Page 96 of The Winslow Brothers

A rush of arousal consumes my nerves, and I clench around him.

The waiter nods and smiles at Jude before looking directly at my face, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip when that pesky finger slowly starts to move inside me.

In and out.In and out.Each time, he adds a little curl in the middle that has bull’s-eye–like precision on a particular spot that pushes a pant of air out of my lungs.

“Did you enjoy the filet?”

When I realize our waiter is talking to me, waiting for me to respond, I nearly choke on the urge to moan and have to pretend to cough my way through it with my napkin held to my mouth.

Once I gain some semblance of control, I answer, “Mm-hmm.” However, Jude chooses that exact moment to add the use of his skilled thumb into the mix and starts making smooth circles over my clit.“Oh boy.”

“Excuse me?” the waiter questions with a quirk of his brow.

All the while, Jude’s hand keeps treating me like its own personal jungle gym. Playing with me.Toyingwith me. Sliding me straight toward the climax cliff. It’s wild. And forbidden. And the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Damn does it feel incredible.

But the waiter. The fucking waiter is still standing at our table, waiting for me to say something.

“Holy moly…it was…uh…so good. The best feeling…I mean,meal, yeah, the best meal I’ve ever had. Thank you, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all the saints!”

“Uh…okay… I’m glad you enjoyed it.” The waiter’s smile is uncomfortable, and I start to worry he’s a little too keen on my current state of perpetual orgasm doom. Thankfully, he moves his eyes back to Jude. You know, the one person at the table who isn’t acting like a lunatic. “Have the two of you saved some room for dessert?”

If the dessert is anything but an orgasm, I don’t want it.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

When I realize I’m not keeping my thoughts to myself, my eyes go wide in embarrassment, and Jude smirks at me like the fucking devil from across the table.

But. He. Never. Stops. Sliding. His. Finger. In. And. Out. Of. Me.

The waiter regards me with confused eyes, most likely waiting for an explanation for the odd things coming out of my mouth, but I’m all tapped out on words. I can’t focus on anything but what Jude’s fingers are doing to me.

“We’re actually planning on getting dessert somewhere else tonight,” Jude comments, and the waiter simply nods.

“Oh, okay. Can I get you two anything else, then? An after-dinner coffee? Or a cocktail, maybe?”

Jude shakes his head. “Just the check would be nice. Thank you.”

The waiter clears a few of our plates from the table before heading in the opposite direction, and once he is completely out of earshot, Jude meets my unsteady, most likely glazed-over gaze. “You need to come, don’t you?”

“Badly.”

“Can you wait until we make it back to your place, or do you need relief right now?”

Make it back to my place?That’s like…whatever exploding-vagina plus apocalyptic-dread plus spontaneous-combustion equals, and it’s that far away. Which, in normal, not-about-to-burst-from-sexual-frustration terms meansvery fucking far.

Clearly, my answer is simple.“Now.”

Immediately, he pulls his hand away from me and smirks. “Hold that thought for five minutes.”

“F-five minutes?” I question, and the outright disappointment is embarrassingly evident in my voice.

I mean,five minutes?That might as well be an eternity.

But Jude just leans forward and whispers into my ear, “Just five minutes, Soph. And then I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll feel it in your toes.”

I swallow down the urge to blurt out something crazy like,“Just bang me right here!”and try my best to keep control of my body for the next four minutes and forty-five seconds.

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