“You know,” I said, leaning back in the booth, “this pasta is actually pretty bland for a place that charges twenty-eight dollars for spaghetti.” I gestured vaguely with my fork towards the plate sitting between us.
Leo didn’t even look up from his own plate, which was, predictably, empty. He’d devoured his carbonara in under ten minutes, a feat of culinary destruction I’d come to expect. “Then don’t eat it,” he mumbled, reaching across to swipe a rogue piece of my garlic bread. I slapped his hand lightly. “Hey, that’s mine.”
“You weren’t eating it,” he said, his eyes finally meeting mine, a familiar challenge dancing in them. “And you’re right, it probably is bland. You complain about everything.”
I grinned, a slow, deliberate movement that I knew annoyed him. “Not everything. Just things that aren’t up to par. This restaurant, for instance. Or the fact that you haven’t complimented my outfit all night.” I’d spent an hour picking it out, a little black dress that hugged me in all the right places, paired with heels that made my legs look like they went on for miles. He’d grunted when I asked him how I looked. A grunt. After an hour.
He sighed, a long-suffering sound that usually meant he was about to give in, or at least acknowledge my existence. “You look great, Wren. You always look great. Can we just enjoy the… ambiance?” He gestured around the dimly lit, overly pretentious Italian joint we were in. It was our anniversary dinner, a fact he seemed to have forgotten in favor of analyzing the wine list for too long.
“Ambiance?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling the sound of three different conversations about crypto and the smell of old money trying too hard?” I took a sip of my water, making sure to make eye contact with him over the rim of the glass. He knew I was doing it on purpose, knew I was pushing. That’s what I did. I pushed.
His jaw tightened. Bingo. “Wren, come on. It’s our anniversary. Can you just… chill for five minutes?” His voice was low, a warning, but there was a tremor of something else underneath it, something I recognized. Frustration. And a hint of exasperated desire.
“Five minutes?” I hummed, swirling the remaining pasta around my plate. “That’s a long time to chill when I’m this… underwhelmed. I thought you were going to take me somewhere special. Not somewhere that feels like it’s trying to impress itself.” I poked a tomato with my fork, then looked up at him, my expression innocent. “Remember that little tapas place we went to on our third date? That was special. This is… expensive.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I booked this place three months ago. It’s supposed to be one of the best in the city. I was trying to do something nice.” His eyes narrowed. “And you know what? That tapas place? You complained the lighting was too dim and the music was too loud.”
“Details, details,” I waved my hand dismissively. “It had character, though. This place has… tablecloths. And a waiter who looks like he’s judging my life choices.” I glanced at the waiter, who was indeed looking at us, probably wondering why I hadn’t eaten more than three bites of my twenty-eight-dollar pasta.
Leo let out a short, sharp breath. “You are impossible, you know that?” He leaned back, crossing his arms, his gaze fixed on me. It was the look he got when he was trying to decide if he should walk away or just… deal with me. I preferred the latter, obviously. It was more fun.
“Impossible, maybe,” I agreed, setting my fork down with a clink. “But never boring. Unlike this meal. And maybe, dare I say, this evening so far?” I watched his face, enjoying the slow burn of irritation that was building there. He hated it when I challenged him, hated it when I didn’t just play along. But that was the game, wasn’t it? To see how far I could push before he finally snapped.
He stared at me for a long moment, then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the warm, affectionate smile he usually gave me. This one had an edge, a glint in his eyes that promised trouble. “Oh, it’s boring, is it? We can fix that.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward again, closer this time. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Maybe I haven’t been trying hard enough to make it… interesting for you.”
My heart gave a little flutter. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for. The shift in dynamic, the flicker of control changing hands. “Oh? And how do you propose to make it interesting, Leo?” I asked, my own voice dropping, a playful challenge still laced through it.
He reached across the table, his hand settling on my knee, under the tablecloth. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of my thigh, just above the stocking. A little jolt went through me. His touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it was there, a quiet promise. “We could leave,” he murmured, his thumb circling slowly on my skin. “Go somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn’t have twenty-eight-dollar pasta and judging waiters.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And where would that be? You’ve put all your eggs in this fancy Italian basket.”
“My place,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. His thumb moved higher, just brushing the edge of my dress. My breath hitched. “Or your place. Anywhere we can be alone. And I can remind you just how un-boring I can be.”
The heat from his touch spread, a slow fire licking up my leg. The restaurant, the bland pasta, the judgmental waiter – it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the intense, focused look on Leo’s face, and the possessive way his hand was moving on my thigh. “And what if I don’t want to be reminded?” I asked, a faint tremor in my voice, even as my body screamed for him to keep going.
He chuckled, a low, rich sound. “Oh, I think you do. You’ve been asking for it all night, haven’t you? Pushing, poking, prodding. You like to see how far you can take it, don’t you, Wren? How much you can get away with before I finally… react.” His thumb paused, then pressed firmly against the inside of my thigh. “And now I’m reacting.”
My breath caught. My carefully constructed facade of boredom and defiance was crumbling, replaced by a raw, hungry anticipation. This was what I wanted. This was the thrill, the payoff for all my teasing. I liked to push, but I liked it even more when he pushed back, when he took charge. “Maybe I do,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
“Good.” He squeezed my thigh gently. “Then let’s get out of here.” He pulled his hand away, a lingering warmth remaining on my skin. He signaled for the waiter, paid the bill with a brisk efficiency, and stood up. He didn’t wait for me to stand, just extended his hand, his eyes demanding I take it.
I hesitated for a beat, a last flicker of my rebellious spirit, then reached for his hand. His fingers closed around mine, a firm, reassuring grip. He pulled me up, then kept my hand in his, tugging me towards the exit. We didn’t say anything to each other as we walked out, the silence charged with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come.
Outside, the cool night air was a welcome contrast to the stifling heat that had built up between us in the restaurant. He didn’t let go of my hand, instead lacing his fingers through mine and pulling me along the sidewalk. He hailed a cab, and we climbed in, the close confines of the back seat suddenly feeling incredibly intimate. He gave the driver his address, then turned to me, his gaze intense.
“So,” he said, his voice low, “what were you complaining about earlier? My lack of compliments?” His hand, which had been resting on his own thigh, moved to mine, tracing the curve of my knee. “Let’s start there. You look incredible tonight, Wren. That dress… it’s perfect. It makes me want to rip it off you.”
A shiver ran down my spine, but this time, it wasn’t from the cold. “Oh, really?” I managed, my voice a little breathless. “And what about my hair? Is it still too ‘messy’ for your liking?” I’d styled it in loose waves, a deliberate attempt to look effortlessly undone. He usually preferred it sleek and polished.
He leaned closer, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Your hair is exactly how it should be. Wild. Untamed. Just like you.” His fingers brushed against my bare arm, sending goosebumps erupting on my skin. “And those heels? They make your legs look even longer. Makes me want to see them wrapped around me.”
My cheeks flushed. The intensity of his gaze, the sudden shift in his demeanor, it was heady. This was the Leo I loved, the one who didn’t just tolerate my antics, but responded to them, who saw my defiance not as a flaw, but as a challenge. “You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” I tried to tease, but my voice was weak, betraying the effect he was having on me.
He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through me. “Am I? Or am I just finally saying what I’ve been thinking all night? What you’ve been begging me to say, to do.” His fingers moved from my knee, tracing a slow path up my thigh, under the hem of my dress. He didn’t stop when he reached the lace of my underwear. His thumb hooked under the elastic, pulling it taut for a second, then releasing it with a snap.
A gasp escaped my lips. I gripped the seat, my knuckles white. The cab driver, thankfully, seemed oblivious, humming along to some terrible pop song on the radio. “Leo!” I hissed, a mix of shock and pure arousal coursing through me. “We’re in a cab!”
“I know,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. “And you’re still talking. That means I haven’t quite shut you up yet, have I?” His fingers were still there, just inside the lace, teasing the sensitive skin. “But we’re almost home. And then, Wren, you won’t be talking much at all.”
The short ride felt like an eternity. Every bump in the road, every turn of the wheel, sent a fresh wave of sensation through me. His fingers remained where they were, a constant, delicious pressure that left me breathless and aching. By the time the cab pulled up to his apartment building, I was practically panting.
He paid the driver, then opened the door for me, his eyes never leaving mine. I stumbled out, my legs feeling strangely weak. He took my hand again, his grip firm, and led me into the building. The elevator ride up was agonizingly slow. I could feel his gaze on me, hot and possessive, and I knew he was enjoying my barely suppressed anticipation.
As soon as we were inside his apartment, the door slamming shut behind us, he pushed me against it, his body pressing against mine. His hands went to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Still think this is boring, Wren?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. His breath was hot against my skin, sending shivers through me.
“No,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Definitely not boring.” I could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my stomach, a thrilling confirmation of his desire.
He kissed me then, a fierce, hungry kiss that left no room for doubt. His lips were demanding, bruising, and I responded with equal fervor, opening my mouth to him, letting his tongue tangle with mine. His hands moved from my waist, sliding up my back, then down, cupping my ass, lifting me slightly off my feet. I gasped into the kiss, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
He carried me, still kissing me, into the living room, then lowered me onto the plush velvet couch. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “You push, Wren,” he said, his voice rough, “and I push back. Harder.”
He reached for the zipper of my dress, pulling it down with a slow, deliberate movement that made my skin prickle with anticipation. The fabric parted, revealing the smooth skin of my back, then my shoulders. He pushed the straps down, letting the dress fall to my waist, exposing my lace bra. His eyes devoured me, and I felt a blush creep up my chest.
“See?” he whispered, his fingers tracing the lace of my bra. “You wore this just for me, didn’t you? You wanted me to see it, to want to tear it off.”
“Maybe,” I admitted, my voice a little shaky. “It is our anniversary, after all.”
He grinned, a predatory, sexy grin. “Happy anniversary, then, you little brat.” He leaned down, trailing kisses along my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts above the lace. His touch was exquisite, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
He moved quickly, efficiently, divesting me of the rest of my clothes, then his own. Soon, we were both naked on the couch, skin against skin, the heat between us palpable. He settled between my legs, his body heavy and warm, his gaze fixed on mine. “No more complaints tonight, understand?” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
“No complaints,” I promised, my hands stroking his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin. I wanted him, desperately, and the raw desire in his eyes told me he felt the same.
He entered me then, slowly, deliberately, giving me time to adjust, to stretch around him. I gasped, a sharp pressure building deep inside me. He paused, looking at my face, checking for my reaction. “Good?” he asked, his voice thick with arousal.
“More than good,” I whispered, my hips arching up to meet him, silently urging him to go deeper. He obliged, burying himself inside me with a groan. The sensation was incredible, a perfect fit that made my entire body hum.
He started to move, a slow, rhythmic thrust that built in intensity with each stroke. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of him. His movements were powerful, confident, taking charge in a way that left me breathless and completely submissive. This was what I craved, this surrender, this absolute domination.
“Tell me you like it,” he commanded, his voice raw, his eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me you love it when I take control.”
“I love it,” I panted, my nails digging into his back. “I love it, Leo. Don’t stop.”
He smirked, a triumphant glint in his eyes. “That’s what I thought.” He quickened his pace, driving into me with a relentless rhythm that sent pleasure exploding through my every nerve ending. My breath hitched, my vision blurring at the edges as I neared the precipice.
“Faster,” I begged, my voice hoarse, my body arching against his. “Please, faster.”
He gave a low growl, responding to my plea with even more force. His thrusts became deeper, harder, pushing me over the edge. My orgasm ripped through me, a violent, all-consuming wave of pure sensation. My body convulsed, my muscles clenching around him, pulling a ragged groan from his lips.
He held me tight, continuing his powerful rhythm until he too found his release, spilling himself deep inside me with a final, shuddering thrust. He collapsed onto me, his breathing heavy, his body still trembling. We lay there for a long moment, our hearts pounding in unison, the only sound in the room our ragged breaths.
He finally lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes still dark with afterglow. He reached out, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. “Still think I’m boring, Wren?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I smiled, a soft, contented smile. “Never, Leo. Never.” I leaned up, kissing him softly on the lips. “Happy anniversary.”
He kissed me back, a tender, lingering kiss. “Happy anniversary, my little firecracker. Now, about that bland pasta… maybe we should order some pizza.”
I laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. “Sounds perfect.” He was right. Sometimes, all it took was a little pushing, a little defiance, to remind us both what we really wanted. And tonight, we’d found it, in the most delicious, un-boring way possible.