Page 44 of Break the Ice

His interest reads all over his face. I’ve not only caught his attention, I’ve managed to hold it. “If you ever want to give sports media at Channel 8 some thought, reach out. I can probably get you something in the department.”

“Maybe once I’m all wolfed out,” I answer to his laugh.

He leans in slightly closer to continue our exchange. I’m more than happy to chat some more until I squeak at the sudden buzz in my panties. The toy has gone from a cool little bullet lying still to a nuisance buzzing against my clit.

My squeak is sharp and abrupt. I flinch in my chair and grip the table.

Perplexed, Mr. Bluth frowns. “Are you feeling okay, Ms. March? You look feverish.”

“Hmmm? Oh,” I stutter, licking at my lips. I grip the table and cross my legs underneath. The buzzing’s only gotten stronger, as if Rafe’s dialed up the intensity.

Where is he anyway?

I scan the dining room floor of the Gourmande in wild hope I’ll pick him out. As far as I can tell, he’s nowhere in the room.

The vibration in the little egg ticks up another notch.

A sweat breaks out onto my skin. I squeeze my legs tight and urge myself to ignore how good it feels. The vibrator buzzes away even as I try to focus on the conversations around the table. My pussy pulsates and tingles in warning of an orgasm.

I grab hold of a glass of water and swallow several icy mouthfuls. Something, anything, to cool me off. Make me feel a different sensation than the vibrations inside my panties.

Fuck you, Rafe! This is humiliating!

“Does anyone hear that?” asks another media mogul, Mr. Leichtman. “It sounds like a faint buzzing sound almost?”

Several other people around the table pause to listen for the sound.

I clear my throat and say, “I’m much more preoccupied with Mr. Hawk’s disappearance.”

It’s like throwing a slab of meat into a cage of lions. One of the media’s current fixations, the whole table jumps on the topic. Each outlet’s representative has different opinions or information they claimed to have received from sources.

I sit in torture as everyone falls deep into discussion. Even Mr. Bluth has stopped noticing me and the way I squirm in my seat.

My eyes close and I scrape teeth over my lips as the vibration strikes a good note. The vibrations have stimulated my clit enough that I’m seconds away from coming. Pleasure lingers right on the edge. Right about to give me relief.

Heat rolls over me. My heart pounds faster. My body floats as one powerful tingling wave. I grip the table and clutch my thighs together tight and surrender to the vibrations. The tightness of my thighs, the buzzing against my clit, I come hard and fast at the restaurant table.

I forget that’s where I am—pleasant, tingly feelings crash over me. The aftereffects are like being drugged. I’m slow on the uptake as to what’s just happened.

The buzzing sounds louder, more obscene than ever, as I open my eyes and look around. The topic of Mr. Hawk’s disappearance lives on in impassioned glory. Everyone’s embroiled in the discussion. No one’s noticed I was just orgasming off in the corner.

Except for Mr. Bluth.

I catch his eye and feel my face warm. He’s frowning at me like he was earlier, as though he suspects what’s happened, but won’t voice it aloud.

“E-excuse me,” I stutter, pushing back my chair. I don’t make it far across Gourmande before my phone pings with a text.

Meet me in the garden

14. Rafe

Icatch Marisse on her scurry for the bathroom. My fingers tighten around her wrist and I drag her toward the garden. She’s still flustered from the orgasm I gave her at the table.

I had resisted the urge to fuck with her at first.

Marisse had sat down at a table of media professionals—many men old enough to be her father—and had thrown a paranoid glance around Gourmande. She was searching for me.

Little did she know, I was on the dining room floor all along. My wall of security hid me from view.