#chimaev

He chuckled, deep and throaty, leaning back like he owned the whole place. The waiter brought our steaks — halal, of course — and Khamzat cut into his with precise, powerful strokes. We talked about everything and nothing: his training, my chaotic TikToks, how I’d dragged him here after his last win. But the heat between us was building, thick and electric.

Halfway through the main course, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Be right back, big guy.” I stood up slowly, letting my hips sway just a little extra as I walked toward the bathroom, feeling his eyes burning into my ass the whole way.

Inside the luxurious stall, I hiked up my dress with a giddy, naughty grin. The tiny thong slid down my legs easily....... so small it barely covered anything anyway. I folded it neatly, the lace still warm and damp from my excitement, and slipped it into the pocket of my little clutch for now. My pussy felt deliciously bare, the cool air kissing my skin and making me even wetter. This is insane, I thought, but the thrill was too good. He’s gonna lose it.

Back at the table, I slid into my seat like nothing happened. Khamzat raised an eyebrow, perceptive as always. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” I purred, scooting my chair a tiny bit closer. Under the table, my hand found his thigh. So thick and solid under my fingers. I leaned in like I was whispering something sweet, but instead, I pulled the tiny black thong from my clutch and smoothly slipped it into the front pocket of his dress pants. My knuckles brushed right against the growing bulge there for a second, teasing.

His eyes widened for a split second, then darkened with pure hunger. He reached down, fingers closing around the lace, and pulled it out just enough to see. A low growl escaped his throat — quiet enough not to draw attention, but loud enough to make my clit throb.

“You little brat,” he muttered, his voice rough and amused, that sarcastic edge mixing with raw dominance. He pocketed the thong properly, his thumb stroking the damp fabric like a trophy. “No panties at my dinner table? You’re asking for trouble, malyshka. I should bend you over right here and remind you who this pussy belongs to.”

I giggled softly, all girly and happy, my cheeks flushing as I crossed my bare legs. “Oops? Figured you’d want a little... souvenir. Besides, it’s your fault for looking at me like you want to devour me between courses.”

Khamzat’s hand slid under the table, landing high on my thigh, fingers inching upward with possessive intent. “Dinner’s over soon. Then I’m taking you home, stripping this dress off, and burying my face between these legs until you’re screaming my name. And that little thong? It’s staying in my pocket as a reminder of how fucking filthy you are for me.”