12: Under the Table(2)

Diana raised a brow, biting back a smile. “Say please,” she teased, tilting her head as if inspecting her wine.

The glass caught the dim restaurant light, shimmering like temptation itself.

His eyes darkened instantly, a subtle shift, like thunder rumbling behind calm clouds.

“Please,” he said slowly, each syllable dipped in heat. “Baby Diana.”

The nickname made her stomach twist, too sweet, too dangerous. It rolled off his tongue like a secret meant only for the space between them. She swallowed the heat rising in her throat and gave the smallest nod, her lashes lowered just enough to be coy. Then she slipped out of her chair with practiced grace, her movements fluid, like silk slipping off skin.

The tablecloth offered enough cover, and the ambient murmur of the dining room cloaked the soft rustle of motion as she knelt beneath the table. The thick fabric brushed the back of her neck as it fell into place behind her, sealing her in a private world beneath the glittering formality of dinner.

He shifted in his seat slightly, the leather creaking under him, guiding his legs apart. She let her fingertips rest on his thighs featherlight, teasing before moving with slow certainty. She unfastened his belt carefully, her breath steady, then lowered the zipper with the same reverence. The sound of metal sliding down teeth felt louder in the hush beneath the table. Above her, his breath hitched.

The heat of him pulsed against her lips. He was hard, straining, and she didn't hesitate. She let her mouth close over him in one long, decadent motion, tasting the salt of anticipation, the proof of how much he'd wanted this. His hand gripped the edge of the table with quiet violence. His body was still, but she could feel its tension like a drawn bowstring, humming with the threat of release.

She worked slowly at first, deliberately, letting each motion mirror the rhythm he'd used on her earlier that evening when his fingers had played her like an instrument under the table's edge. Now it was her turn to pull the strings, to be the puppet master beneath the pristine linen.

"A taste of your own medicine," she murmured against him, barely audible. "Now you know how it feels."

His reply was a low, strangled growl that turned into a forced cough when he realized a waiter was approaching. She paused, lips resting against him, heart suddenly racing.

"Sir?" The voice was polite, tentative. "Excuse me... where's the lady?"

He cleared his throat, masking a shudder. "She went to the restroom," he said, eyes locked ahead.

There was a pause. "Ah. Of course. Would you like any dessert after this?"

His jaw twitched. "N-not really," he said, and his voice cracked just slightly.

She pressed her tongue firmly against him, savoring the way his thigh jerked in response, just enough for her to notice. Her mouth moved again slowly, deeply, and confidently. She wanted to hear his restraint fray, to make him squirm in silence while strangers bustled around them, oblivious.

"Sir?" the waiter asked again, his tone politely confused. "Are you alright?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Yes. Everything is... fine. Just go. I'll call you if I need anything."

The waiter hesitated. She imagined him frowning, probably concerned by his flushed face or his unnaturally still posture, but he moved on after a moment.

They were alone again.

Above her, she felt him shift. His fingers gripped the table's edge, white-knuckled. The rhythm of his breathing was frayed and uneven. She could tell he was right on the edge, unraveling his composure a fraying rope she was sawing through with every slow, sultry drag of her lips.

She reached up, tracing the sensitive skin along his hip with the backs of her nails. He shuddered, one knee twitching involuntarily. She wasn't just taking him, she was reminding him who had the power now.

And then, just as quickly, he tugged gently on her shoulder, a warning. The signal was clear.

She stopped.

Not out of submission, but out of control. He might've worn the suit, paid the bill, and ordered the wine, but he was the one trembling beneath the table now. She gave one last slow flick of her tongue before pulling away completely, letting her breath cool his damp skin as she eased back.

He fastened himself hastily, hands fumbling for a moment. For someone as calculated as he, the brief lapse in composure was rare. His face was flushed in a way no one else would notice, but she would remember. A raw, human flush beneath that crisp exterior. He pushed his chair back a little too quickly and stood, clearing his throat.

"Restroom," he muttered to no one in particular, striding off stiffly.

She waited a beat, then two. The silence beneath the table felt thick with satisfaction.

Finally, she emerged, smoothing her dress, brushing invisible dust from her knees. She slid back into her chair like a queen reclaiming her throne, her movements elegant and deliberate. She picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip, letting the warmth linger on her tongue.

Across the restaurant, the chandeliers glittered. Silverware clinked. Laughter rose from another table, unaware, unbothered.

She smiled to herself.

This dinner was going to be unforgettable.

He returned minutes later, composed but not calm. His suit jacket was off now, folded over one arm, a flush still lingering at the tips of his ears. He sat without a word, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before darting away.

"Welcome back," she said smoothly, taking another sip of wine. "Everything okay?"

He gave a small chuckle, low and tight. "You're evil."

"I've been called worse."

He narrowed his eyes. "You know exactly what you're doing."

She leaned in a little, lowering her voice. "You asked for it, remember? You said Please…"

His breath caught for a moment. That one word thrown back at him changed the whole vibe between them.

He exhaled slowly, looking more composed. But she could tell he was still rattled underneath.

"Do you want dessert?" she asked, glancing at the untouched menu in front of us. "Something rich and indulgent. Sweet enough to finish you off?"

He blinked, then looked away, his jaw tight. "You already did."

She smirked and put the menu down. A few moments passed in silence, the sounds of the restaurant buzzing around them, chatter, laughter, glasses clinking like the world hadn't stopped.

“Tell me,” he murmured “Are you always this brave?”

Her voice barely came out. “Only when I want to be.”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “Then I’ll have to test that.”

By the time they left the restaurant, the world outside felt sharper, more alive. The air was cool against her flushed skin. He took her hand as they walked toward the waiting car, his thumb brushing over her wrist, a silent promise of what the night would become.

She didn’t resist. She didn’t want to.

That was the night she learned that desire could hide in plain sight even under a table, in a room full of strangers.

….

“Oh my God,” Chloe whispered, half laughing, half breathless as she shut the diary for a moment, pressing it against her chest. “I love these two. They’re insane.”

She leaned back on her bed, eyes still wide from what she’d just read. “First of all…” she said out loud, as if Diana could hear her from the pages, “…the man teases her under the table? She couldn’t even answer the waiter, and she’s sitting there trying to look normal while going through that kind of pleasure?”

Chloe groaned, grinning, burying her face in the pillow for a second. “Such a hot, evil man. But shout out to my girl Diana, though… she gave him back hot hot!”

She laughed harder, shaking her head. “He even had to run to the restroom to finish off so he wouldn’t embarrass himself out there. Oh God…”

The image made her giggle uncontrollably. “And the poor waiter,” she added, wiping tears from her eyes. “He had no idea what was going on, and he just kept asking if they were alright. Only God knows what was going through his mind.”

Chloe let out a deep sigh, smiling at the ceiling. “I love this for both of them. I swear, they’ll never forget that night, no matter what.”

Her voice softened. “I just wish I knew what happens to them after this. I hope they actually end up together… they feel like such a perfect match.”

She glanced down at the closed diary, her fingers tracing the embossed cover as though she could feel the pulse of the story still living inside. Her heart beat a little faster, part envy, part longing, part wonder.

Slowly, she opened to the next page.