Free Slow Surrender by Cecilia Tan Page B

body,” he said, holding one tender flake of fish on his fork, “is a gateway.” He seemed to consider his words. “I am trying not to sound overly mystical about it. But any part of you could be the key that unlocks the floodgate of pleasure bottled inside. There are the obvious parts, and there are the not so obvious.”
    He set down his fork and put his hand palm up on the tablecloth, a clear invitation to put my hand in his. I placed it on top of his without further prompting. His middle finger drew a slow circle on my palm. Then he slid his hand back a little, interlacing our fingers. Two of them spread mine ever so slightly while his middle finger probed the soft flesh where my finger and palm met. It felt like he had spread my legs and was teasing my crotch, with his nose, with his tongue, with his cock? It could have been all of the above.
    I had a feeling I was going to leave a wet spot on the seat. I pressed my legs together and licked my lips.
    Then he let my hand go, and I wondered if he was throbbing the way I was. He finished what was on his plate, and I did the same, though my appetite now was for something else entirely.
    I took a glance at the other diners. None of them were paying any attention to us now.
    “You know, there are advantages to the obvious things, too.” I felt bold saying it, even though “obvious things” was a euphemism for sexual parts, the one he had used a short while ago. That was the point, that we had a language that we shared only between us, that made me feel even closer to him than before. Closer to him than I’d felt to anyone, even though I didn’t know who he was. Not knowing, not needing to introduce him to my friends or family, not worrying about what he might say to people about me was liberating. I could be bolder than I could when I was trying to be what people expected. He expected bold. He expected sexual.
    “Are there?”
    “Well, I assume so,” I said, trying to think of how to say what I wanted to without coming right out and saying, Touch me, touch me, touch me.
    Maybe the expression on my face and the hungry cant of my body said all I needed to. I felt something against my knee. At first I thought it was his hand, but I could see both his hands. It was the sole of his foot, insinuating itself between my knees. I spread them apart, and his foot slid along my inner thigh from where the stocking covered to where it didn’t. Eventually it came to rest against my bare mons. I hadn’t noticed him slipping off his shoe and sock under the table, but his foot felt completely bare.
    He vibrated his foot and I had to swallow a moan. “Thank you,” I whispered.
    After the salad course, I wriggled a bit more, spreading myself open on the edge of his foot. One of his eyebrows twitched as if he was surprised I would be so forward. I hoped my squirming wasn’t too obvious to the other diners. I pretended to look around at the decor while I ground my clit up against his skin.
    “If you can come, you should, only if you can do so silently, without tipping off the other guests to what we’re doing,” he said with a pleasant smile.
    A busboy came and refilled our water glasses. I waited until he had gone before answering. “I don’t think I can come that easily,” I said. “But I’m enjoying it.”
    “Good.”
    I don’t even remember the main course. I remember him pumping his foot gently up and down. The puddle on my seat was going to be huge.
    And he was surely going to leave a huge tip. I stopped worrying about it.
    “Are you interested in dessert?” he asked after our dishes had been whisked away.
    “I’m interested in some sweet indulgence,” I said, trying to be witty. “And I’m not referring to the sugary kind.”
    He grinned. “I enjoy indulging you.” He took out his phone and thumbed a text message one-handed. “Go visit the restroom, which is right through there.” He pointed somewhere behind me and withdrew his foot from my crotch.