The Husband Game

“Of course,” the waiter says. “And for your meals?”

Charlie finally takes pity on me, because he flashes me a quick wink and says, “We’ll both have the steak, I think, with red. Right, honey?” Then I realize it’s not pity at all, but further torture that he’s just loving enacting upon me, because he starts to move that hand of his again, his fingers reaching to one side to slip underneath my already soaking wet panties. Now his warm, calloused fingertips graze over the bare, smooth shaven skin of my pussy lips, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to come undone right there and then.

“Mmhmm,” I nod, barely even processing what he’s saying, or the fact that he ordered for me, which normally bugs me with a guy. But we’re aiming for traditional here, I remind myself, and anyway, who cares because his fingers are making me lose all sense of self-control and decorum.

Luckily, I manage to hang onto my wits until the waiter finishes jotting down our orders and ducks back out of the tent. Only then do I arch my hips up to press my pussy more tightly against Charlie’s hand, and let out a guttural groan in the back of my throat, hopefully low enough that nobody in any of the neighboring igloos can hear me, but at this point, who cares.

Stars spark behind my eyelids as I come undone. I can feel every muscle in my body clenching and releasing in sync, I can feel the endorphins that flood me.

I’m still trembling when Charlie casually slides his hand out from between my thighs and leans back in his chair. He keeps his eyes on me as he raises his hand to his lips, and slowly, never taking those searing hot blue eyes from mine, he licks each of his fingers clean.

“You make the perfect appetizer, Lila,” he murmurs, his voice a low thrum in my eardrums, making my belly tighten and my knees tremble beneath our table.

“You are…” My heart hammers in my chest, making it hard to think, to process anything but him. I shake my head, trying to clear it from the cobwebs that he always clouds up my mind with. “Definitely not traditional,” I add, and he lets out a low burst of laughter, then.

“My bad.” He winks at me. “I just couldn’t resist. Having you this close and not being able to touch you would have been…”

“What, more torturous than what you just put me through?” I arch one eyebrow, smirking.

“I don’t know. It seemed like you enjoyed that,” he points out.

“Only because I managed to hold it together long enough not to come while the waiter was still here,” I hiss, but that just makes his grin spread wider, makes him laugh harder.

“I would’ve liked to see the look on his face if you had.”

My whole face heats up bright red.

“Yeah, probably would have gone something like that.” Charlie winks again and nudges my knee beneath the table.

I push back a little harder than necessary, then purse my lips and fall silent as our poor beleaguered waiter reappears to fill our water glasses and deliver the bottle of wine that I barely remember I ordered.

The rest of our night proceeds in a similar fashion. We go back and forth between trading tasting notes on our wine (neither of us know anything about wine, but we make one another dissolve into hysterical laughter by pretending to know what we’re talking about, exclaiming on a hint of oakiness there or a note of cherry there), and feeling one another up whenever we get a long enough break from the waiter’s attentions. I manage to snake my hand onto Charlie’s lap one time, tracing the edges of his cock, already hard and straining against the seams of his fancy dress pants, presumably at the thought of doing one of the naughty things he just whispered in my ear a moment earlier.

Then the waiter is back, and we pull apart, both playing the good, traditional couple on their first official date.

But the only time we really get distracted is after dinner—a pair of steaks that were, to be honest, probably the best thing I’d ever eaten in my entire life. Then the waiter stops by to take our after-dinner drink orders, but also to point out that pretty soon, there will be a meteor shower starting, and we should linger to watch.

Charlie, the best date in the world, orders us some more wine and a chocolate cake to split, which is perfect for us to settle back and watch the stars while we enjoy it.

I draw my chair around to his side of the table, and before I know it, the waiter returns with a plush, fluffy white blanket to offer us, before he opens up the top of our dome for better viewing.