Playing Footsie 2

Temptation at Eddie V's

The warm glow of the chandeliers bathed the dining room at Eddie V's in a golden light, the soft hum of jazz filling the air as couples sipped their wine and murmured in low, intimate tones. At a corner table, tucked away just enough for privacy yet still in view of the lively restaurant, Carol and George sat across from each other, drinks in hand, the energy between them crackling with unspoken tension.

Carol looked effortlessly stunning in a flowing sun dress, the fabric light and airy against her bare skin. George had made a simple request that evening--no panties--and she had obliged without question, knowing exactly what it would do to him. The knowledge that she was sitting there, legs crossed delicately, with nothing beneath that soft fabric had his thoughts spiraling, his imagination running wild.

She sipped her wine slowly, watching him from beneath dark lashes, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. "You've been distracted all night," she mused, her voice smooth and teasing.

George exhaled, adjusting his position in his seat. "Can you blame me?" he murmured, his gaze flickering down to where the hem of her dress barely brushed the tops of her thighs.

Carol's smirk deepened. She shifted slightly, letting the movement cause her dress to rise just a fraction, offering him a barely-there glimpse of what he so desperately wanted. But she wasn't done yet.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she slipped her foot from her clear high heel, the shoe landing softly beneath the table. George's eyes flickered down instinctively, but before he could react, he felt it--the smooth warmth of her bare foot brushing against his ankle.

He stiffened slightly, his hand tightening around his glass as Carol trailed her toes higher, grazing over his calf before pressing teasingly against his thigh.

"Carol..." he warned, his voice low.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence as she continued to sip her wine. "Yes?"

Her foot moved higher, the ball of it pressing just lightly against the growing hardness in his pants. She applied the faintest pressure before pulling away, only to repeat the motion, a maddening rhythm that sent a wave of heat coursing through him.

George swallowed hard, reaching for his drink, but even the smooth burn of whiskey couldn't distract him from the way she was tormenting him beneath the table.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, his voice thick with restrained desire.

Carol only grinned, wiggling her toes slightly against him, making him exhale sharply. "And yet, you love it."

He did. He hated how much he loved it.

As the waiter approached with their entrees, Carol withdrew her foot, slipping it back into her shoe as if nothing had happened. She met George's gaze, her expression utterly composed--except for the mischievous spark in her eyes.

George exhaled slowly, picking up his fork, but as he met her gaze across the table, one thing was clear--the night was far from over.

And Carol knew it.