Page 8 of Secret Submission

“You’re thinking too hard,” Mistress Julie said, rapping the back of his knuckles with the spoon. It didn’t hurt that much, but the sting was enough to jolt him back to the present and her very enjoyable company.

“Sorry.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Sometimes, it’s hard to turn my brain off.”

“Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but right now, I’d rather you were focused on feeling instead of thinking.” She smiled back at him, and he caught it right before the lights completely went dark.

Music started to throb through the room and the lights on the stage lit up, bright and focused on that one area. With the sheers drawn, it would now be next-to-impossible to see into their booth, even from the stage. If anyone even wanted to make the attempt.

Fingers slid into his hair, and Connor almost groaned as she tugged gently on his scalp.

“Under the table, Connor. I want you to start at my ankles and work your way up to dessert.”

Oh, fuck.

His dick hadn’t gone down while she was feeding him, but somehow, he was even harder than before.

And he had to get under the table?

He wasn’t sure he would fit, but if that’s where she wanted him, he was going to try his best to make it work. Especially because there was a prize at the end of the effort. He hadn’t imagined she would be willing to go nearly this far, but now that he knew it was possible, he was eager to take it there.

Taking a deep breath, he began to sink down, twisting slightly to fit his bulk under the table and turning to face her. One hand was still in his hair, and he heard the muffled clink of silverware against glass, letting him know that she was eating the last bite of cake.

While he was under the table about to eat her.

Why that felt so deliciously exciting, he didn’t know, but it sent an unexpected thrill through him.

Shifting back, he felt her let go of his hair with reluctance, but he needed the room to maneuver if he was going to start at her ankles. It was nearly pitch black under the table, only the faintest hint of light coming from the stage. He was missing the entire show, and he didn’t care at all.

Sliding his hands down her legs, he lifted one and pressed a kiss to her ankle, sliding his tongue over her smooth skin. He began moving his mouth with slow, hot kisses up to her knee, then he switched to the other side. It wasn’t easy. He was bent over uncomfortably, he felt completely squished, he couldn’t see what he was doing, and the throbbing music made it hard to tell if she was reacting or not, yet…

Yet he was already happier than he’d ever been when he was in charge of a scene.

Despite all that, his dick was throbbing in time with the music, and he didn’t care one whit about the discomfort. He just wanted to make Mistress Julie happy with him. This felt… good. Right. He’d been given a mission, and all he had to do was accomplish it.

All the thoughts that had been swirling around his mind disappeared as he focused on moving his mouth up her legs, his hands caressing at the same time. As he reached the edge of her skirt, her fingers slid back into his hair, and she pulled up the hem of her skirt with the other hand. Her body slid forward, legs parting, though he was still cramped because of his broad shoulders and did not fit easily between her legs.

His back and head bumped the underside of the table, but he didn’t care.

Breathing in the sweet scent of her arousal, he was focused on one thing and one thing only—his promised dessert. Not that he rushed things. This was about her pleasure.

His mouth moved over her inner thighs, getting closer and closer until he was able to finally taste her. She tasted as good as she smelled. Connor groaned, pushing his head forward, his shoulders moving her legs wider. He bumped the underside of the table again and ignored the thud as he finally reached the promised land. Over the music, he could hear her moan as his tongue slipped between her folds, the sweet flavor of woman coating his taste buds.

Fuck, he liked hearing her moan because of him.

Eagerly, he pressed inward, not caring about the humid air that was hard to breathe. Who needed air anyway? He just needed this. He felt more alive, more engaged, more free than in any scene he’d ever done.

Burying his mouth in her pussy, he feasted.

Julie

Though she was trying to keep quiet, to preserve some semblance of secrecy about what she and Connor were doing—just in case the occupants on the booths on either side of them were paying any attention—it wasn’t easy. Partly because she wanted him to know he was doing a good job and partly because he really was doing a very good job.

It was very distracting.

As good a show as Patrick was putting on, wrapping Lexie in a rope dress and preparing to lift her into the air, Julie was having trouble watching it. She was far more interested in the massive man kneeling at her feet, eating her out like a starving man, who kept banging into the table and not pausing in his efforts. It was a good thing the tables were bolted to the floor, or he probably would have shifted the whole thing.

Julie shuddered, moaning again as his tongue laved over a particularly sensitive spot. One hand gripped his hair, the other gripped the table. She was too short to truly be able to lean back against the back of the booth—the seats were made particularly wide for a reason—but she was leaning back as much as she could to give Connor as much access to her pussy as possible. Her thighs trembled slightly at the stretch necessary to accommodate his shoulders.

If she could have put them over his shoulders, she would have, but being in the booth only allowed for certain positions. Especially with as big as he was.