They're both turned on before they even get to the restaurant. Dee is squirming in the passenger seat in the car, shooting loaded looks at her husband from beneath spidery black lashes – but the restaurant is where it accelerates. White linen tablecloths that brush the gleaming herringbone floor, polished silverware and candles. Dee's dress looks like liquid in the low light, and she slips her heels off and runs a stockinged foot up the inside of John's leg as she pretends to examine the menu.
“Don't start something you can't finish, Mrs. Pike,” he warns her softly.
She gives him a sweet smile from across the table. “Please,” she says. “You might want to think twice about threatening me tonight, darling.”
She rubs her foot slowly against his cock as he orders from the wine list, his voice steady and pleasant, and then as soon as the waiter leaves again he leans forward across the table. “You're going to pay for this, you know.”
“I hope so.”
It's a rule on date night – as rare as they may be – to not talk about the kids, or money, or work. John always turns the conversation to something sordid, and Dee always plays along.
“Pretend you can take someone else home tonight,” he says, glancing around the room, the meal in front of him absolutely the last thing on his mind. “Who would you choose?”
Dee props her chin on her hand and pretends to take her time, eyes travelling around the room, until she tilts her head in the direction of a table closer to the kitchen. “Over there,” she says.
John wrinkles his nose. “The bald guy?”
“No,” Dee murmurs. “His date, in the red dress.”
“Ohh,” John says, tipping his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “I'd pay good money to watch that.”
“I wouldn't let you,” Dee says, sipping her wine. “I'd make you go home alone, and you'd only have your imagination and your hand to keep you company.” She rubs her foot against him again, feeling how hard his cock is, and watches his fingers twitch against the white linen tablecloth.
He only looks back at her in an amused sort of way, and she wriggles in her seat when she sees the silent promise in his eyes. Every time she moves her stockings pull against her legs.
Before dessert comes, John leans over the table, the candlelight flickering warm against his jaw. He speaks low. “Go to the bathroom and take your panties off.”
“Is that an order?” Dee asks. “Because what goes around comes around, dear.”
“You can boss me around all you like later,” he says. “But I’m going to fuck you in the back seat as soon as we get out of here, and I want you to go and take your panties off right now.”
Dee drapes her napkin across her seat and walks to bathroom, not looking back at him, but knowing he's watching her every step.
In the bathroom stall she unclips her garters with trembling fingers, not used to the delicate stockings she's wearing, cursing under her breath as the ribbons on the belt refuse to cooperate. She steps out of her panties carefully and folds them into her clutch purse. She takes a moment to fix her lipstick and run careful fingers through her hair. She looks flushed and excited and she turns and looks up and down herself in the mirror, trying to see if anyone could possibly tell what she's just done.
John smirks at her when she gets back to the table. She ignores the look in his eyes and turns her attention to her crème brûlée.
By the time John asks for the cheque, she's sure everyone can tell how turned on she is. Her skin is electric. She presses her thighs together tightly and bites her lip when John looks at her. He grins, back in control and looking extremely carefree as he takes her hand and leads her outside.
“You're going to pay for this,” Dee whispers in his ear, waiting for him to unlock the car.
He presses her against the door and she can feel him getting hard again. His hands circle her wrists and he kisses her forcefully. “Get in,” he says.
She doesn't move. “I mean it,” she promises softly, looking up at him, nudging her hips forward against his. “I'm sure you know exactly what I've packed in my overnight bag.”
He leans against her, full weight pinning her against the car, and he sucks against her neck. “I know,” he says.
At a red light, Dee reaches over and unzips his pants, grinning when his fingers tighten around the wheel.
“What happened,” she asks, “to fucking me in the backseat?”
“Changed my mind,” John says, completely failing when it comes to playing casual. She can hear the hitch in his voice as she swirls her thumb around the head of his cock.
She lets go of him and slides down in her seat a little, looking over at him as she pulls her dress up to the very tops of her thighs, high enough for him to see the lace trim of her stockings and the silky ribbon garters holding them up.
“Fuck,” he says, pressing the accelerator. “Are those expensive?”
“You're not to rip them.”
He shakes his head. “No promises.”
Dee's mouth is dry when he finally pulls into the parking garage beneath the hotel. John gets out of the car and she can hear the flat tap of his shoes on the concrete floor, echoing around the dark space. Her legs are shaking when she slides out and stands, closing the car door behind her and leaning against it.
He kisses her hard and slides one hand in under her dress, hips thrusting against her when his fingers touch between her thighs. “Wet,” he breathes.
She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, grinding against his hand. “Are we getting in the back seat?”
He shoves her dress up and cups her ass in his hands, lifting her up against the car. “Jesus, Dee,” he says against her ear, his erection hard against her thigh. “You're still the hottest thing I've ever seen. You drive me crazy.”
Dee looks over his shoulder. She can see the glow from the elevator light. No one is around, but she knows at any moment a whole crowd of people could swarm into the garage to find them; cars could squeal in, headlights flashing over them both.
She quivers when John starts to fuck her against the car, slow until she parts her legs further, trusting him to keep her pinned. He presses his hands against her thighs and drives into her, his face buried against her neck. Dee keeps her eyes on the elevator doors, wondering what they'd do if they opened.
“Is anyone watching?” John asks breathlessly.
Dee clenches tight around him, clutching his shoulders.
“Anyone could see us here,” John adds, his nails digging into the curve of her ass. “They're probably watching us on the security cameras...”
That's all it takes to push Dee over the edge. She cries out, trying to bite back the noise, her head tipping back to rest against the roof of the car, her shoes falling from her feet as she curls her toes.
John's teeth glance over the curve of her shoulder and her neck and his breath is hot against her skin when he comes, gripping the slippery fabric of her dress in his fists, his hips still pinning her against the car. He leans against her until her catches his breath, and her toes finally touch the cold floor of the garage.
Dee presses one palm flat against his chest. “Upstairs,” she says, voice shaking. “I'm not done with you yet.”
He laughs and tucks himself back into his pants, holding her hand while she steps back into her shoes.
They ride the elevator up to their room alone, standing close, and John mutters in her ear, “You smell like sex.”
“So do you.”
She strips her dress off as soon as their bedroom door closes behind them, and John pulls her onto the bed, wrestling her beneath him, his teeth pinching at her breasts through the mesh lace of her bra.
She hums a denial and pushes him over onto his back, sitting on his chest. He hooks his fingers gently under her stockings. “Why don't you wear these all the time?”
“Because they're really uncomfortable,” she says, tugging at the garter belt. She frowns down at him. “You're still dressed,” she says. She slides off him. “Get naked.”
“Is that an order?”
He grins at her from the bed as she starts rummaging through her overnight bag on the floor. “We've been switching back and forth on this all night. What if I told you to get back here right now?” He props himself up on his elbows. “If you know what's good for you,” he adds.
“Nope,” Dee says. “I'm in charge now. Strip, Mr. Pike.”
He obeys, watching her though, grinning as she buckles the harness around her hips. He kicks his pants to the floor. “I can't take you seriously when you wear that thing,” he says.
“Well that could be a mistake.” She closes her hand around the head of the dildo and kneels beside him on the bed. “You should take me very seriously.”
He closes his mouth over the end of it for a moment. “I hope my dick tastes better than that one,” he says.
“Stop being a smart ass.” Dee pushes him down again and takes his cock into her mouth, working her fingers around the harness so she can rub between her legs, still slick, thighs sticky.
John purrs soft contentment, his fingers combing her hair. Dee pushes one hand against his hip, urging him to roll over. She pulls one of the folded towels from the end of the bed. “Come on that,” she says. “I'm not sleeping in it.”
He laughs and lifts himself up on his knees, eyes closed as Dee starts to rub lube over the rubbery cock between her legs, fingers tracing John's skin. He shivers and parts his legs a little, moaning against the surface of the bed as she slips a finger inside him. The sound sends a shiver down her spine – she's tried to draw it out of him in other ways, but he reacts so differently to this; comes so completely undone.
“Fuck,” he groans, and his brow creases slightly; his breath is loud.
Dee keeps the first few strokes slow, the dildo slick and shiny with lube. John starts pushing back against her, his hand wrapped around his cock, and soon her strokes are harder, deeper, and she can feel it nudging back against her clit.
John lets out another raw sound, his face turning to the mattress, his fist clenching in the towel beneath him. Dee hits the same spot again and feels him buck and shiver, grabs his hips and digs her nails into his skin.
“You know,” she breathes, chest heaving, “I bet when I took my panties off in that bathroom, everyone in that restaurant could tell, just by the way you were looking at me. And I bet they could tell you were hard for most of the time; I bet they knew exactly what I was doing with my feet under that table...”
“Dee,” he groans.
“I bet there were cameras in that parking garage and the security team is rewinding the tape over and over again just to watch us fuck...” She whimpers as she ruts against him with the dildo, the edge of it against her clit, John shuddering and panting beneath her, skin gleaming.
He lets out a hoarse cry, one fist clenching the towel tightly, the other still pumping his cock. His body goes rigid for a second until he slowly slumps down into the mattress.
Dee eases away from him and unbuckles the harness to work her fingers between her legs, until she's shivering and her breath catches in her throat, fire racing through her nerves and down her spine.
She falls down beside her husband, breathing hard, limbs shaky. By the time she's peeled her stockings down and tossed her garter belt away, John has caught his breath. He stretches out on his back and she rests her head on his shoulder, drowsy, skin aglow.
John's breath sweeps through her hair. “My wife is hot,” he says tiredly. “You are unbelievable.”
Dee laughs breathlessly and curls her fist against his chest. “You too.”
“But I missed the towel,” he admits.
“Oh,” Dee sighs, eyes closed. “Well, I'll punish you for that later.”