Saving Me

Game On Part 2

Matt's POV:

Why was it that when you were anticipating something, time seemed to stand still? I knew that wasn't physically possible, but damn if it didn't feel like it as she sat across from me at the small table in the back corner of the Italian restaurant. I watched as she practically inhaled her pasta, clearly in a rush to finish dinner. My only hope was that she planned on skipping dessert. Not that I thought she needed to—because hell no—but I didn't know if I could handle another minute of her moaning as the taste of the food blossomed on her tongue. Lord knows I'd done my own moaning tonight.

Even after eating the most delicious shrimp Alfredo I'd ever had, there was only one taste still on my tongue—the taste of her juices from earlier, when I'd dipped my finger inside her. No matter how hard I tried to think about anything else, that taste mixed with the image of her bare breasts in the middle of the parking lot had left me with a hard-on I was damn thankful the white tablecloth helped hide. Then again, with how desperate I was to have her beneath me, was it even arousal anymore? Or was it something much bigger? Is there anything bigger than arousal?

Need.
Yeah, I was in serious need—of her, of her body, of the pleasure I knew we'd give each other.

Sitting across from her as my mind raced with every delicious possibility, I watched her fidget in her chair. I was curious, sure, but that curiosity was quickly satisfied when she reached a hand onto the table, her fist closed.

"Give me your hand," she said softly.

Lifting my hand, she slipped something into my palm and then closed my fingers around it. Based on the feel of the fabric, I knew what it was. But just to confirm, I lowered my hand to my lap and opened it.
Yep. There it was. The tiny lace thong she'd been wearing just moments ago.

The animalistic side of me wanted to lift it to my nose and inhale deeply, but the gentleman in me shoved them into my pocket for safekeeping. Much like in the movies, I raised my hand to silently signal the waiter that we were ready for the check.

Can you blame me?

My girlfriend was sitting across from me, pantyless, and I knew for a fact she was just as ready as I was to take this little party over to the hotel and finally go at each other like we were both craving.

It might've only been a few minutes before the waiter returned with the check and ran my card, but time seemed to stretch again like it was messing with me. When I chanced a glance at Stormy, I saw the flush in her skin and a small, knowing smirk tug at her lips. She saw the hunger in my eyes. She thought she was going to win this little game.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I couldn't have her in the middle of the restaurant, but the ride to the hotel and the elevator? Fair game. Just thinking about the elevator reminded me of those Fifty Shades of Grey movies I'd heard so much about and eventually caved in and watched. Boy, did Ebony have a field day with my ass when she found out—not only had I watched the movies, I'd read the books. She found them one day while helping me switch out my blackout curtains for some that were "more aesthetically pleasing," whatever the hell that meant.

When the waiter returned with my card, I nearly snatched it out of his hand and scribbled my signature across the line, tossing in a generous tip. Anyone who saw the way I reached for Stormy's hand and tugged her behind me knew exactly what was on my mind. Ask me if I cared.

With her small hand in mine, I wove us through the tables and out to my truck. Every fiber of my being wanted to rip that dress off her and take her right there. But that would mean she'd win this round—and I wasn't a quitter. I damn sure wasn't a loser. So instead of slamming my mouth down over hers, I opened the door and lifted her into the seat, forcing myself to pull my hands away before my dick told my brain otherwise.