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The restaurant hummed with soft jazz and the clink of crystal glasses—all warm amber lighting and white tablecloths, the kind of place where the waitstaff refilled water after every sip and the menus didn't list prices. Valko had chosen it, of course.
He sat across from me in a charcoal suit that pulled taut across his shoulders, one wolfish ear twitching beneath the glamour he'd woven for the humans around us. To them, he was just another absurdly handsome executive. To me—well, I could still see the faint shimmer of his tail curled possessively near my ankle under the table.
"You're staring, little hunter." His voice rolled low, rough at the edges like gravel wrapped in velvet.
"Maybe I'm just wondering how long you're planning to behave yourself."
That earned me a flash of canine teeth. "Who said anything about behaving?"
My retort died before it reached my lips.
Something stirred inside me—a low, buzzing hum that started deep and spread outward, vibrating through my pelvis like the plucked string of a cello. My fingers clamped around the stem of my wine glass. Valko's golden eyes didn't leave my face.
"Oh," I breathed.
"Mm." He lifted his own glass, the picture of nonchalance. "Good?"
Good wasn't the word. The vibrator nestled against my G-spot pulsed in slow, languid waves—nothing frantic, just a steady thrum that made my thighs press together under the tablecloth. He'd slipped the toy inside me an hour ago, right before we left the apartment, his fingers lingering as he'd murmured against my ear: You'll keep it in. You'll be patient. And when I decide you've earned it—
Now he was deciding.
"Have you looked at the menu?" Valko asked, as if my cunt wasn't clenching around silicone while a waiter approached our table.
I fumbled with the leather-bound booklet. "The—the seabass looks nice."
The waiter appeared at my elbow, a young woman with a bright smile and a notepad. "Good evening! Are we ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"
The vibration kicked up a notch.
My vision swam. I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, as the toy began a rhythmic press-release-press against that spot inside me that made my jaw want to unhinge. Heat flushed up my neck, across my cheeks, blooming under my dress like I'd been standing too close to a furnace.
"I'll—we need—" The words came out shredded.
"She'll have the seabass," Valko cut in smoothly, not even glancing at his own menu. "Extra lemon. I'll take the ribeye, rare. And another bottle of the Sangiovese."
"Excellent choices." The waiter scribbled. "And for starters?"
The vibrator shifted patterns—a flutter now, quick and teasing, like fingertips drumming against slick flesh. My clit throbbed in sympathy, untouched and aching. Under the table, my hips gave an involuntary little roll.
"Nothing for starters," Valko said. His gaze finally dropped to me, heavy-lidded and dark with something that made my stomach flip. "She's watching her appetite."
The waiter departed.
I exhaled like a drowning woman breaking surface. "Valko—"
"Shh." He didn't move, didn't reach across the table, just sat there with his forearms resting on the white linen and his attention fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room worth tracking. "You're doing beautifully. Keep your voice down, though. The couple at the next table is already curious about why such a pretty thing is squirming in her seat."
Pretty thing.
The praise licked down my spine, settling somewhere deep and hungry alongside the relentless buzz between my legs. I'd learned early that Valko's dominance wasn't about cruelty—it was about attention. The kind that pinned you in place and pried you open, layer by layer, until you couldn't remember what it felt like to be unseen.
"I can't—" I started.
"You can." His voice dropped impossibly lower. "You've taken worse from me, Luna. Remember last week? My knot stretching you open while you begged—"
A whimper escaped before I could trap it behind my teeth. The woman at the next table glanced over. I ducked my head, pretending to study the candle flame flickering between us.
"That was different," I managed. "We weren't in public."
"Public is exactly what makes this interesting." Valko's mouth curved. "Knowing anyone could see what I do to you. Knowing you're sitting there with your pretty cunt drenched and pulsing around a toy I'm controlling from my phone, and no one has any idea. Not the waiter. Not the sommelier. Not Mr. Chen over there celebrating his anniversary." He tilted his head. "How wet are you right now, little hunter?"
The question punched through me. My inner walls spasmed, and I could feel it—the slickness soaking the toy, probably ruining my underwear, maybe even seeping through to the velvet seat beneath me. The thought should have been mortifying. Instead, it made my nipples tighten into hard peaks against the silk of my dress.
"Soaking," I admitted, barely audible.
"Good girl."
The vibration surged.
Not faster—deeper. A low, rumbling frequency that seemed to resonate through my entire pelvic floor, buzzing against my cervix while the curved tip of the toy hammered my G-spot with merciless precision. My thighs clamped together. My hips jerked. A moan built in my throat, and I barely smothered it by biting down on my knuckle.
"Don't hide from me." Valko's tone sharpened just enough to cut through the fog. "Hands on the table."
I obeyed before my brain caught up with the command. My palms flattened against the linen, trembling and empty, nothing to grip, nothing to ground me while the toy fucked me in slow, devastating pulses.
"Your clit," he murmured. "Is it aching?"
"God, yes—"
"Say it properly."
"Valko." His name came out raw, scraped clean of dignity. "My clit is—it's throbbing. I can feel it every time the toy shifts. I need—I need something against it, anything—"
"You need what I decide you need." But his voice gentled, warmed with that undercurrent of devotion he only ever showed me. "You're so close already, aren't you? I can see it in your face. That flushed, desperate look you get right before you fall apart."
The waiter returned with our wine.
My whole body locked up. The toy kept pulsing—kept grinding against that devastating internal spot—and I had to sit there while a stranger uncorked a bottle, offered Valko the cork, poured a splash for tasting. My chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid pants that I couldn't disguise.
"Excellent," Valko pronounced, and the waiter filled both glasses before departing again.
I didn't touch my wine. Couldn't. My hands were shaking too hard.
"Please," I whispered. "Please, I'm going to—"
"Going to what?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that I could smell him—cedar and amber and something wilder underneath, like a forest at dusk. "Say it. Tell me exactly what's about to happen."
The vibrator changed rhythm again: three quick pulses, a pause, three more. My hips rolled shamelessly now, grinding down against the chair, seeking friction that wasn't there. My clit felt swollen enough to split, desperate for attention, and the constant pressure against my G-spot had built something inside me that was about to shatter wide open.
"I'm going to come," I gasped. "Right here. In front of everyone. I can't stop it, I—"
"You're not supposed to stop it." His hand found mine under the table, threading our fingers together. His palm was warm, grounding, the touch of an anchor in a storm. "I want you to soak that pretty seat. I want you to leave a mess only we know about. Then I'm going to take you home and lick every drop of it from your thighs."
The words broke something loose.
My climax didn't build—it detonated. A sudden, white-hot detonation that started at the base of my spine and ripped upward, stealing my breath, blanking my vision, arching my back hard enough that my breasts pressed against the table's edge. The toy kept thrusting through it, merciless and rhythmic, and I heard myself make a sound—something between a sob and a keen, trapped behind clenched teeth—
And then the gush came.
Hot. Wet. Spraying against the toy, soaking my underwear entirely, splashing against my inner thighs and seeping warm and copious onto the velvet beneath me. My cunt clamped down on the silicone in rhythmic, milking pulses—one, two, three—each one forcing another surge of liquid that I couldn't control, couldn't slow, couldn't hide.
The jazz played on. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed two tables over.
No one looked at us.
Valko's thumb stroked slow circles against my palm. His expression was reverent, almost awed—a worshipper witnessing something holy, if worshippers looked at their gods like they wanted to devour them whole.
"My Luna," he breathed. "Look at what you did for me."
I slumped forward, gasping, cheeks burning, thighs sticky and trembling. Under the table, something warm dripped onto the floor.
"I made a mess," I managed, voice wrecked.
"Yes." He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles, gaze never leaving mine. "You made a beautiful mess. And we're not leaving until dessert."