He thrusts his free hand under the pajama top to cup a breast. I sigh into his lips as I feel his strong fingers press into my flesh. He takes his time, thoroughly going to town on my mouth, groping my breast, teasing the nipple till I whimper. Unlike some of my past experiences, where the guy needs to start some kind of humping action soon. Instead, it’s me that starts grinding my pelvis into him, seeking to relieve the yearning between my legs.

Grabbing the back of my legs and without unlocking his lips from mine, he stands up and sets me on the table. We continue to kiss as he rubs my crotch. His pajama bottoms are damp there, and I feel slightly bad that I’ve soiled them, but one could argue that he started it. His hand both satiates and incites my need. I moan as desire coils in my belly.

He presses me down to the glass surface of the table, then pulls the shirt up above my head. Thinking he’s going to take it off, I lift my arms, but he leaves it halfway, covering my face.

“Don’t move,” he says as he holds my wrists down with one hand.

His other hand wanders over my body—breast, nipple, rib, abdomen. I can’t see anything through the pajama top, and the visual deprivation makes the sense of touch more poignant. He kneads a breast, then toys with the nipple until I’m squirming. Each time he tugs the hardened bud, the craving between my thighs throbs.

After pulling loose the drawstring, he slips his hand into the pants and combs his fingers through the hair at my mound before reaching for the wetness below. I gasp when he grazes my clit and softly moan as he strokes it. He rubs circles around the nub with his middle and forefinger. I groan when he hits the most sensitive spot, which he works until I’m a mess of desperation.

“Lift your hips,” he directs.

I don’t want him to stop for a second, but I do as he says. Still holding my wrists to the table with one hand, he pulls the pants off with his other. I’m cognizant that the food is still on the table, not far from me, which means I don’t have a lot of room to maneuver. I lie still as he binds my wrists with one of the pant legs. I feel the fabric tug and hear him wrapping what’s probably the other pant leg around something. A table leg or maybe the other captain’s chair at the end of the table.

For a few minutes, I lie immobile, wondering what he’s going to do next, hoping he’ll go back to fondling my clit. What’s he doing? Why is he waiting? Hello?

When I finally feel him, I gasp loudly. It’s his mouth on my nipple. For some reason, my nipple feels more sensitive than before. Fireworks of need go off in my lower body as he nibbles and sucks. I want to bring my feet onto the table so that I can bend my knees, but there’s probably not enough room as my butt is near the edge. Plus, I don’t want to knock over a dish.