11: Under the Table

Chloe closed the diary halfway, her pulse still uneven.

The last story had left her flushed, the kind of warmth that lingers not just in the body, but in the mind. Every page so far had been a confession, an echo of women who’d dared to speak about things she herself had never voiced out loud.

She set the diary on her lap, staring at its worn leather cover. Each story felt like stepping into someone’s secret and yet somehow, each one also felt like hers.

It was strange, how their words could awaken memories she didn’t know she’d buried. Moments she’d pretended never mattered.

A part of her wanted to stop. Another part, the part that pulsed low and alive whenever she turned a page wanted to keep going.

She took a deep breath and opened to the next story.

She began to read.

….

Episode 6: Under the Table

The dress he sent was silk, the color of deep wine. It shimmered faintly under the soft light of Diana's apartment as she held it up, unable to believe it was really hers.

They had only been talking for a few weeks, messages that started casually on a dating site, drifting into late-night conversations that stretched long past midnight. He was older, his words smooth and deliberate, never overdone. He didn’t chase attention; he drew it without trying.

When he said, “I’d like to take you somewhere nice,” she thought it was just another line. She hadn’t expected a courier to show up at her door that afternoon, holding a black box wrapped in ribbon. Inside: the dress, a pair of matching heels that fit perfectly, and a small envelope sealed in gold wax.

The note was written in gold ink:

Wear this. 8 p.m. The Ridge.

The words pulsed in her mind all evening.

Diana's stomach had fluttered all afternoon. She slipped into the dress, the silk clinging to her hips like a whisper of possession. The neckline dipped just enough to make her blush, and when she stepped into the heels, she almost didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. The woman staring back looked bold. Desired.

A black car he had sent to pick her up arrived right on time. She stepped in, lips painted, perfume soft, and her mind raced.

The Ridge was all glass and shadow, a restaurant perched above the city, suspended in light. Every detail gleamed: crystal glasses, flickering candles, the quiet hum of wealth.

He was already there when she arrived. He rose as soon as she stepped through the door. The sight of him, tall, elegant, his suit tailored to perfection sent her pulse racing. His eyes caught hers across the room, dark and certain, and something in that look made her forget how to breathe.

“Beautiful,” he said, pulling out her chair. His voice was low, smooth, confident, the kind of tone that carried a kind of authority that made her knees weak.

She thanked him, barely trusting her voice.

She slid into the seat, seated across from him, crossed her legs, and let her dress fall like water. His gaze was dark and fixed, lips curled into that infuriatingly calm smile.

She should have known that look meant trouble.

His leg brushed hers under the table. She shifted in her seat. Accidental, she told herself. But when his foot slid higher, slow and deliberate, her breath caught in her throat.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet.

“Trying to stay… composed,” Diana murmured.

He tilted his head, pretending to study the menu, but his foot had already found its way between her thighs, his toes parting them gently, wickedly until they pressed right where she was already pulsing. Her fingers clenched the edge of the table.

“Diana,” he whispered, so low only she could hear, “you’re already warm through your panties.”

A soft gasp escaped her, half breath, half moan. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes darting around, praying no one noticed. He was relentless. His toes moved in subtle, controlled motions, circles, slow pressure, just enough to drive her insane.

Then the waiter appeared.

“What would you like to order, ma’am?”

Diana opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled sound as he pressed harder, slow and unforgiving.

“Ma’am?” the waiter asked again, concern flickering in his voice.

“She’s alright,” he cut in smoothly, never breaking his gaze from her. “Bring her the same as mine.”

The waiter hesitated, then nodded and walked off. Diana let out the smallest exhale.

“Why couldn’t you say anything?” he asked, as if it were the most innocent question in the world.

“Maybe if you stopped doing that,” Diana hissed under her breath, “I might’ve been able to speak.”

He just smiled.

“Take them off,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“Your panties.”

He said it casually, sipping his wine, the bastard.

Adrenaline, heat, and defiance surged through her in one confusing, delicious rush. She shifted in her seat, slipped her hands beneath the table, and slid them off slowly. No one noticed.

She balled them up and passed them across to him under the tablecloth. He took them without a word.

Then, shamelessly, he brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply before pocketing them with that same unbothered smile.

She couldn’t believe him. And yet, she couldn’t stop the ache building inside her.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

He leaned back, all smooth confidence, as if he hadn’t just stolen her underwear and tucked it into his pocket like a souvenir. Diana crossed her legs tightly beneath the table, trying to suppress the lingering pulse he’d stirred in her.

“You didn’t even blink,” she whispered, leaning forward slightly, her voice sharp with disbelief and something else she couldn’t name. “You just… took them.”

He raised a brow, brushing his fingertips along the rim of his glass. “You handed them to me.”

“Because you…” She stopped, cheeks burning hotter than the wine in her glass. A quick glance around told her no one was paying attention. Somehow, that was worse.

He smiled wider, devilish. “Because I what, Diana?”

“You know what.”

“Say it,” he murmured, voice low and commanding but not loud, just intimate, like a whisper against her bare skin.

She took a shaky breath and didn’t answer.

He reached under the table again, the same precise, deliberate movement of his leg, his foot sliding between her calves, coaxing them apart once more. Her breath hitched.

“You’re still so wet,” he said, soft and maddening, watching her face as though he could read every twitch of her expression.

She was losing control. Right there in the middle of a restaurant. Families, couples, business dinners, all oblivious to what was happening beneath the pristine white cloth of their table. The illusion of normalcy only made it worse.

Then she felt his toes again, warm and smooth, pressing between her folds, unshielded now.

She gasped, gripping the edge of her chair. She was completely exposed to him. There was nothing between them now.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“You’re still trying not to make a sound,” he murmured. “Still trying to look so composed while I’m touching you like this.”

She bit down hard on the inside of her lip, trying to control the way her hips twitched forward into him.

And then, of course, the waiter returned.

“Here we are,” he said, placing their plates down. She barely heard him. All she could focus on was him not stopping, not even when the waiter leaned in to pour the wine, not even when she had to smile up at him, lips trembling, thighs shaking, her body on the verge of betraying her.

“Ma’am?” the waiter asked again, glancing down at her.

Diana forced the tightest smile she could manage. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible, praying he couldn’t hear the slight quiver in it.

As the waiter walked away, he finally withdrew his foot. The absence was almost worse than the teasing.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?” he said, picking up his fork like they were just another couple enjoying dinner.

She stared at him, furious, flushed, aroused beyond reason.

“You’re insane,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly. “You’re beautiful when you’re barely holding it together.”

She shook her head, half-laughing in disbelief, and picked up her fork, her hand trembling.

Leo leaned across the table slightly, his voice velvet-smooth. “Diana… I need your mouth on me. I’m so hard right now.”

Her breath caught. The air between them thickened, electric. She didn’t say a word because her body already had.