31 Flavors of Kink (16 page)

He puts a hand up. “Say no more. But can we continue where we left off?”

Where we left off? With him about to give me an orgasm in the restaurant? I almost say no. Chicken! Time slows. The room seems to hang on my decision.

What’s the saying? Pull up your big-girl panties? Well, I don’t have any, do I? I lick my lips, give him a flirty smile, and inch closer. “Yes.”

I’m still not sure I’m ready for this. There’s the Mile High Club for airplanes; do they call this something too? The Gourmet Orgasmer doesn’t have the same ring to it. The Culinary Come Club? Nick puts his hand on my thigh, under the dress, and reaches my groin in about two seconds flat. I stiffen.

“Are you…” He glances at me, eyes widening, while delving just a little deeper between my legs. “Damn, Sid, you don’t have any—”

“
Shh!
”

In an attempt to delay him, I mutter my question. “Is there a name for getting naughty in a restaurant?” Then I do a tiny squirm and squeeze his hand. Move again, damn you.

“What?” He nudges me with his thigh at the same time as his long finger presses apart my nether lips. I dissolve. Our lust seems to be a sizzling cloud encompassing me and him and everywhere our bodies touch.

I let out my breath, slow and easy.

He’s nonchalantly dipping stuff in the chocolate sauce that turned up while I was gone. While his other hand dips into me. And I’m sitting here summoning my ability to talk from the back of my mind. My dirty, kinky mind.

I almost coo as he starts to move that finger faster, back and forth in my slippery cleft.

Is anyone watching? Mouth parted, I look around. No one is staring. But the tablecloth might not be quite covering what Nick is doing to me. Panic screams to the surface. An exhibitionist I am not.

“Nick!” I jam shut my thighs on his fingers, trying to stop him moving.

“What?” He chews and swallows, then smiles at me.

“Not here. Please?”

“No?” He lowers his voice. “You’re wet. Maybe you could just try not to squeal?” Then he tweaks my clitoris. I jerk.

I scowl at him. His finger wiggles, right on top of my clit. I shut my eyes and say, in a strangled tone, “No. Absolutely not.”

“You sure?”

Hell. How can anyone not see? I let my gaze sweep the room rapidly before moaning quietly. “No.”

Wiggle goes that finger. I catch sight of him licking sauce off his other hand, see his tongue curl out for a millisecond and think of where his other fingers are—his now very wet fingers. He’s toying with me, but oh my, I want him to.

He leans in, pressing at my shoulder with his while addressing his question to the table. “No, stop? Or no, keep going?”

“Um, keep going.” I bend over the table, part my thighs, then blindly fish a piece of something from the tray.

This is so naughty—I would never ever have imagined I would go through with this, but something about that very naughtiness accelerates my arousal. My clit burns with a little pumping storm of energy, of excruciating lust. He doesn’t go inside me. The angle must be wrong, but he’s concentrating on my swollen clit. No longer content to just rub the slick nub back and forth and sideways, he grips it with finger and thumb and squeezes it rhythmically.

Head bowed, chest aching from trying not to pant and groan, I catch a breath, then another. I feel the heat rise to a bursting pinnacle. The table’s edge anchors me. Holding it tight with both hands, I rock into a body-quaking orgasm so intense a spurt of liquid leaks from between my folds. A moan edges from my lips; then something squishy is jammed in there, and instinctively I close my mouth and finish my orgasm in silence.

I sit there, taking deep, measured breaths that make my ribs hurt a little. I swallow whatever is in my mouth and lick my lips. My heart slows. From under my slightly sweaty brow I survey the restaurant. No one is looking. I hope.

“How’s the cheesecake?” Nick asks as if everything is normal.

Cheesecake? What? I peer at him sideways, then swallow again. “Um. Good.” I think some more, then eye the tiny squares of cheesecake on the tray. “Did you shove a piece of cheesecake in my mouth? Nick!”

He squeezes my thigh, picks up a napkin, and wipes both his fingers. Just knowing my arousal is there too, being wiped away, mortifies me.

“Would you rather I let you squeal?” He grins at me, leans his forearm on the table. “Well?”

“No! No. But maybe we should leave?” Embarrassment has returned with a vengeance.

Like a magician distracting the audience from what’s beneath the table, I eat some of the dipping chocolate on a piece of fruit while Nick summons a waiter. I can’t tell if we were spotted, and not knowing is killing me. On the way to the door I look everywhere except at the other patrons of the restaurant.

Three feet out the entrance, Nick pulls me to him for a hug, then chuckles. “We should do that again sometime.”

“Never! Once is bad enough.” I wriggle loose and mock punch his arm. But he’s given me an idea. So I snuggle close again. My private parts are still throbbing, and the breeze out here has sneaked under my dress, reminding me of how hot it had been with his hand there, stroking me.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?” He kisses my head, then clicks the key remote to unlock the car. Lights flick on and off from where we’ve parked a few yards down the street.

“Um, I just want to, I guess— Ow!” A crack in the pavement has caught my heel. I wobble and almost topple over on my fuck-me shoes until he steadies me. I rename them fuck-your-ankle shoes. “I wanted to thank you,” I whisper and bump my hip on his.

“What for?” He knows what I mean. “For that? Making you come in a restaurant?” Even in the dark I can identify Nick’s aura of evil.

“Not so loud!” I’m tempted to sock his arm again.

With my fingers wrapped in his, I can tell that he’s silently laughing. I smile to myself. He may be an evil bastard, but he’s mine.

In the car, although he puts his hand on my thigh, he never moves any closer. I have time to think. We had a lovely night…well, yes, an extraordinary night, but our relationship is still teetering in the balance. Although I’m so high with sexual energy that my dress is wet under my ass, I’m uneasy. Our sex life—my needs—have still not been addressed. Where do we go from here?

As we approach the front door, I remember his hint about a sexy surprise. I feel like a cat with a mouse beneath my paws. What is this surprise? Nick unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I can’t help admiring my delectable husband. He’s tallish, handsome—well, handsome to me—yummily muscular, and has just the right mouth to make me want those lips on mine. Plus, when he gets going, he knows how to spank me right. Maybe, just maybe, tonight I can be the mouse. That would suit me just fine.

He helps me out of my coat, then hangs his up too.

“So gentlemanly,” I tease, freeing my feet from the torture devices Jess lent me.

He smiles. “Don’t get used to it.”

I roll my eyes but can’t wipe the grin off my lips. We stand in the entryway, awkwardly, smiling at each other. Nick puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. I fumble with the hem of my dress. Why does this feel like a first date?

“So what now?” I ask.

Nick comes alive and walks to the living room. I follow him, hoping he takes charge. I sure as hell don’t know what to do. Sex is again the elephant in the room. We both want it—that was clear with what happened in the restaurant. But will we go vanilla or rocky road? Please rocky road, I silently wish.

The living room fills with a faint glow when he turns one lamp on. “Music?” he asks, standing by the stereo.

I shrug. He turns it on and hits Random on our CD changer, then turns to face me. From across the room, our gazes lock. The music starts. I recognize it immediately. “Blackbird” by the Beatles.

Sexual tension sizzles between us. Nick moves toward me like a determined beast, but I can see a hint of insecurity in the way his fists clench at his sides. The somber song matches the dimly lit room. Other than the music, it’s silent. I can hear my heavy breaths.

He touches my lips, then runs his finger lightly down my throat. His hand rests on my collarbone, and he brushes his lips against mine. My heart races.

“Can I undress you?” he whispers against my mouth.

I swallow and nod.

Paul McCartney’s voice fills the room. Nick slips a finger under my dress strap.

He kisses my neck, and a shiver races up my spine.

He pushes the straps off my shoulders. I’m covered in goose bumps.

Slowly he pulls the zipper down in the back of my dress. His breath heats my ear as he leans in.

“Blackbird flyyy,” I sing along softly.

Nick chuckles. “Sorry for the depressing music.”

I shrug. “It’s fitting.” A bird with broken wings…like me.

He takes my shoulders in a firm grip. “I know you think you’re broken, but you’re not. You’re perfect.”

I gaze up at him, amazed he would think so.

His sigh blows a wisp of hair from my face. Soft hands on my skin warm me to my bones. With a nudge, my dress falls to the floor, and I’m standing naked in my living room.

“Dance with me?” he whispers.

He doesn’t give me a chance to refuse. Dropping his hands to my waist, he pulls me against his body. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. We sway gently to the simple acoustic melody.

He holds me, naked, his hands spanning my lower back.

I hum to the music.

“Blackbird flyyy,” Nick sings in my ear. We both chuckle because he can’t carry a tune. The song ends, and Nick does an elaborate dip that has me giggling.

He keeps me suspended above the ground, his gaze locked on my breasts. My breath hitches as I wait, transfixed, for his next move. His lips quirk, and he kisses my chest, then pulls me to stand. I can’t believe this is the man I married five years ago. We’ve never danced naked to the Beatles. Again it feels like we’re dating. But with much more…earnestness. No pretenses.

“Enough depressing music.” He shuts off the stereo.

I clear my throat and my foggy head. “
The White Album
is one of my favorites.”

“The what now?”

I laugh out loud. And just like that, we’re silly Sid and Nick again. “Sacrilege!”

“Books and music are your things, Sidney. And I love your passion for them.” I can see him fighting to keep his gaze on my face.

I decide to tug on the lion’s tail and see what happens. “And what are your things? Cucumbers and self-flagellation?”

He bursts out with a deep belly laugh. I love that sound. “Smart-ass. I was just about to give you your present too.”

I grin. “A present?”

He chuckles. “I knew your eyes would light up at that.”

I look around the room desperately. “Where is it?”

He shakes his head, and I pout. “Gotta do something nice for me first.”

A growl rises up from my chest. I spin around, pick up my dress from the floor, and hold it in the air. “I’m doing something nice for you right now. I’m not putting my dress back on.”

I wait for his response, expecting him to take off his belt or something equally as intimidating and damn sexy. But he just purses his lips. So I push. “Present and I’ll drop the dress.”

“You don’t play fair.” He sighs and walks to his tool closet in the hallway. The one place I never go. “I give in way too easily with you,” he says when he returns with two packages.

“That’s because you’re not a good Dom.” I give him a saucy smile as I place the dress on the couch.

He holds out the small package, then swats my ass when I take it. “And you’re a terrible sub.”

“Thirty-one flavors,” I tell him with a wink.

He chuckles, then swats my ass again. “Open it.”

I look down at the box, covered in Dora wrapping paper left over from my niece’s birthday. “Nice paper,” I tease.

He shrugs. “It’s the only one I could find.”

I tear it off and open the square box. Inside is a silver necklace with the pendant in the shape of a vintage key. The top of the key, where the chain runs through, is a solid silver heart with one diamond, sparkling in the light of the lamp. It’s beautiful.

“Turn it over,” Nick tells me.

There’s an inscription on the back of the heart.

To the moon and back.

“That’s how much I love you,” he says. He leans in close, then whispers, “I figured a key was appropriate since you love those handcuffs so much. But that will be our secret.” I look at him, and he winks.

I chuckle and remove the necklace from the box. “Put it on me.”

He fumbles with the clasp but fastens it around my neck. “Do you like it?” he asks, watching me curiously.

“I love it.” I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

He hugs me hard and kisses my cheek. “I have one more surprise.” This time when I look into his eyes, I see a devilish spark that reminds me of when he has me tied up at his mercy.

Oh boy.

The next Dora-wrapped present is a long rectangular box. If this is a broom and he tells me he wants me to do more housework, I’m going to beat him with it.

“Stop guessing and just open it,” he snaps.

I unwrap it and open the box. A long stick with a leather tip at the end stares back at me, ominously. A riding crop. He remembered.

I look up at him. He’s grinning now.

“But…I never read you that scene.”

He scowls and yanks the crop from my hands. “So little faith. I don’t need a book to tell me what to do with my woman.” His grin reappears as he swishes the crop through the air. The menacing whistle chills me to my bones at the same time as warming me between the legs.

What have I gotten myself into? “Does this mean you’re in it for the long haul?” I ask, my gaze riveted to the crop. “You…want to keep going with BDSM?”

He gives me a steady look. “This means I will tie you up and beat you as long as you need it. And I won’t complain.”

Despite what the outside world might think about that promise, my heart feels like it might burst with joy.

I don’t say anything; I just grin at him like an idiot.

His face turns serious. “I’m sorry, Sid. I should never have said you were too much work. I will always try my best to give you what you need, whether I understand it or not. And you know, if it turns you on, it turns me on. I love you so much.”