Note from the author: This story is for my friend Mal, who put it into my head. I hope he likes it.
"Is there anything else I can get you, miss?" the waiter said, leaning over Elenia. He was smiling at her and attempting to look down her dress at the same time and making no secret about it.
Then again, she supposed she couldn't blame him. She was wearing a brightly-colored sundress, with spaghetti straps and an appreciably low neckline. The dress reached her mid-thighs, and showed off long, tanned legs. It was shorter than she usually wore, but it was what *he* had instructed her to wear, after purchasing it for her.
Him. She shivered, thinking of the past weekend spent with him. His name was James and he was an Englishman whom she had met on the Internet a while ago. She had confessed that she had an enormous attraction to Englishmen, and the accents particularly made her knees weak. They had been e-mail friends for a year, exchanging friendly banter, as well as many of their fantasies, when she had come into an unexpected windfall and finally been able to visit. He had helped make all the arrangements, and insisted she spend time with him.
She had arrived Friday night, and the weekend had been spent at a hotel in sheer bliss. She squirmed as she thought of his lazy dark eyes as he lay in the bed next to her, or the long hours spent making love, his husky voice in her ear, so sweetly accented, his teeth against her soft skin. One thing was for sure, she had never been romanced like that by any American man.
Today when he had awoken, he had rolled into her arms, and after kissing her deeply and suddenly, unexpectedly, slid his full length inside of her. He'd fucked her thoroughly, and then tucked her back into the bed, telling her to stay put and that he'd be back shortly. He'd come back in only half an hour, carrying the pretty sundress. "Wear this, I bought it for you. And there'll be a hansom cab here at 12 PM. I want you to go with him; he'll take you to a restaurant I know of. The waiter will seat you, and I'll be there shortly. Oh and...don't wear anything underneath the dress, all right?"
She had nodded obediently – she seemed to be unable to refuse him anything - and after he left, had showered and dressed exactly as he had said. She added a simple gold chain around her neck, sandals, and a gold anklet around her right ankle. She brushed out her hair and left it down, the way he had said he liked it, when he had wrapped it around his fist and pulled it last night during their lovemaking.
Now it was 12:30, and she was sitting here at the restaurant waiting for him, nursing a glass of sangria. She came back to herself as she heard the waiter clear his throat. "Uh...no, nothing. Thank you. I'm waiting for someone."
"Ah, late, is he? I'm so sorry." He started to move away, then stopped. "You know, if he doesn't show up, I get off work at 1 PM – I'd be glad to show you around. You're a tourist, right?" She opened her mouth, surprised and not sure what she was about to say, when she heard his voice.
"Ah, there you are. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." She turned to look at him, and felt her heart flutter just a little. He was dressed as impeccably as always, slacks and a neat button-down. He was holding a sports coat, which was tossed casually over one shoulder, and she was possessed with the urge to smooth his hair out of his eyes. The waiter looked miffed, but simply said, "Ah, sir, please sit. Here is the menu, and I will be back in a few minutes to take your order."
He slung his coat over the chair across from her, and then to her surprise and pleasure, slid into the booth seat right next to her. He slipped his arm around her, turned her chin to him with two fingers, and kissed her deeply and lovingly, enough to make her blush at being so wanton in public. Just as he pulled away from her, his hand brushed over her nipple, causing her to jump.
"Stop it!" she whispered. He tossed her a devil-may-care grin, and keeping one arm around her, turned back to the menu. "I'll order for the both of us, all right, my dear?"
That was another thing. Since she had gotten here he hadn't let her decide on a thing for herself. She was fairly independent, but she had to admit, it was nice being wined and dined and catered to...he was unceasingly attentive and had obviously paid close attention to her e-mails over the year as he always ordered things she liked. The gentle old-fashioned terms of endearment didn't hurt, either.
"Of course, go right ahead. You know what I like."
He lifted her glass and sniffed it. "Sangria, is it? I'll order another glass, or would you prefer a wine?"
"Sangria, it's still the middle of the day and I don't drink much."
He motioned the waiter back and ordered for the both of them. As he did so, his arm around her slipped to her shoulder, and with a quick movement, slipped the strap off her shoulder. It fell to the middle of her upper arm and he immediately moved his hand to cover it.
The waiter's eyes shot to the bare shoulder, and she averted her eyes. She tried to lift the strap back up, but he was holding it firmly, and wouldn't let it out of his fingers. She was painfully aware that the beginning of the curve of her breast was exposed, and even if she hadn't been his fingers trailing against the exposed bit of skin would have dragged her attention back anyway.
The waiter was mechanically writing the order down, but his eyes were on James' fingers, as they stroked the side of her breast. She jumped, and tried to catch his eyes, but he was obviously avoiding them. Finally he finished, and reluctantly the waiter left to put the order in.
"What are you doing?" she said to him.
"What I want. Do you have any objections?" and as he said this he slid his hand obscenely up her leg, stroking the inside of her thigh and pushing her skirt out of the way.
Her hands flew to his hand, and he let the strap to her dress drop. She tried to push it back up, but he wouldn't let her, and his right hand continued inexorably up the inside of her thigh.
"Don't fight me, love. I don't intent to stop."
"But...everyone's watching!"
"Who's watching, dearest? No one cares. This is England, not your prudish America."
She pouted, and then as his hand parted her thighs protested. "Stop! I mean it." He half withdrew his hand and looked at her with a shrewd look. "If you make me stop, I'm going to leave. Is that what you want?"
Her mouth opened as she realized, no, she didn't want him to leave. She genuinely enjoyed his company and had missed him while he was gone this morning.
He started to get up, and she caught his wrist. "No, don't go. I'm sorry. I really am."
He smiled at her, and sat back down. The waiter came back with their appetizer, and a fresh glass of sangria for her and a glass of wine for him, and scuttled off again.
She started placing the appetizer into their plates, but he stopped her. Instead, he removed the individual serving plate and pulled the entire tray in front of her. He picked up a napkin, and, shaking it out with gentlemanly grace, placed it across her lap. "You," he ordered, "feed both of us." Seeing he really meant it, she picked up the fork and stabbed it into the plate. As she held it out to him, his hand slid under the napkin and back up her thigh. He slipped his fingers under her thigh, and lifted it, then placed it over his own leg, thereby spreading her thighs.
