i_will_seek_for_you_there

Your heartbeat thrums in your ears. Doing your very best to keep your breathing as steady as possible. When a shaky puff of air leaves your lips, your boyfriend's voice cuts through the thundering sound. "Quiet, or I'll stop," he murmurs only for you to hear. You swallow thickly, eyes darting around the dimly rit restaurant. Guests are busying themselves with their food, their company. No one glances your way. No one seems to realize his hand is under the table, busy with you. Truth is, you've been begging for this. Suggested it a few weeks ago. Tangerine agreed after the third time you brought it up, but never told you when or where. Now here you are, with trembling thighs under the perfectly white ironed tablecloth. It's a nice restaurant - fancy. So, naturally, you're wearing a fancy dress. One that gave Tangerine ideas. Easy access, perfect for his hand to slip between, unbeknownst to the rest of the world. He's touching you over your panties. Rubbing up and down, then slow circles until he feels a wet patch bloom into the soft fabric. A sly smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "There we go," he whispers before taking a casual sip of his whiskey. You had barely finished dinner before his ministrations started. A friend of yours actually recommended this restaurant to you a few months ago. Saying they had the absolute best dessert menu. Though, as good as dessert sounds right now, it's nothing compared to the unbearable ache between your legs. "Dessert, love?" Tangerine hands you the menu, which you take from him and immediately toss it aside. "We need to go home. Now," you plead. He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Not yet, darlin'. Heard the desserts 'ere are bloody good. Be a shame if I didn't give that a try, now, wouldn't it?" You whine. Soft enough not to draw any attention, but he heard it. Of course he did. "Patience, darlin'. After dessert, you'll get what you want, hm?" His fingers now dip beneath your panties, finally making contact with bare skin. His rings are a cold contrast to his warm fingers. A soft gasp leaves your lips, hips starting to writhe. He's quick to build you up. The muscles in your thighs pull tighter and tighter as you near your climax. Lips pressed together to prevent any sounds from coming out.

It's enough for him to rid you of the sensations, withdrawing his fingers alltogether. You let out a frustrated breath, glaring at him with a look that speaks louder than words. The waitress chooses that moment to walk past your table. "Would you like to order any dessert?" the young woman chirps politely as she gathers your empty plates. "Two lava cakes, please," Tangerine gives her a quick polite nod. "Sure thing, I'll bring that right up." You let out a slow, controlled breath through your nose. "I'm not hungry," you mutter as the waitress walks toward the open kitchen. "Yeah, ya are," Tangerine huffs, genuinely amused. "In fact, you're starvin'," he continues. "Not what I meant," you grit. He smirks. "Doll." His hand grabs the underside of your chair and scoots you a little closer to him. "You're the one who wanted to give this a go, eh?" His voice is firm, but affectionate. Almost fond. He finds it amusing, not allowing you a release makes you grumpier than he expected and he's not even thinking about apologizing for it. "I'll take care of ya at home. Proper." He kisses your temple briefly. A silent promise.

The cakes are neatly placed in front of both of you. The corresponding cutlery along with it. "Eat up," he's already digging in his own cake, warm, steamy chocolate pooling out of it. Reluctantly, you eat your cake. The taste overruling your need for a few seconds, because yeah, the desserts are in fact very tasty. Tangerine smiles to himself when he sees you enjoying your dessert. Almost inhaling it, he isn't sure if it's because you like it that much, or if you wanna go home as soon as possible. Both, probably. Once finished, his own impatience shows through how quickly he stands up and tosses a few bills on the table without counting them. You follow him out the restaurant. Big strides eating up the distance toward the car. He opens your door, rounds the car and gets in. The engine growls to life before he peels out of the parking lot with a tiny squeak of the wheels.

The ride home feels like it's taking hours. You want nothing more than to finally get that release he's been denying you all night. Your boyfriend's hand slips between your thighs once more, one hand on the wheel, the other slowly tracing its way up your legs. Without hesitation, you tug up your dress a little higher on your hips, lifting one foot up the passenger seat to give him better access. He chuckles to himself. Eyes on the road, but he sees what you're doing from the corner of his eye. "Impatient," he murmurs as his ring-clad fingers finally brush your folds. Your head falls back against the headrest with a dull thud. "Please." The sound tinged with nothing but desperation. When he slips a finger inside and you moan? His own need swallows him whole. Those tented trousers. The way his jaw is clenched so tight he could crack a tooth. With a sudden turn, he stops on the side of the road, pulls his hand back from you only to undo both your seatbelts with terrifying speed. Next is his seat; he yanks the handle up and creates enough room for you to sit on top of him. Your mind catches up quick, already riding your dress up all the way and tugging your panties to the side. The driver's seat is now almost fully flat as you crawl over his thighs. He helps you with his trousers, freeing his hardened length by shoving the fabric down just so. "God- I need you," you breathe as he grips your waist and lines you up with himself. "I know," he grunts, eyes focused on aligning you right. Only when his eyes meet yours, you sink down, finally enveloping him the way you've been craving all night. The moan you both let out comes simultaneously. It takes a few seconds of adjusting before you start riding him, your hand propped up against the window for leverage as you bounce up and down. The seat creaks underneath your combined weight, neither cares. Tangerine's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, his hands steady on your hips to help guide your rhythm. Occasional curses slip past his restraint. A quiet 'fuck' mixes with your louder moans and the ongoing creaking of the seat. The car rocks just slightly with your movements, bypassers would definitely be able to tell what's going on, but you're both too swept up in each other. He tightens his grip on you as his hips now snap up from underneath, matching your downward bounce with each hard upward thrust of his own. The mewl he pulls from your lips is pure music to his ears. He does it again. And again. Until you fall apart in his lap. A quick few rubs of his thumb on your clit and you're done for. The tight coil inside snaps with a sound that could've easily been right out of a porn-film. Rhythmic pulses hug your walls tighter around him, triggering his own release. With a growled out moan, he spills deep inside you as his grip keeps you seated until every tremor has fully faded.