Health Codes
I squirm in my seat, gripping the edge of the table as I try to keep my breathing under
control.
Zaid smirks at me from his seat, taking a sip of his water.
The restaurant is beautiful. Dim lighting, candlelit tables, and deep red roses in crystal vases. Everything about it screams romance, but nothing about a plug in my ass and a wet pussy feels romantic.
It’s torture.
I’m aching.
So tense and yet trembling at the same time.
I try to focus on the elegance, on how nice it is that Zaid took the time to choose such a
niche place, but I can’t.
I look down at my arms, noticing the way my hair stands up and how my skin breaks out into goosebumps. My clit pulses and my ass tightens around the plug.
“How wet are you?” Zaid mutters against the glass of his cup.
I shoot him a glare. I want to fuck him and then kill him. Then revive him so I can fuck
him again and then kill him again.
He’s driving me to the end of my patience and he’s doing it while looking like the most delicious man alive. That black button–up that hugs his broad shoulders too perfectly, his
dark hair effortlessly draping across his forehead, and his deep, unreadable eyes locked on
mine like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
And he does.
I breathe in slowly through my nostrils. “Enough to make me wonder if we are
committing a crime. This has got to break some health codes.”
He chuckles, chuckles like he isn’t fucking with me in every way imaginable.
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He enjoys making me unravel, enjoys seeing my breath hitch, my fingers tighten around my glass, my thighs press together under the table.
And it bothers me so fucking much that I love it.
Love the anticipation, love the adrenaline.
It’s infuriating. But it works.
I pick at my food, my appetite for food nonexistent. My nerves are frayed, my skin too warm despite the cool air of the restaurant. My little black dress, thin straps, silky fabric barely skimming my thighs, was a bold choice, but now I feel bare under his gaze, like he’s already undressing me in his mind.
His eyes drop to my chest, and I follow his gaze.
“Fuck,” I breathe out when I notice how hard my nipples are and how much they push against the silk fabric.
Zaid’s eyes turn even darker. “You’re a sight. Perfection wrapped in that black little bow
you call a dress.”
“Zaid,” I practically beg. “Please. I can’t.”
He inhales a hissing breath. “Yes you can, baby. I’m so fucking hard right now; you’re not
alone.”
My skin breaks out into goosebumps. “Please. We can just meet in the bathroom, or go to
your car. Please.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Zaid murmurs, his voice low, amused.
I roll my eyes, stabbing a piece of steak with my fork. “There’s a lot of fun in that.”
He smirks, taking a bite of his food. “Are you thinking about what I told you to?”
My breathing turns shallow as I ignore the throbbing my clit is doing.
“Are you imagining Aiden slipping his cock inside your wet pussy?”
Fuck. I look around to make sure no one is watching us, to make sure no one can notice
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the way I’m basically hanging on by a thread.
“Are you imagining what it will feel like to have my cock inside your-”
“Zaid!” I whisper–yell, breathing in deeply through my nostrils.
He chuckles, his shoulder shaking. I’m going to kill him when we get out of here.
I need a distraction. A topic that won’t make me combust in the middle of this restaurant.
I set my fork down and glance at him. “What are your plans for after high school?”
His smirk falters slightly, his expression shifting. He leans back in his chair, exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
I wait for him to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, I tilt my head. My ass tightens around my plug, but I try not to show it in my face. Instead, I just clear my throat. “You’ve never thought about it?”
“I mean, I used to.” He shrugs, rolling the edge of his napkin between his fingers. “Basketball was the only thing I really cared about, but then… after my injury, after my mom…I stopped looking for something else.”
Something tightens in my chest. I understand that feeling; of having something you love
suddenly feel different. Hollow.
He looks back at me, dark eyes swirling with so many emotions. “What about you?”
I let out a soft breath, swirling my drink in my glass. “I was into art. My dad was a painter, so I grew up drawing, painting, sketching, anything, really.”
Zaid frowns as if he’s thinking and my throat suddenly becomes dry. “But after he and
Alex died, it never felt the same.”
Zaid watches me, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “That explains the morbid sketches you had in your journal when we
first met.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, God. You remember that?”
He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “I remember everything about you.”
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My cheeks heat, but I manage to keep talking. “That’s the most I’ve drawn in the past
year.”
His smile softens into something gentler. He doesn’t press further, but I can tell he’s thinking about it.
We finish our meal, talking about things that don’t feel so heavy, music, movies, but the tension between us never fades. If anything, it builds.
More with every passing second.
More with every clench of my thighs.
By the time we stand to leave, I’m out of breath. My knees are weak and my legs tremble. Zaid keeps me up with his arm around my waist and he presses a kiss to the crown of my
head.
I bury my fingers into the skin of his stomach, wanting to hurt him.
He chuckles as he gives his ticket to the valet. “Are you really that wound up?”
I look up at him, steadying my breath. “Yes.”
He brushes my hair off of my forehead, cupping the back of my neck and my jaw between
his hands. He presses a kiss to my lips, but I need more of him.
So much more.
I press my tongue into his mouth and he opens up for me, devouring my mouth with his
own. We kiss for what seems forever when suddenly someone clears their throat.
We step away from each other, struggling to breathe, and Zaid grabs the keys from the
valet. He walks me to my seat in silence and we make our way back home.
