IrisI obeyed and sidled closer to the edge of the booth, heart hammering. Shy heat burned across my face as I started grinding against the couch seat, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles the way I had that day. The fabric of my panties dragged against the leather, friction building fast, and I looked away, too embarrassed to meet anyone’s eyes.“Look toward the open, darling,” Dmitri said, voice low and firm. “Where the other people are.”I forced my gaze outward, toward the tables and the movement of strangers, the risk of being seen making every shift of my hips sharper. He told me to tell him what I’d been thinking of then. My voice came out unsteady as I spoke—how his words that day had stayed with me, how I’d imagined his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at me across the room while I chased the pressure against the seat.Every moment wound me tighter. The grind grew more urgent, my breath hitching, thighs trembling. He watched, patient and intent, then told me to fi
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