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She's about to take a mouthful of salmon to her lips when she feels warm fingers wrap around her thigh, just above the knee.
On any other day, Sam would've read it as a sweet, reassuring gesture from Mon. But after their conversation earlier, Sam knew that Mon had much more devious intentions.
The seats are close so it doesn't appear to give too much away. Her employees aren't particularly interested in Sam, either. Despite her improvements to the workplace in recent months, she's still their boss, the CEO, and she takes her role seriously which some employees don't respect enough in her humble opinion.
Mon helps, though. Mon is the mediator. Everyone loves Mon.
And Mon is chatting to everyone without a trace of suspicion as her index finger draws the smallest of circles on her skin.
They've been here a while already. Drinks are flowing. The music is louder than Sam likes, but it might save her from humiliation later on.
They sit at the corner of the table, in the corner of the restaurant where no one can see them; carefully selected by Mon. Sam sits in the very corner, with Mon to her left.
The thrill of imagining it makes her stomach churn.
She's often quiet during these meals, anyway, so she doesn't need to think too much about that. Mon, however, likes to chat with everyone. And Sam worries she's going to give herself away, especially with eyes on her, while her hand is beneath the table.
Would anyone have the nerve to say anything, though?
Slowly, Sam starts to eat again, almost forgetting that Mon's hand is there as she gets used to the sensation.
Until she takes a sip of wine.
Mon's hand moves at least an inch higher, her pinky finger now fully resting in the centre of Sam's thigh. She starts to scratch lightly, blunt nails etching into her skin.
She wants to inch her way down the chair slightly to encourage Mon to keep moving. But she can't.
Eyes flit to her employees, many of whom are starting to get tipsy now, and wonders just how far they can take this tonight. The mere thought of seemingly innocent Mon touching her beneath the table in a public restaurant in front of her employees is completely unfathomable, and she has to fist her knuckles into the napkin beside her to stop herself from pouncing on top of her.
Mon's pretty voice is against her ear then—the warmth of her breath tickling against her neck—and once more, her hand moves that little bit higher. “Is this okay?”
When she pulls back, her eyes flit to Sam's lips. They're slightly dilated, and Sam has to blink harshly to pull herself out of them. She nods eagerly. “Yeah, I'm good.”
“Boss is quieter than usual, today,” Chin remarks, pulling her attention from Mon, and Sam tries her best to not glare at him.
The rest of the table look over to her, and Sam realises it's her turn to speak. She flits her eyes to Mon, who looks at her expectantly, a small smile on glossy lips; a squeeze of her thigh, encouraging her to say something.
“I'm just... concerned about deadlin-”
Before she can even finish her sentence, the whole table groans exaggeratedly, Mon included.
“Small breaks from work is beneficial to success,” Mon says, rubbing her thumb in slow circles, and Sam wonders how she does this so effortlessly. The table agrees, but before the conversation can develop into one of work, they scramble to change the subject.
The next move from Mon draws a sharp breath from Sam as she edges closer to the apex of her thigh. The noise of jumbled voices drowns out the sound and no one bats an eye. Not even Yha, sitting opposite to Mon, who's caught them more times than Sam would like to admit.
Sam starts to let herself go a bit, then, tilting ever so slightly towards Mon's touch and parting her legs a little wider.
The skirt she wears tonight is loose, and Mon slips her hand beneath with ease.
Sam doesn't know how to act, so she does what she knows best: pours herself another large glass of wine with skittish fingers.
Again, no one notices, too focused on themselves and making each other laugh, and Sam can't fathom how surprisingly easy it is to get away with something so... scandalous.
It's easier to pretend she's enjoying a fulfilling meal than trying to make small talk. Everyone knows Sam likes her food, so every few minutes, she grabs another piece of salmon and eats it very, very slowly.
“Is it delicious?” Mon asks her.
Sam hums. Then looks down to see the strawberry gloss on Mon's pretty lips. “I can think of something more delicious, though.”
“Oh? Would you like desert?” Mon quips back innocently with a glint in her eye, and moves so high she's only centimetres from where Sam needs her most.
Sam's eyes flutter, and she reaches for another swig of wine.
No one here could possibly imagine the sweet, gentle, baby-faced Mon swirling a finger over Sam while she talks so casually with everyone. Not even Sam herself. So, when she does, Sam splutters the wine back into her glass and nearly chokes.
Almost everyone on the table turns their heads towards her, asking if she's okay, or what's wrong. Mon stills her hand, but doesn't remove it. And Sam is burning up like a forest fire.
“I'm fine,” she waves her hands in a fluster.
They still look at her with some concern, and she clears her throat. “I'm okay. Get back to wor- your meals. Drinks. Whatever you call it.”
Slowly, when people continue where they left off, Mon starts to move again. This time when she's not in the midst of taking a gulp of wine.
It's a gradual climb, and Sam has to sit patiently.
The touch is pleasant at first—manageable, almost—but it starts to become increasingly difficult. Especially when she feels Mon starting to drag her underwear to the side with hungry fingers.
It's agitating her, not being able to have Mon's eyes on her right this minute. She wants it. She craves it. But Mon can't give it to her. Not here. And Sam can't even say Mon's name in fears of it sounding like a moan.
So she continues to sit quietly and watches Mon as she loses herself in the sensation. A slow build that will end with Sam shuddering into the table with no way of hiding it.
She jerks when Mon changes the pace, and the new employee at the opposite end of the table glances at her.
“Keep still,” Mon murmurs in her ear before taking a sip of her drink.
I'm trying, Sam wants to reply as she grits her teeth together instead, taking long inhales through her nose and even longer exhales through her mouth in an attempt to keep herself sane.
Thankfully, Yha and Noi need to use the bathroom and want to order drinks just as Sam is getting painfully close. Once they stand, Sam's hand finds Mon's wrist beneath the table and she grips it forcefully, signalling that she's close. Mon can probably already tell by her rigid posture.
She's clutching at her chair with her free hand as she fixates on the tablecloth, trying so desperately hard not to buckle into Mon's touch as it starts to unravel.
All she wants is to taste Mon; to have Mon taste her.
Mon isn't even facing her. She's still talking with the rest of the table while she brings Sam to her peak.
The music is too loud. Her underwear is soaked through. The busy restaurant is booming with voices and laughter and the clinking of cutlery on dishes. It's all too overstimulating.
A glass shatters from another table, and Sam falls apart.
She gasps in time with the laughs as her heart hammers against her ribcage. Everyone's attention is on the accident across the restaurant, but Sam can barely comprehend it. She tenses, unable to stop her legs from twitching as nails dig into the chair so hard it will leave her with cramps.
Three firm swipes is all Mon gives her before she pulls her hand away, just before everyone turns their attention back to the table.
Sam sighs long and deep. Her cheeks are on fire. She can't look anyone in the eye.
“I need to use the bathroom, too,” Mon chirps, pulling her hand from Sam's thigh. When she leaves, Sam turns her swimming head to watch her walk away. The fingertips by her side catch the light and Sam gawks.
With a quick glance behind her, Mon finds Sam's eye, tilting her head as she opens the door.
Join me.
Sam doesn't need a second to think about it. She's already out of her chair and bolting towards the bathroom before Mon has even shut the door behind her.