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I gaze across the restaurant table at him and know I should be a good girl. Should behave. But every fibre of me craves to crawl up, sweep away the candles, wine glasses and luxurious napkins, grab his tie and kiss him. I ache to straddle his lap, free his cock and ride myself to oblivion on his colossal prick, other customers be damned.It's a constant need inside. A throb that I wish would go away. But it consumes every thought. Every breath. Every drop of blood magnetised with need that's forced through my thudding heart beneath the crimson strappy dress.Desire burns and I fight for control. My panties would have caught the drips if I'd been wearing any. I squeeze my thighs together instead, smearing juices leaking from the inferno of my bare slit.Paul deserves better. My best. He may be all chiselled looks and doe eyes at the prospect of spending a romantic Valentine's meal with his new belle, but I know behind that veneer lies a darkness that excites me. Even after just three weeks, I'm pretty sure he's the one.But doubt nags. I thought the same about the previous five, no, six. Or ten. But he's different. Worships me, yet isn't intimidated. Knows when to take control; to play the strong hand. And fuck, does he have a strong hand. Swear my ass is still rosy pink, and that was two days ago. Could he be my happily ever after? Or would I screw it up like always?I wriggle. Clamp my thighs again as I leak at wild thoughts of tasting him, fucking him, overwhelming him. I shut my eyes. Inhale. Out. In. Out. I?m a good girl. A good girl.Opening my eyes, the carefully tailored ambience filters through my needy fog. Loops of fairy lights twinkle, reflected in the tableware. Inoffensive piano music floats Erzincan Escort between the clack of cutlery and polite, muted conversation carrying whispered promises of what's to come. Romance is everywhere, though given the lack of decent places to eat in WestLake, it's hardly surprising.I was fortunate to have secured a table. Fucking the owner had helped. Swarthy of Italian descent, he knew precisely where to insert his hard salsiccia for maximum effect as I clawed and bit at his skin, his portly wife upstairs oblivious. Surprised she didn't hear our mutual climax, but burying my face in his neck as he hammered me against the dessert cabinet kept a lid on my gasps. He pulsed, erratic breaths hot in my ear as I took every drop.Paul's waving brings me from my reverie. I stare. "Sorry, what was that?""I said I think that's Lannie over there." He waves again to attract his attention.I glance over. Fuck. Hunkering down in my seat a fraction, I hiss. "Don't make a scene, Paul.?"Why not? You know Sam and Lannie."The guy eventually looks our way and smiles. Excuses himself. Approaches.Double fuck. I lift the menu in front of my face and study it. Italian tossed salad. Cannelloni Florentine. Four-cheese ravioli. Shrimp fra diavolo."Hi, Paul. Sadie."I lower the menu. "Oh hi. Fancy seeing you here.""Where else on this night in tinytown than with?" his gaze levels on mine, "those you love, am I right?"Paul beams. "Right."Lannie leans in, partially in a conspiratorial gesture but I expect mostly to peek down my low-cut dress better. "The linguine di mare is to die for."He straightens. Paul nods. "So many tempting things on the menu."Lannie never takes his eyes off me. "Quite."There's Erzincan Escort Bayan a pause large enough to park the Bismarck in. I break it. "Shouldn't you be, uhh," I indicate Sam, who's drawing a circle around the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip."Yeah." He begins to turn, then pauses. "You said you'd call."I try to control my fluster. "Sorry. Busy."He smiles. "I understand. Well, you know where I am.""Yes. Just over there. With Sam."His smile tightens. "Of course. Enjoy."He returns. Paul raises his eyebrows and I squirm. "We were... discussing some additional tuition. French vocabulary for his forthcoming trip."Baise-moi avec ta langue, Lannie! Baise-moi!His tongue was spectacularly talented. Sam was a lucky bitch in that regard, but Lannie didn't do it for me on an emotional level. Racks of comics and action figures on shelves creeped me out.He'd served a need, though, when the hunger built to breaking point. He was in the right place at the right time and I'd taken him. Spoiled him. Enough that sex with Sam would forever seem bland in comparison to me sandwiched between his invading cock and the hotel shower tiles.I'd wrapped my arms around his upper torso and rocked my hips in time to his thrusts, clutching his head to my tits. His playful bites turned harder at my insistence, hissing over the spray as my orgasm thundered on its approach and ripped through me, amplified at each red pockmark on my chest.Afterwards, he'd selflessly carried me to the bed, both of us still dripping wet, threw me onto my back and devoured his spunk from my soaked hole until I writhed and clutched at the sheets, arching into his mouth in rapturous appreciation.When I'd calmed Escort Erzincan and shared his spunk in a messy kiss, I returned the favour. Rolled him onto his back and sucked him to hardness again, before slithering up to sink onto his shaft. Rode him hard, damp chestnut locks brushing his fingertips as he squeezed my breasts and pinched my sensitive nipples. When he came, it triggered mine, pulsing around his spasming girth as I groaned and buried my face in his neck. I was such a bad girl that night.I have to keep myself in check.Sliding my gaze to Paul's, I flash him a disarming smile and try to control the urge to rip my dress off and fuck him senseless on the table. "What are you going for?"He casts his attention to the menu. "Cannelloni I think. You?""Probably the linguine that Lannie mentioned.""Good call. Shall we get some red to go with it?""Sure."I study his lips. The top one thin, the bottom full. I ache to kiss them. I need him to know. As a prelude, I lean across the table, lifting out of my seat a fraction and lace my fingers with his as our mouths meet. Desire surges. Rages. Drips. I have to force myself to break the kiss, sitting back in my seat, staring across the table at him. It's his turn to squirm and I can picture what's rising beneath the table surface in his trousers.So intent on eyeing him, I don't notice the waiter approaching until he politely coughs alongside us.I look up and double take. Ricardo?Recognition flickers and his eyes widen. I shake my head fractionally. A warning. He takes notice. "Something to? to drink this evening?"Paul orders the wine and I watch Ricardo scurry off to fetch it. On his return, he follows tradition. Pops the cork, pours and lets me sample the first mouthful. The tannin swirls and I nod.He fills my glass that I hold up. The back of his hand holding the bottle brushes mine and the touch sparks the memory of him sweeping the hair from my cheeks and kissing me, my ass pressed to the metal restaurant kitchen work surface.