after all.”
Slate ignores him, continuing to steal my breath as Arlo’s fingers tap-dance across the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. When he finally, blessedly, reaches my panties, he strokes over the cotton barrier with one finger.
I want to demand more. I want to curl up and hide.
My logical brain—never truly silent, even when I’m horny as hell—reminds me that the feeling of being watched is just the Spotlight Effect, but it doesn’t make a difference.
It still feels like there are eyes on me as Arlo continues to leisurely stroke across the sensitive seam of my pussy.
“Soaked,” he murmurs. “Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable if you took these off?”
He hooks a finger beneath the edge of my panties as he says it, and a shiver runs up my spine as he releases it and the elastic snaps lightly back against my skin.
Swallowing my nerves, I nod, pulling back from Slate to hook my thumbs around the edges of the soft yellow fabric.
As soon as they’re past my ass, I shimmy them down my legs, but before I can pick the panties up, Arlo’s stolen them, tucking my underwear securely into his pocket.
It’s official, he’s a panty thief. That’s the second pair I’ve lost, and I liked that set, damn it.
Giving him my best indignant look is hard when he and Slate are both pulling at my legs, stretching them wider beneath the table.
I freeze, caught like a rabbit in the headlights as the curtain parts and the masked servers start passing through our food. The pasta I’d been so excited to try slides across the table towards me, but I can barely summon the guts to smile and thank them because Arlo’s left hand chooses that moment to find my clit and roll it gently between his fingers.
My thighs snap together, and my hands drop to my sides instead of reaching for the food like I planned. Dimly, I’m aware of Dodger waving away the offer of more drinks and the lace curtain falling back into place as the servers leave.
“How am I supposed to eat like this?” I ask, as Arlo’s fingers—now trapped but still torturing me—continue to stroke with what limited motion he can get away with.
“Do you want me to stop?” Arlo asks, voice gone husky.
I shiver. “No.” I can’t think.
My thighs fall open, my body making the decision for me. My food—and our potential audience—is ignored in the face of the need he’s steadily teasing to a crescendo.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against my ear, leaning in. “Now, remember, don’t make too much noise. You don’t want anyone to know I’m getting you off under here, do you?”
Then, without pause, he ducks his slim frame down, slides beneath the table, and shimmies until his body is between my thighs.
Oh my god.
I’ve never in my life been eaten out at a restaurant before, but the warm breath washing over my pussy assures me that’s exactly what he’s about to do.
