Page 14 of The Waiter at Table 6

“You’re insane if you think I won’t give you whatever you want.”

And this time he doesn’t stop me when I drop to my knees in the sand.

We’ve wandered far enough away from the water that the waves crashing doesn’t drown out the sound of Ryder’s breaths growing heavy as I get his zipper, and then his slacks down. And when I finally wrap my lips around his cock, I can feel the groan against my tongue that’s torn from his soul.

He tastes every bit as good as I knew he would. The salty musk that’s all him, the weight of his generous length on my tongue, all of it drives my desire higher. It’s not long before I’m taking more of him in my mouth, my lips gliding up and down his shaft.

“I’m going to hell for letting you get on your knees when I should be the one worshipping at your feet,” he says gruffly, his hips already making shallow thrusts. One hand slides into my hair to hold it away from my face. “Goddamnit, you didn’t even let me touch you.”

Humming, I take him deeper, my fingers gripping his thighs to hold him closer.

He senses my desperation, his grip tightening in my hair until I feel a bite of pain.

“But I can’t say no to you, can I?” he continues, and my thighs clench. “You want this cock in your throat, fine—I’ll give you whatever you want.”

I make a sound of surprise—I have never been talked to like that—but it comes out garbled when he drives forward even harder.

“Shit, your mouth is so sweet,” he grits out, sounding like he’s in pain. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be fucking your pretty mouth like this. Tell me to stop.”

I’ll die if he stops. So the next time he pulls back until only the tip is settled between my lips, I pop them off just long enough to gasp, “Harder.”

And his tether snaps. With a snarl, he starts to really fuck me.

I loosen my jaw and relax my throat, incapable of looking away from his face. I love that I’m making him lose control. He’s tapping into a fantasy I didn’t even know I had, using me like this.

And as I kneel here, watching him take his pleasure, my desire burns that much hotter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make up for being too rough when I’ve got you splayed out before me. I’ll eat your pussy so good, you’ll want to get on your knees every day, just to get my mouth between your legs again.”

My moan makes him bite out a curse, his thrusts quickening.

“Fuck, that mouth is going to make me come.” He sounds crazed, even a little panicked. “Stop sucking, goddamnit, I shouldn’t be making you swallow.”

That just makes me want it even more. Digging my nails into his ass cheek, I pull him tight against my face and take him as deep as I possibly can. I quickly and clumsily pull my dress aside so I can slide my hand down the front of my panties to rub at my aching clit.

“Oh fuck, you did not just?—”

He breaks off in a groan, a second before he pulls back slightly, and I taste his orgasm on my tongue. I suck him down with another greedy moan.

He stumbles back a step and slips from my lips. Chest heaving as I try to get my breath back, I finally chance a peek up at him.

He’s panting, looking completely shell-shocked. Not that I blame him—this hadn’t exactly been my plan for the night either. But he was so thoughtful, and charming, and sweet. Already, his treatment is altering my brain chemistry.

Where I would usually try to get to the good part, now I want to give in to the desire. I want to play with it.

I reach up with the hand I was just touching myself with, placing the pad of my fingers against his lips.

“Do you want to taste me?” I whisper.

He looks drugged as he nods. When he opens his mouth and I slide my fingers inside, he groans, his eyes sliding closed.

I can’t breathe around the sensation of him sucking my arousal off my fingers. If he didn’t suddenly pull back with a curse and help me to my feet, I probably would have stayed kneeling.

“I feel like when I wake up tomorrow, I’m going to think this was all a dream,” he says, more to himself than me. Because his eyes are already darting around, finally registering that we’re alone on a beach, not a soul or a surface in sight.

“Christ, Vanessa, I can’t take you in the sand. Let’s just walk back to the bar, I’ll?—”

But I just pull him away from the ocean, in the direction of the big house in front of us.

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