Under His Spell (4 page)

They sat down opposite one another at the
small candlelit table, and Easton grinned.
 
“Glad you made it,” he said.

“Me too,” she replied.
 
Her heart was still beating fast, partly
from the embarrassment of coming back out to where she’d had that ridiculous
fall, and the other part was because of the way he was looking at her.

The waiter approached and Easton ordered
a bottle of wine and some cheese and crackers.
 
The waiter bowed slightly and left them.

“I feel very far away from you like
this,” Easton told her.
 

“Really?” she said.
 
“The table isn’t very big.”

“It’s too big for my tastes,” he said,
and then got up, dragged his chair directly next to hers.
 
He sat down so close that his leg was
pressing against her leg and his arm and shoulder were pressing against her as
well.

Her awareness of his body, his strong
physical presence, almost overwhelmed her.

Kennedy glanced at him from the side of
her eye.
 
“This is strange.
 
People will think we’re very odd for
sitting like this.”

“Why should I care what people think of
how I sit?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.
 
“I guess you shouldn’t.”

“And if I don’t care, then you don’t
care,” he said, his voice lowering.
 
“Remember why you’re here, Kennedy.”

A chill ran through her body.
 
“Why am I here?” she said, knowing it
would inflame him.

She felt his body tense against
hers.
 
“Fine, let me remind you,” he
said, “since you seem to have lost that incredible memory that got you into
MIT.”
 

Suddenly, Kennedy felt Easton’s hand
caressing her thigh.
 
The moment he
touched her under the table, she felt as though she was simultaneously melting
and turning to ice.
 
She was so
fragile, so brittle and yet so completely alive, so completely enthralled to
his every movement.
 
Her breath
caught in her throat and she swallowed, trying not to show the turmoil he’d
thrown her into by merely touching her leg.

The waiter approached their table again,
this time holding a bottle of wine.
 
As he was opening the bottle and pouring Easton a small sample to taste,
Easton continued to keep his hand on Kennedy’s thigh.

Slowly, Easton’s hand crept under the hem
of her skirt, and as the flesh of his palm contacted the bare flesh of her
upper thigh, Kennedy repressed a shudder and a moan of need, of want, of
desperate sexual desire that felt like it might shatter her into a million
pieces.

His
hand.
 
Oh, his hand on me, touching
me in front of all these people, in front of this waiter, pouring us wine, and
none of them know.
 
None of them
know a thing.

Sweat had begun to break out on her forehead,
and she had to control her facial expression not to clearly show the people
gathered at Cactus that she was in the throes of tremendous excitement.

I’m
going to come
, she
thought, and it was a mix of terror and hope that broke galloping through her
body, through her very nervous system, like wild horses breaking free and
running over the open plains.

Easton picked up the glass and slowly
tasted the wine, while simultaneously sliding his hand that much further up her
thigh, sliding higher and higher, and now his hand was nearing the top of her
leg.

The tips of his fingers wrapped down the
slope of her leg, closing into that very special, very private place that no
man had ever been.
 
His fingers were
so close now, that as far as Kennedy was concerned, he was touching her there
already.
 
The heat she felt was so
intense, she couldn’t even tell just how close he was, because she was now
feeling all the sensations of his hand, and she was suddenly wetter than she’d
ever been, and her bare slickness was pulsating with pleasure.

“This is very, very good,” Easton told
the waiter, but his voice was low and husky and his fingers were still moving
over her bare skin, edging slowly closer to the vee where her legs met, the
opening that was throbbing and dripping for him.

“Excellent, sir,” the waiter replied,
completely oblivious to what was happening right in front of him.

Easton sipped the wine again, and this
time he murmured a low humming approval.
 
“I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’m enjoying this right now,”
he said.
 
“It’s so delicate, so
beautiful and warm and…well…it’s very, very wet.”

Kennedy stifled a gasp, as Easton’s
fingertips finally touched the very edge of her most private place.
 
His fingertips must indeed have been
wet, for she was absolutely gushing for him.

She swallowed again, her mouth and throat
dry.

“I’m so glad you approve, Sir,” the
waiter said, pouring Kennedy and Easton full glasses and then setting the
bottle on the table.
 
“Can I get you
anything else at this time?”

Easton glanced at Kennedy, smiling as he
slid his fingers further onto her pussy, his eyes intense, predatory with his
own excitement—he knew what he was doing to her.
 
“Do you need anything, darling?” he
asked her.

She shook her head no over and over
again, her lips tight, pressed together as her entire lower body shook with a
minor orgasm.
 
She breathed in and
out through her nostrils, straining not to make a scene.
 
“No thank you,” she finally whispered.

“Very well then,” the waiter replied,
bowing slightly.
 
“Your food should
be out momentarily, enjoy.”
 

As he walked away from the table, Easton
called after him.
 
“We’ll enjoy it
more than you could possibly know.”

Kennedy opened her eyes.
 
She stared straight ahead.
 
Around her, she was certain people were
beginning to stare.
 

“I don’t…I don’t think this is a good
idea…” she muttered.

Easton’s fingers were sliding closer to
her slit now, pressing her bare pussy lips, creating waves of sensual pleasure
that flashed and rippled, making her tongue move inside her mouth, making her
moan deep in her throat even as she tried to resist.

“What’s not a good idea?” he asked
innocently.
 
“The wine is lovely.”
 

“I’m sure it is,” she said.
 
She lowered her gaze, not willing to
look at the people seated nearby, whose eyes she could feel on her, watching,
their faces masks of disgust.
 

Beneath the white linen tablecloth that
draped over their waists, ostensibly covering what was happening, Easton’s hand
worked its magic and Kennedy knew that people could guess the truth of it.
 

The other diners could tell because of
Kennedy’s face, the sweat beading on her forehead, the way Easton was sitting
and the movements of his arm as he maneuvered his hand closer and closer to her
center.

“Have some wine,” Easton told her.
 
“It’ll loosen you up.”

“I’m loose enough as it is,” she said.

“I don’t think so.”
 
He shook his head.
 
“You seem very…tense.
 
Or a better word might be tight.
 
Very, very tight.”

She inhaled sharply as his fingers
pressed directly on her slit, pressuring just hard enough to begin opening her
wet folds.
 
“Oh…oh…please…please…”
she whimpered.
 
It was so good and
yet so horrifying, she was losing control.
 
Her legs shuddered beneath the table, her hips arching against her own
will.

Kennedy opened her eyes and the world seemed
to blur before her.
 
She grabbed for
the wine glass and drank as fast as she could, hoping it might help.

The wine burned going down her throat,
that’s all she knew.
 
She didn’t
taste anything, she couldn’t.
 
All
of her awareness was focused on that narrow area where Easton’s hand was
enveloping, pressing, as if he knew her body better than she knew it herself.

“You’re very, very sexy, you know,”
Easton announced, as his fingers gained still deeper entry to her tunnel.

“I—I—I can’t talk right now,”
she whispered.
 
Her hands clutched
the side of the table as another orgasm ripped through her entire body, and it
was like heat that turned her entire soul to flame and burnt through until
there was nothing left.

I’m
going to pass out
, she
thought, opening her eyes and seeing spots for a moment.

“You’re talking,” Easton laughed
mischievously, “so I don’t believe you when you tell me you can’t talk.”

She licked her lips.
 
“People can tell.
 
They know what we’re doing.”

“Don’t be silly,” he murmured, leaning
his head so that his lips were almost touching her ear.
 
His warm breath caressed her ear and
tickled her neck, adding to the sensuality of what he was doing to her below.

It’s
like he’s fucking me right here in public
, she thought, and another orgasm crested, like a great
wave, and her hips bucked, forcing his fingers deeper into her, and now his
palm was somehow massaging her clit.

“You’re…you’re…what are you doing to me?”
she half-whispered, half-cried out.

“Keep your voice down,” he told her.

Now there really were heads turning, it
wasn’t just her imagination.

“I can’t…”

“You can and you will.”
 
As he spoke, his fingers fucked her
pussy, sliding in and out, in and out, in rhythm with her hips, and her legs
shook as she pushed off her heels to allow him access.
 
His hand rocked against her bare
slickness, hitting her clit and then his fingers would shoot down into her
hole, opening her, pressing through her folds, and her legs were so open wide
she couldn’t even believe it.

Kennedy’s breathing grew faster.
 
“Easton.”

“Relax, Kennedy.
 
Trust me.”

“I’m losing control.”
 
She tried to keep her voice
conversational but it was strangled from the emotion that was coming out, and
the intensity she was experiencing.
 
This was her first time being touched, and he was doing it in a public
place, and he was everything she’d ever wanted, and she could imagine sucking
his cock, imagine him pushing his big thick cock into her mouth and then into
her pussy, forcing his way inside just like his fingers were doing right now…

She was close to crying out, screaming,
and she wouldn’t be able to stop it.
 
She was closing in on an orgasm that defied description, the difference
between a ten or fifteen foot wave and a tidal wave, a wave so big and powerful
that it would annihilate everything in its path.

Kennedy felt panic rising in her
chest.
 
“We need to stop,” she
whispered, as the sweat began to trickle down her temple.

“No stopping until I say,” Easton replied
firmly.

His fingers continued to steadily and
rhythmically fuck her wetness, and now she could hear the seductive sounds of
it, and the heat was taking over, she was beginning not to even care
anymore.
 
Her hips rocked, her lips
opened, her belly tightened in anticipation of what was to come, of what she
desperately wanted.

Kennedy knew she only had a little time
left before she lost control and made a fool out of herself in front of all of
these classy people sipping fancy wine and tasting their tiny plates of
expensive modern food.

She was going to come, and she was going
to loudly yell, and everybody—everybody would know what had happened.

Maybe Easton didn’t really know what she
was capable of, maybe he didn’t care if he made a fool out of her.
 
But she cared.

Her entire life, she’d been trained to be
proper, to get good grades and keep her head down—and most especially, to
never be with a boy in such a way as to expose herself to ridicule.

She’d never even been with a man, never
had her privates touched.

And now this powerful, sexy, dynamo of a
man that she’d been wanting so badly was doing these things to
her—unspeakable things.
 
She
needed to take her control back.

But then she would lose him, lose Easton,
lose this relationship she’d been fighting for.

Trust
him, Kennedy.
 
How many times does
he have to ask you to trust him?