Feeling a little bad that we haven't spent any time away from the apartment, we decide to go out for dinner. Arm in arm we follow the Maitre'd to our seats. all eyes , especially mine , are on my baby. I swear I heard at least one person berate their date for staring.
Thinking back to earlier this evening, remembering her getting ready. Towel clad, walking through the apartment. Trailing her to the bedroom, leaning against the doorjam, watching her. Knowing if I stepped in to that room, we'd never leave for dinner. It took more strength than I thought I had. I did however allow myself the pleasure of holding her hand on the ride over, gazing deeply in to her eyes, but to be safe I kept the privacy partition open.
Sitting in a quiet corner booth, candle light, soft music. Maybe it might be fun to try to resist her for as long as I could. In truth it was incredible hard to sit this close and not show my affection to her.
After making our orders, we sat, side by side, heads turned to each other, exchanging looks, both with silly grins, almost to oblivious to the others in this room, the sounds of plates and glasses, silver and the murmurs of conversations barely filtering in. Completely lost in one another.
We both started with a light appetizer, followed by the soup. Smiling and laughing, sharing comments and stories about this and that. Taking her hand into mine, resting beneath the table, peering towards each other like empassioned lovers. I half joked if we could get our entre to go.
"Oh no" she whispered "we just got here" releasing my hand to grip the water glass, taking a sip. Now my hand laying upon her thigh, through the silk I felt the warmth of her skin. I noticed that she didn't wear stockings, I didn't mind, I find her skin even softer than the sexy thigh highs she usually wears.
Feeling a bit playful and rather bold, I chose just as the waiter approaches with our entres, to slide my hand down to the hem of her dress, right at her knee. Realizing she can't say or do anything without making a scene, her eyes dart to mine, both of us sharing a wicked little grin. As bowls are removed and plates put in place, fingertips, slowly , as not to draw any undue attention, stroke heavenly smooth skin. Fingers stretched out and closing, skimming over in intricate designs. Even when the waiter left I continued to caress, moving further up the leg.
With both palms on the table, nails slightly pressed, in almost a clench. Her eyes with a silent plea not to stop.
Thankful for the long tablecloth, I keep on gliding up. Both of us ignoring our meals, trying to sate a more important hunger. Her breath becoming short with anticipation.