That's a fucking terrible idea. The walk-in walls are solid, thick, and as far as he's aware they're nearly alone in the restaurant, but that's only as far as he's aware, and they're not soundproof.

"Okay," he says immediately anyway, already missing the fingers. "Okay, but keep it the fuck down." He straightens a moment, pushes his pants and panties further down his ass. "And don't jostle too much," he adds, bossy, lifting a foot up to plant it firmly on a box of something, finding a new place to hold onto, lower, back and biceps and pale ass all flexing as he rests an elbow on his knee to brace. "I don't wanna rattle all my produce off the shelves."

He immediately feels like an idiot when there isn't a cock in him and he just has to hold the pose, chest heaving over his thigh, wetting his lips, still tasting himself. He isn't jerking off anymore because if he does he'll cum like a chump. "Hurry it the fuck up, Richie."