Sitting in a booth made of cheap red vinyl, every move I made was advertised for the entire restaurant to hear. I shifted again, grimacing as the seat creaked beneath me. “Something wrong?” Kennedy’s devilish little smirk said he knew exactly what was wrong, and I longed to reach across the table and smack him. Or kiss him. I was torn. At the apartment, I’d taken my sweet time getting ready, just to see if Kennedy would make good on his threat. He hadn’t disappointed. I was halfway through blow drying my hair when he appeared behind me in the mirror. One look was all he gave me, and then I found myself face down on the counter, my boobs smashed against the Formica and my jeans around my ankles as he pumped into me from behind. Kennedy was an animal. I’d never been with someone so sexual, or so open about it. He took me a second time on the middle of the bathroom floor, then, after setting us both right again, he took my hand and led me out.
