He does indeed

"That's it, Emma. Good girl," Ben rasped, his voice a rough and gravelly, she felt her breath catch. His hips gave a subtle, involuntary thrust into her palm. "Don't just squeeze it. Stroke it. Long, smooth pulls from the base right up to the tip. Nice and fluid."

The praise was like a nectar to her, sending a shot of pure, liquid warmth straight to her core. *Good girl.* The dirty, possessive words short-circuited whatever lingering sense she had left. As her hand slid up and down his thick, pulsing length.

She *wanted* to make him groan. She actively craved his approval. The realization dawned in her chest, completely eclipsing her fear of getting caught. She loved the way his eyes watched her every move, loved the way his breathing hitched when she did it right.

She adjusted her grip, loosening her fingers just enough to let her hand glide effortlessly. With her free hand, she reached down and swiped her thumb through the slick, salty bead of pre-cum weeping from his slit, smearing it generously over the head of his cock to lube it up.

"Fuck, yes," Ben hissed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the wooden table. His head fell back for a second, his eyes rolling up before he snapped his gaze back to her, blown wide with lust. "Right there. Rub the head. Get it nice and wet. You're good at this."

Emma didn't say a word. She just nodded frantically, her eyes half-lidded and glazed over in a submissive haze. She bit her lower lip to keep from breathing too loudly, her face flushed burning red. She fell into the rhythm he was forcing on her, her small hand sliding up and down his thick, veiny shaft, the wet, sloppy sounds of her palm smacking against his pre-cum-lubed cock masked by the jaunty vocals of the pub's speakers.

"Good girl," he praised again, his thumb reaching down to squeeze her shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to the filthy things he was doing. "You're really getting it"

He shifted his legs, spreading them wider under the table to give her better access, his denim-clad thighs brushing against her skirt. "We've got a few minutes before those idiots get back. Take your time."

Emma’s breath hitched, a fresh wave of arousal flooding her cotton knickers. The taboo thrill of the ticking clock, the knowledge that Tom was just outside, and Ben’s demanding praise pushed her over the edge. She began to stroke him faster, her hand becoming piston-like in the shadows beneath the table.

She watched his face, eagerly searching for his approval, her own nipples hard against her bra. She was completely his right now, a willing participant in her own betrayal, **** and eager to milk every drop of pleasure out of her boyfriend's roommate before the time ran out. Over the top of the booth she could see other patrons of the pub, her friend Sarah flirting with a man by the bar. She felt a sick thrill as she kept up the taboo action.