by Cat Carmine
I shiver. I’m glad to be able to sit beside him in the dark. It will feel less weird if I can feel him next to me, I think.
“Very good. Slide in right here, then. Ladies first.”
Tyler nudges me forward, and I feel Paul’s hand reach for me. I take it and let him guide me past the table, to the bench on the other side. I relax a bit once I’m finally sitting, and shift over as Paul guides Tyler in the same way.
I relax even more when I feel him sink down onto the bench next to me. His hand immediately wraps around my back, pulling me to him. I still feel so disoriented that I lean in close to him. His presence feels comforting, solid.
“Can I start you off with a drink?” Paul asks.
Every time I hear his voice, I jolt a little. Without seeing him, I never quite know where he is or what he’s doing.
“A bottle of red. Something strong,” Tyler answers.
“Very good. I’m leaving your table now and will return with your drinks shortly, and then we’ll discuss your meal. I won’t be long.”
With that, Paul disappears. Or at least I assume he does. For all I know, he could be standing in front of our table still. I can’t see anything, even now. My eyes haven’t adjusted at all. I’m completely blind.
I lean into Tyler. Having him next to me is a comfort, but it also sends a dark thrill through me. Somehow, not being able to see him makes this whole thing feel more intense, more intimate.
Which, I realize, was exactly his intent.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Is this okay?”
“It’s … kinda freaky,” I laugh. “How’d you find out about this place?”
“I had a friend who brought a bunch of people for his birthday once. I couldn’t make it, but they said it was an experience to remember. I figured if I’m going to take the famous Miss Emma on a date, it better be something to remember, too.”
I laugh and swat playfully at his arm. “Tonight I’m just Emma.”
He leans in close to me. I can feel his breath against my ear, my neck. “You’re never just Emma,” he murmurs.
Goosebumps speckle my skin. I can’t see him, but I know his lips are just a couple of inches from mine, that if I were to turn my head, lean forward, I could find his lips with mine …
“I’m back with your wine,” Paul announces from somewhere in front of us, interrupting the moment.
I sit up straight, embarrassed, even though he can’t see us.
“I’m setting the glasses on the table now and will pour two glasses of wine.” He narrates everything he’s doing, which helps orient us with what’s happening, but the whole thing still feels surreal.
“Your glasses are on the table,” he says, after we’ve heard the wine pour. “Reach your hands out slowly — I recommend sliding them directly over the table so that you don’t accidentally knock the glass over.”
I reach my hand out as instructed but instantly run into Tyler’s hand doing the same thing. I giggle again as he runs his thumb over mine, then keep reaching until I find the base of my glass. Relieved, I pick it up slowly and try to bring it to my lips.
It’s both easy and surprisingly hard. My muscles know how to lift a wine glass, how to take a sip, but the rim of my glass hits my cheek first, and I laugh again as I move it closer to my lips. When I finally make contact, I tilt the glass.
The wine explodes against my tongue. Maybe it’s the placebo effect, but I swear it does taste more flavorful, more bold. I take another sip and carefully set my glass back on the table, trying to remember exactly how far it is from me so that I don’t knock it over.
“Now, regarding your food,” Paul says. “Tonight, our feature is an assortment of appetizers and small plates. For two people, we recommend five to seven items. I can present you with an assortment of choices, or you can opt for the Chef’s Selection.”
Tyler leans in close to me again. His breath is against my neck. “What do you think? Chef’s Selection?”
“Sounds good to me.” At this point, I might say yes to anything. I feel giddy with nervous energy. I reach for my wine again.
“Very good,” Paul says. “I’ll be back shortly with your first course.”
I take another sip of my wine. Once again, the tangy berry notes burst onto my tongue. I close my eyes to savor it, even though it’s as dark with them open as it is with them closed.
“There’s that little moaning noise I like so much.”
Tyler’s voice cuts into me, and I flush. I didn’t realize I’d made a noise.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that moan again?” His voice is a low growl, and it runs through my veins like liquid fire. I jolt as his lips touch my neck. His tongue traces a line up towards my ear before he nips at my earlobe. “And I’m going to make you moan again before this night is over. That’s a promise.”
“Oh!” I squeak. Suddenly, a vision of me and Tyler back at his apartment flashes through my mind. Of him tossing me onto his bed, fucking me the way I’d wanted him to the last time. I mentally promise myself that this time I’m damn well going to be sober enough to enjoy it. I set my wine glass back on the table.
Paul returns and his voice cuts through my reverie. “I have your first course,” he says. “These are honey-soaked figs stuffed with goat cheese. I’m going to set it down on the table in front of you. I’m also putting cutlery wrapped in napkins, though we recommend using your fingers. It adds to the experience.”
He sets the plate down and shuffles away from our table, leaving us alone again.
I reach for the plate, but Tyler grabs my wrist. His grip is firm as he pulls my hand back.
“Let me,” he says.
“Okay…” I sit back, blinking.
The next thing I know, Tyler is running his fingers over my jaw. His thumb caresses my bottom lip, parting it slightly. Then he touches what I realize is the sticky, honey-coated fig against my lip.
“Taste,” he says.
His voice is low, deep. Even though I can hear other people in the restaurant, they don’t seem to be close to us. All I can hear and feel is Tyler next to me, the fig against my lip. I reach my tongue out and taste it tentatively. Tyler feeds it to me gently, his thumb running over my lip again as the fruit slips into my mouth. I chew it slowly. It tastes amazing. Sweet from the honey, tangy from the goat cheese.
“Make you sure you get every drop.” Tyler’s thumb is against my mouth, and I can taste the honey on his skin. I suck his thumb into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. He groans, and I press my lips tighter around his thumb before slowly pulling my mouth away.
“Good?” he finally manages.
“Delicious.” I swallow. “You should try it. Here.”
I reach my hand out slowly across the table, feeling carefully with my fingers until I find the plate, and then pick up a sticky fig.
I try to bring the fruit to Tyler’s lips, but I have no idea where his face even is. I use my free hand to reach for him. I find his chest and walk my hand up until I find his chin. I press my fingertips against his lips. I bring the sweet fruit to his mouth, and he takes it gently, running his tongue over his lips and then over my fingers.
“Good?” I squeak.
“Delicious,” he says. Low. Gruff. “Sticky.”
I startle as his lips connect with mine. He finds the corner of my mouth and then moves to kiss me fully. I can taste the honey on his lips, on his tongue. It feels sensual, erotic — kissing him in the dark, the tangy taste of the fig still on my tongue. I squirm in my seat, wanting to feel Tyler’s amazing lips in other places.
We go through the entire meal like that, taking turns feeding each other, kissing in between bites. His lips become the palate cleanser between courses. We make our way through bacon butter radishes, beef filet with red onion jam, toasted brioche with creme fraiche and caviar. Every course tastes more exquisite than the last, but the thing that tastes the best is Tyler’s mouth against mine. I can’t get enough of it. I’m
greedy for it.
By the time Paul brings our dessert course — chocolate-covered strawberries with Amaretto whipped cream — I’m not hungry for food anymore. All I want is Tyler. This whole meal has been one long session of extended foreplay, and now my pussy is wet and throbbing, desperate for the relief that only really good sex can bring.
I squirm closer to him, practically in his lap now. I can feel his breath in my hair.
“Open,” he says. I part my lips and let him put the strawberry into my mouth. Like everything else, it’s beyond delicious. The sweetness bursts onto my tongue, and I lean in to kiss Tyler, letting him taste it, too. We kiss for a long time, until the taste of strawberry is long gone and there’s only the even sweeter taste of him. Of us.
“Will you take me back to your place?” I whisper when we finally pull apart.
Somehow, even in the dark, I can sense Tyler’s grin. His breath is steady and even. He runs his hands through my hair.
“Why do we have to wait?” he growls.
My breath catches. “What?”
“I said … why do we have to wait?”
And then his hand is on my inner thigh, sliding upwards.
Twelve
I snap my legs closed, trapping Tyler’s hand between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Relax.” He chuckles. His mouth moves to my jaw, trailing a line of kisses down my throat. “There’s a bad Emma in there. I know there is.”
His mouth against my skin is making me dizzy, but I try to stay strong.
“There might be a bad Emma, but she’s not this bad.” I focus on keeping my voice steady, even though my whole body is trembling. “We’re in the middle of a restaurant.”
“Which is pitch black.”
“Still.”
“Still what?”
He kisses lower, his lips grazing the exposed skin of my chest while his hands travel up over my ribs until they’re cupping one of my breasts.
“Still …” I swallow. “People might hear us.”
“So I guess you’ll have to try to be quiet.”
He’s running his thumb over my nipple, which is puckering under his touch, even through the fabric of my dress. I know I have a thousand other reasons why this is a terrible idea, but I suddenly can’t think of a single one of them.
I slowly ease my thighs open, freeing Tyler’s hand. My pussy is pulsing, that traitorous part of me wanting only for him to touch me and not caring that we’re in public. But Tyler decides to tease me, and instead of going where I want him to, he just strokes my inner thighs. Up and down, from my kneecap to the softest part at the top, but never getting quite as close as I need him.
His other hand is winding through my hair, and he pulls me in for another kiss. This kiss is different than the ones we shared while we were eating. Those kisses were foreplay, but this one is the real deal. He claims me with his mouth, his tongue pushing past my lips and stroking my own tongue, my teeth. He tugs my hair, tilting my head back so he can kiss me even more deeply.
I can feel him tugging at the neck of my dress. It’s a stretchy fabric, and he pulls it down easily. Even in the dark, I can feel how my bra is exposed. I gasp a little and pull away from Tyler’s kiss.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m freeing your amazing tits so that I can put my mouth on them.”
“Oh.” I know I should object. Really. But suddenly, the thought of his tongue on my nipples is pretty much the only thing I want. The only thing I can think about.
He shoves the fabric of my bra down, too, and suddenly my breasts are completely exposed. In the middle of a restaurant. Okay, a completely dark restaurant, but still.
I only have a brief moment to dwell on that detail, because Tyler is back to trailing a line of kisses down my throat. This time, he finds my breasts with his mouth, wrapping my nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue. I moan, and he chuckles. The vibration of it sends another hum through me.
While his mouth works one nipple, he uses his hand to tease the other one, pinching it as he caresses the other one with his tongue. Maybe it’s the darkness, but every sensation feels more heightened than it ever has. Every swirl of his tongue sends a bolt of lust through me. Every pinch makes my body arch, my hips lifting right up off the bench we’re sitting on.
He keeps touching me until I’m almost convinced I might come from this alone.
“Tyler,” I pant.
He pulls away. “What?”
“Oh my God.” I laugh nervously. “This is … a lot.”
“In a good way?”
I think for a minute and bite my lip. “Yeah. In a good way.”
“Good.” I can hear him smiling, even in the darkness. “Then take your panties off.”
“Take my …?”
“Yes.”
“But…”
“Emma.”
The growl in his voice is so powerful, so commanding, that without stopping to think about it, I lift my hips. I reach under my dress and find the lacy fabric of my underwear, then shimmy it down over my legs.
“Give them to me.”
I swallow and drop the small, damp scrap of fabric into Tyler’s waiting hand. I don’t know what he does with them, and I have no time to think about it, because his hand is trailing up my thigh again.
I wriggle against the back of the booth, trying to guide his hand up higher, but he takes his sweet time.
“Spread your legs, Emma,” he whispers.
My heart catches. No one’s ever talked to me like this before. Certainly not the polite, well-mannered men I’ve dated in the past.
Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to do what Tyler says? But yes, it seems I really am, because I let my knees drift apart. I can feel the cool air against my warm, damp skin, and somehow it feels like I can even feel the darkness, too, seeping into me and turning me into someone lustful and wanton.
Someone distinctly not Emma.
“Touch me, Tyler. Please.” I practically beg him.
He moves his hand further up my thigh, but at a pace that’s so maddeningly slow I want to scream.
I almost do scream when he finally, finally flicks his thumb over my clit. It’s pulsing with heat, so sensitive that I almost shatter at that single touch.
Tyler touches me in exactly the right way. Light, deliberate, just the right amount of pressure and just the right way of massaging my clit. He strokes me, caresses me, exploring my folds, uncovering my body with his fingers. When his hand dips lower and he circles my channel, I moan again. I have to bite down on my lip to keep quiet.
“I told you I’d make you moan again before the night was over,” Tyler says. His mouth is so close to my ear that I can feel his breath on my neck. I imagine how his grey eyes must burn, how his lips would be twisting into that cocky grin of his.
He eases his finger inside me, just a little. It’s a tease, the way he holds it there, enough to taunt and not enough to satisfy.
“Do you want this, Emma? Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” I pant.
“Tell me.”
My cheeks flush, and I’m once again grateful for the darkness.
“I want you to fuck me with your fingers. Please, Tyler.” My voice is hushed, a whisper only Tyler can hear, but I still turn crimson. I’ve never said anything like that in my life.
But the words do the trick. Tyler finally acquiesces. I groan as he pushes forward, not one finger but two, pulsing inside me. He’s got the wrist movement down pat, because when he moves his hand against me, it feels almost, almost, like he’s fucking me for real. The heel of his hand grinds against my clit with every thrust.
“Oh, God.” Those are the only words I can manage. “Oh, God.”
“Do you like that, Emma?” He nips at my earlobe, and I groan again.
“Oh, God,” I say in response. All I can manage, remember? “Oh, God.”
Tyler is manipulating my body like
a master musician, like one of the great painters. Nothing has ever felt as good or as intense as his hands on me right now. I rock closer to my climax with every flick of his wrist. I grab onto his arm for support and lean my head against his shoulder, biting down on his suit jacket when it finally overtakes me.
I manage not to scream. At least I think I do. I’m so delirious that I don’t know what comes out of my mouth, but I hope it’s at least muffled against Tyler’s shoulder. My body trembles and shakes as he keeps working his hand, until finally I have to squeeze my thighs closed, pinning him in place while my pussy spasms around him.
“Oh, God,” I pant again, when the last ripples of the orgasm have been wrung from my body. I grab Tyler’s neck and pull his head towards me. I want to feel his mouth on mine again. I want to lose myself in his kiss. I want to cement this moment in my mind. I want to never let go.
“Are we all finished here?” Paul’s voice from in front of us jerks me back into the here and now.
“Yes, thank you,” Tyler says, clearing his throat.
“How was the dessert?”
“Perfect.” Tyler squeezes my hand under the table and a slightly insane-sounding giggle bursts from my lips.
“I’m glad to hear it.” I swear there’s a note of amusement in Paul’s voice, but I try to assure myself that there’s no way he could know what we were doing. Right?
That doesn’t stop the flame of embarrassment from covering my skin. I tug the skirt of my dress down and try to comb my hair back into place.
I have no idea what’s gotten into me lately. The things I’m doing with Tyler — I don’t even recognize the person I am right now. I must have a temporary case of insanity.
I don’t let myself relax until we’re out of the restaurant, standing out on the open street again. It’s dark outside, but even the light from the streetlights and storefronts are enough to burn my eyes. I blink furiously as my pupils recalibrate.
Tyler steps in front of me. I blink again as I try to focus on his face. Focusing on him seems easier, somehow. More appealing, anyway. My embarrassment fades away, and all I can think about is letting him take me home so I can get more of what I just had. More of him.
