Hugo loved that she willingly stepped out of her panties, again giving him a clear message that she wanted this so badly. Then he was pushing up her dress again, and she wasn’t stopping him at all, in fact she edged her thighs apart to ease his access, letting him zone in on her irresistible flower.
He felt her flinch as he connected with her tender folds, but she was so wet it was obvious she was ready for him. Her flavor quickly saturated his mouth, her juices threatening to run down his chin as he licked her, his tongue, his lips forced steadily against her and inside her with growing pressure while her soft down tickled his nose. It was mere moments before he felt the rapturous grip of her hands on his head, pulling him to her, showing him where to be, demanding his mouth where she needed it, forcing him into blissful connection with her pussy.
Oh it felt so wicked, kneeling before her while so many surrounded them so closely, all his senses saturated by her sex. He wanted desperately to make her come there on the dance floor, but the way she continued to move with the music, and the way she’d started trembling and shaking the moment he’d sunk to his knees and nudged into her, it was almost impossible to tell whether she was approaching orgasm, reaching it or nowhere near at all.
After a period of time he simply could not gauge, he felt her pressing his head to her, her thighs locking against him, her soft body so hot all around him, and he wondered if this was it, this was her coming while hundreds of people pressed in against them. But after a moment or two, she forced him up, pulling on his shoulders and his arms, getting her back up so that she could kiss him briefly, tasting herself on his lips, her eyes sparked full of lights—and a moment later, she was dragging him from the dance floor, flicking a very brief goodbye to her bemused co-workers on the way out, Hugo following along obediently out to the street and an awaiting taxi.
She wanted him so badly—and yet Hugo felt she couldn’t possibly have come there on the dance floor if she still needed something more to satisfy herself. It disappointed him a little, though now inside the cab as she couldn’t keep her hands off him, he was really looking forward to getting home.
“I should take you dancing more often, young Hugo Finnell,” she breathed as she resumed kissing him, surprising him a little by how she appeared to enjoy the taste of herself on his mouth.
“As long as you promise to wear a scandalously short dress, young Madeleine Finnell,” he replied with a grin.
She offered him an eye-roll: “You men really do just want us to dress like hookers, don’t you?”
“Why do you think hookers dress that way?” he chuckled.
Then her expression turned briefly to mild concern as she said: “You did have an okay time? I didn’t think we’d be out as late as this…”
“It was fantastic,” he said, so genuine that he saw his wife relax into relief and contentment. “You know how hot you are when you’re dancing with your co-workers?”
“Well, I had to tone some of it down a little,” she teased. “Didn’t want you feeling jealous.”
“You don’t need to tone anything down for my sake,” he said.
*
When they got a block from home and the traffic lights seemed jammed on red, Madeleine was not for waiting—jabbing a twenty at the baffled driver, and then urging her husband out onto the street. Alcohol still coursed through their bodies, and for Hugo it made it seem as though they were in some kind of hypnotic dream state—he wasn’t aware of when it started, but then he found he was chasing after his wife up the street, tearing around the corner and down to their building front door, before he chased her into the building ant the elevator before wrapping her in his arms for the ride up to their floor.
She was giggling and loving his attention as he had kissed her neck, his hands running all over her body—but also hissing warnings that they were still essentially in public, and the doors could open to expose them at any moment.
Once in their apartment, it was an immediate dash into the bedroom, and they were both struggling to rip off each others’ clothing as quickly as possible.
Hugo couldn’t remember a time when he was this frantic to get naked, to make love to Madeleine. Seeing her dancing with Ryan and Dan—getting the sense from it that this wasn’t the first time for them, and that if Hugo hadn’t happened to be there this time, they might have really gone at it, crushing against each other, their hands sliding all over each others’ hot clammy flesh. The choice Madeleine had made, even hypothetically, to favor Ryan over Dan if she was going to take one home—the thought that she knew how big their cocks were, what they felt against her on the dance floor. Then going down on her in the middle of a crowded dance floor—that had all been too much.
He almost forced her down on the bed—though she went completely willingly, apparently thrilled at his forcefulness, burying her face in the pillows and pushing her naked behind up obscenely for him to target. He needed to take her, hard, now. After seeing her with Ryan and Dan, he needed to reclaim her, he needed to reassert his position as leader of her pack, the alpha male for her world.
He grabbed her hips, pulled her to him, and without prevarication directed his bare, huge, swollen cock to her dripping entrance. She gasped as he pierced her, and then filled her, gripping her behind as he split her cheeks with his full length, manhandling her almost brutally as he began to thrust into her.
His climax was not far away, but hers came first as he fucked her so hard, her pussy so unbelievably wet as he rammed his final few strokes into her, his come erupting deep inside her to finally mark her as his territory.
“You’ve never done it like that before,” she said breathlessly, astonished at the change in him, her kind and gentle husband turned beast by an evening in a night club.
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“Oh no…” she grinned broadly. “I mean, I might be a little sore in the morning, but it was totally worth it. I really have to take you dancing more often!”
“Seeing you with them… thinking about you with them… I just needed to take you back, make you mine again.”
She was almost purring, gently touching herself between her legs as though still in faint disbelief at what they had just done. “You know I’ll always be yours, right? You don’t have to take me back.”
“Oh, I know. But when you’re with other guys, when you’re all over them it just triggers something deep down—I can’t help myself.”
“Oh, I love it. You’re such an amazing husband, you know that?”
And hearing her say that made any hardship he faced in dealing with his dark fantasy completely and entirely worthwhile.
Seven
“You know that piano player over there keeps looking up your skirt?”
Perched on a bar stool, Madeleine snapped her knees together.
“You are a bad, bad man, Hugo Finnell,” she said, but there was a deliciously wicked glint in her eyes.
After the success of their anniversary dinner, the two of them had come out together for another evening out. Thus was constituted Date Night, which the two of them wanted to be a regular night out where they could really focus on each other.
They might have rekindled their passion, but ensuring it did not wane again was going to take dedication—they both saw that. A regular night where they could simply let go and remember they were still just dating, even if they both had rings and knew they had each other for life—they were still discovering each other, still exploring each other, still teasing and flirting and seducing each other.
“I’m not kidding. He keeps sneaking looks up your dress.”
“He is not—”
Madeleine suddenly drew in her breath—looking over the rim of her wine glass, as though the remaining traces of Sauvignon Blanc would keep her from discovery, she saw the pianist’s eyes dash toward her, then away.
“You are wearing a scandalously short dress,” Hugo noted dryly.
“I thought you might like it.”
“I do like it.”
“Maybe we should go find a table instead,” Madeleine said, but Hugo saw her attention flick over, almost imperceptibly, to the piano player again, to determine that he was still checking her out.
And there, he saw her very subtly turn on her stool so that any glance her way might afford the man another view up her dress.
“We can’t move—you’re having too much fun,” Hugo said, and now he stood to draw the attention of the bartender, signaling for a top-up of their drinks.
As the drinks were poured, Madeleine looked at her husband, and tucked a rogue strand of her golden hair behind her ear before rubbing her legs together, clearly teasing the piano player again. Hugo flashed his eyes knowingly at her while the bartender finished pouring his single malt.
Now Madeleine was crossing her legs, stroking her long hair as though flirting with someone. Hugo subtly glanced over towards the pianist, and caught his surreptitious monitoring of Madeleine’s position.
“You like the look of him?” he asked her, feeling off, even after everything.
“He’s cute.”
He didn’t blame the guy for looking. Madeleine did look incredible with those smooth legs, and that little dress molded to her figure while covering surprisingly little. It made Hugo feel all warm inside, not really jealous. Proud, perhaps, lucky. Seriously aroused. The guy wasn’t doing anything other than looking—no harm in that—and the effect of it on Madeleine was palpable. A youngish African-American—probably a few years younger than them—he was coolly confident in himself, occasionally flashing a charming smile at guests, no doubt including Madeleine.
Hugo could see the rise of her chest enhanced by the thrill of the extra attention on her—she was breathing deeply. He could also see her hips fidgeting.
“You’re going to put him off his music,” he said to her now, as the bartender retreated to tend to another guy at the other end of the bar.
“You wanna bet me I can?” she grinned, pulling the hem of her dress down as far as she could over her thighs—which was hardly very far at all—as though bashful.
“Sure. Without leaving the stool,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “If I can’t do it… I promise you can watch me do whatever you want me to do when we get home.”
“You won’t change immediately into sweatpants?”
“I won’t change into sweatpants.”
Hugo felt his loins tingling, his cock thickening at the thought of unpeeling her dress. Madeleine gave him the kind of smoldering gaze that made him strongly suspect she’d be willing to do that for him even without losing a bet. She still seemed to feel somehow indebted to him for forgiving her little transgression at the bookstore, though she didn’t need to.
“And if you can?” he asked her.
She shifted a little in her seat, and he could tell she was tingling between her thighs as well.
After pondering, she gave him a wicked look, and said in a low voice: “If I can, then you have to make me come without leaving the building.”
Hugo shivered in anticipation, though he immediately began trying to figure out how such a thing might be possible.
“Okay,” he said. “Go on then.”
“Sure?” she grinned.
“I bet you can’t do it.”
Madeleine flashed him a wicked glance, and seated there opposite him in the barstool, she lifted her behind, reached under her tiny little dress, and slipped off her panties. The piano man didn’t stand a chance.
*
Hugo couldn’t quite believe the beautiful blonde sitting just a few feet away from him on another bar stool was quite the same woman he’d married.
Had she really just handed him her damp little panties and then continued their conversation as though nothing untoward had happened whatsoever?
“...It’s got the most gorgeous wood floors…”
Talking about Lucy finding a new apartment in Brooklyn, about the fact that she was likely to move down from Boston in just a few days, all the while sitting on that stool, her dress so short her bare thighs made the faux leather creak every time she moved.
“…you get so much more space for the money over there…”
Allowing the piano player to continue peering up her legs—only this time, there was no longer a little triangle of white lace at the apex to obscure her heavenly delights.
“…her father grew up down in Vinegar Hill, you know…”
“Uh-huh,” Hugo not entirely listening to her, and this time she knew he wasn’t and didn’t really care for once, loving his eyes on her, the fact he was captivated by her.
Only, then the piano player got up and left, leaving the two of them looking at each other, a touch disappointed. Who claimed the win if the subject of their wager threw in the towel?
Maybe he was just away for a cigarette break. Hugo wondered if he had to cool down a little after catching sight of what Madeleine had just been showing him.
“So I like this,” Madeleine said quietly, dropping her whole vacuous conversation about her friend’s migration across the East River now that she didn’t have a piano player to shock.
“I’ll say,” he said, loving that he was allowed to ogle his wife, while other men might only be able to take sneaky looks.
“No, I mean Date Night,” she said, though she liked that she was able to turn her husband’s head with that short dress, providing amusement even with their wager on hold.
“Oh, right, yes. That too.”
“It’s a shame we didn’t try it before—ages ago.”
“Yes. But we weren’t in a great place, were we?”
“No, we weren’t. But that’s all behind us, isn’t it?” For a moment, forgetting where they were, what she was doing with regard to their little side bet, Madeleine seemed deeply regretful for what her condition had meant for her husband all those years.
“Completely behind us,” he said, attempting to sound confident, though it wasn’t up to him whether or not they left her condition behind.
She smiled. Said: “I feel like we have so much to catch up on, we’ve missed so much, haven’t we?”
“I guess we have Date Night to help catch up.”
“Not just Date Night.”
Both of them were distracted by the return of the piano player, which seemed to lighten the mood again.
Hugo saw his wife remember what she was supposed to be doing on that bar stool under the terms of their bet, then she was opening her legs a little more, allowing light to penetrate the vale between her thighs.
Hugo had to try to resist the temptation to turn his head to check on whether there was any impact on the pianist. He didn’t want to tip the guy off to their interest in him.
“It’s kind of sexy, isn’t it?” she smiled warmly, seeing her husband’s eyes trailing up her bare thighs, and the slight hint of frustration that from where he was sitting, he couldn’t quite see what he wanted.
“Date Night?” Hugo wasn’t sure if she wasn’t now referring to her little show for the piano player. Or trying to continue their conversation as cover.
“Well, we both get to dress nicely for each other, and spend a nice evening out on the town—and then we know we can get home and tear off each other’s clothes…”
“Assuming the sweat pants don’t come out,” Hugo teased.
“Okay, okay,” she grinned, taking the hit. “So new rule for Date Night—no sweat pants allowed.”
“Good rule. I can work with that.”
Madeleine said, suddenly serious: “You know, I thought you didn’t really find me attractive any more… you know, sexually.”
“Are you kidding?” he chuckled. “You drive me crazy. Every time I see you.”
“Crazy?” One of her eyebrows bobbed up, and almost as though to reward his answer, she slipped a couple of fingers under the hem of her dress and shifted it up her thighs an inch or two, offering him a little more of her smooth skin.
Her show wasn’t merely for the benefit of t
he piano player, it seemed.
Explaining, he said: “You’re so cheerful now...”
She giggled, “And that drives you crazy?”
He shrugged. “Three and a half years, you were miserable. It wasn’t your fault—it was the condition. But it kind of sapped the energy out of me. But every now and then—maybe only every few months—something would make you smile. Best of all was when I made you smile. That made me feel so incredible… what can I say? Those little moments gave me the energy to get through the dark times.”
She looked at him, pitying him, but also clearly grateful for the support he’d provided during those dark times.
He continued: “You know, I learned to really make the most of those little smiles you occasionally gave me—you know, to make myself feel better.”
“Really? Sweetie!” Madeleine flashed her eyes, opened her mouth wide in melodramatic shock. This from a girl trying to reenact a key scene from the movie Basic Instinct right there on her barstool.
Nevertheless, Hugo found his cheeks heating up in a mild blush. “You know guys have needs, even if they can’t be… fulfilled.”
“There’s nothing wrong with fulfilling your own needs, sweetie.”
He nodded. “Thing is,” he said, “I kind of got used to that situation, and since you started your treatment, and you’re happy a lot of the time now…”
“Really?”
“God, I feel like a horny teenager again.”
“Sweetie…” Madeleine was positively beaming, and now fanned her face to make light of her highly aroused state. She glanced around to see if anyone other than her husband or the targeted piano player was noticing her state of undress. Then she slipped her dress up a little more on her thighs.
“Can you see?” she whispered, her wedding ring glinting in the light as she lifted the garment even further, opening up the view between her legs especially for him.
Hugo caught his breath as he laid eyes on the little dusting of gold on her sweet mound, and around the soft pink folds of her pussy. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.
“It feels so wicked,” she whispered in reply, and now glanced past her husband to see if the piano player had noticed.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 6
