Page 89 of Breeding Clinic

A food runner brings us a basket of thin, crispy breadsticks and the server leaves to put our drink order in while we study the menu. Gabriel and Matthew debate the steak versus the lamb. I’m too wound up to decide what I want. All I can think about is dick.

“Liam,” I whine, trying hard not to fidget too much in my seat. “Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for. For him tostop. To let me come. Or to fuck me and put me out of this misery. He can take his pick. I’m up for any of them.

The buzzing changes back to the low, steady thrum and I sigh in relief.

The waiter comes back with our drinks balanced on a small bartender’s tray. He sets them all down in front of us and sticks the tray under his arm. “Are we ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes to decide?”

Liam and Gabriel both get the steak while Matthew orders the lamb. The waiter looks at me expectantly. I frown and glance at the menu again. Shit. I never figured out what I wanted.

“She’ll have the coq au vin,” Liam tells him, taking my menu from me.

The waiter leaves with our menus to put our order in. I take a sip of my drink and have to stop myself from guzzling it down. It’s so fucking yummy. Gabriel digs into the bread and offers me half his breadstick. They’re long and thin. Handmade and crispy like a pretzel.

“Are we doing anything after dinner?” I ask them.

Liam sips his scotch, the large spherical ice clinking against the glass. “What do you think we’re doing after?”

Dicking me down into the mattress, I hope. But there’s more than that. We all know it. “You’re claiming me.”

His eyes drift down from my face to the exposed skin between my shoulder and neck. My scent gland. He reaches over and cups his hand around the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking over it. “I am.”

He looks at me for confirmation. I nod.

The toy buzzes rapidly, making me jump in my seat. “Good girl.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.His thumb presses into my scent gland, my perfume scenting the air as he rubs my pheromones into hisskin. Scent marking himself. Claiming himself as mine. My hips rock before I can stop them, the chair creaking.

His other hand is under the table. Hiding the remote that controls my toy. He hits its button again, making it faster. Staring at me and rubbing my scent gland as he torments me in public in this lovely restaurant I’ll never be able to eat in again without blushing. My breathing gets faster as I fight the urge to moan. To give up all pretense of decorum and rock my way to an orgasm. The vibrator teases my clit, and stimulates me inside. Leaves my pussy dripping. I hope he’s right about the panties. Otherwise, when I stand, the entire restaurant is getting a show of exactly how wet I am.

His eyes darken in the already dim light. His pupils expand to swallow up the sight of me as I quietly fall apart beside him.

Before I can get too close to coming, he hits the button again and the vibrations go back to pulsing. My orgasm stalls out. I groan, the forgotten breadstick snapping in my hand as my fist tightens.

“Rude,” I tell him, annoyed. He either needs to stop teasing me all together or let me come. Why did I agree to play this horrible game?

The vibrations change their pattern. A long, swelling buzz followed by short, rapid bursts of pulses. “What’s rude, kitten?”

I drop my breadstick on the table and make a fist, bunching up the tablecloth. “You are.”

“Let our poor omega eat,” Matthew chides him.

Liam leans back in his seat, and the buzzing slows to the low thrum that makes my pussy drip but doesn’t drive me delirious. “I suppose I can be generous and let you enjoy our dinner. If you say please.”

I’m beyond shame at this point. If he demanded that I get under the table, pull his cock out, and blow him as the price of coming, I would. “Please.”

Liam hides his smile with his drink.

“Here,” Gabriel says, handing me another breadstick.

I bite and chew, eating it quickly in case Liam decides to toy with me some more. The waiter brings our food out, and my attention is quickly diverted. My stew is a fragrant shallow bowl of spiced chicken, mushrooms, and other vegetables in a red wine reduction. We eat, talking about nothing important. My conversation with my mother. The pub’s next order of seasonal beer. Matthew’s day at work. The pickle ball class that Gabriel wants to take.

The waiter clears our plates and brings us dessert menus. “I don’t know if I can eat anymore,” I tell them, full even though I only ate half my dinner.

“We’ll split a piece of the strawberries and mascarpone mille-feuille,” Liam says to the waiter. “I heard it’s the best thing on their menu,” he tells me.

I suppose there’s always some room for dessert.

Liam clicks the remote controlling my toy up. It buzzes to life with a vengeance. I squirm in my seat, attempting to stay quiet as they talk quietly without me. It cycles through functions and speeds, never settling for long. Keeping me guessing as I subtly rock, maneuvering the silicone butterfly’s wings into the perfect spot.

---