Fake Empire(111)

“Come here,” he grits out.

I glance around the dark, empty garage, and then I crawl across the gearshift and settle in his lap. His dick settles against the soaked lace of my underwear as my dress fans out around our laps. I moan at the contact.

Crew’s hand slides up my thigh and between my legs. He growls when he feels how wet I am, the rumble deep and possessive and followed by my name.

He just came, but I’m so worked up I think he could breathe on me and I’d explode. His hand moves to his cock, fisting the long length and rubbing against my center. “You want this, Scarlett?”

“Yes.” I pack as much need into the three letters as I can manage, drawing the word out into a whimper as he starts to nudge inside me.

“This is okay, right? You’re okay?”

Forget breathing. The slight pressure and the concern in his voice causes me to ball my fists to fight off my orgasm. “I’m fine,” I gasp. “Fully recovered. Just fuck me. Please.”

He does, moving my thong to the side and filling me with the delicious glide I’ve missed. His mouth finds the spot between my neck and my shoulder, pressing warm, wet kisses and whispering dirty words against my skin. I rock and grind against him, meeting every thrust until I fall off the peak of pleasure. Waves of warmth spiral and spread, leaving me sated and spent. I feel Crew shudder as he comes inside of me.

I don’t move from his lap, wanting to stay in this moment for a little while longer. Connected, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

“Not bad for an old married couple, huh?”

My lips tug up into a smile as I lean back and pat his abs. “Glad you haven’t let yourself go.”

His smile is wide and genuine as I slide off him and back to my side of the car. We both fix our outfits before Crew starts the car and rolls out of the garage. He drives with one hand, keeping the other tangled with mine.

I recognize the restaurant he stops outside, even though I’ve never eaten here before. It’s known for being trendy and upscale.

Crew hands the keys over to the valet and we head inside. There’s another couple waiting at the hostess stand we stop behind.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “They have the best view.”

“Best view of what?”

“You’ll see,” is his cryptic answer.

I look around, taking in the brick walls and the black accents and the metal chairs. And the blonde woman walking toward us.

“What a surprise!” Hannah’s voice is peppy, filled with false confidence.

Crew says nothing.

“Is it?” I question, keeping my voice short and dry.

“How are you? I heard you had a baby?” Hannah glances at my stomach, like she’s looking for evidence.

Before I have to respond, another woman approaches us. “Han, the table is ready.”

“Oh, okay,” Hannah replies. “I’ll be right there, Savannah.”

Savannah has focused on Crew. Her eyes widen appreciatively, then slide to me. “Oh my God. I love your dress.”

“Thank you.” I look her over and hide a smile. “I like yours too.”

“Thanks.” Savannah glances down at the beaded bust. “It’s from rouge’s summer line. I just love their stuff.”

Hannah’s mouth twists like she’s sucking on a slice of lemon. Savannah is clearly oblivious, but it’s obvious Hannah knows who owns rouge.

“That’s one of yours?” Crew asks, sounding surprised. Nothing he works on has a tangible output you can run into on the street. I’ve seen strangers reading my magazine and wearing my clothes before, but it still feels strange.

“Holy shit!” Savannah suddenly exclaims. “You’re Scarlett Kensington, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” I reply. “And this is my husband, Crew. We’re celebrating our wedding anniversary.”

“Aww. That is so romantic,” Savannah gushes.

“Crew is super romantic,” I praise. “And so supportive. On the drive here, he said the sweetest things to me.” I don’t look over, but I’m sure he’s stifling some amusement.

“You made it hard not to.” Humor dances in those blue depths, obviously proud of the innuendo.

Hannah looks annoyed and uncomfortable. Savannah is beaming at us like we’re couple goals come to life.

A waiter approaches. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington? Your private table is ready, if you’d like to follow me up to the terrace.”

I give Hannah and Savannah a little wave. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

“So I’m super romantic?” Crew teases as we follow the maître de through the restaurant.

“You have your moments,” I reply. “And it was brag about that or trade insults with your jealous ex.”

“Hannah isn’t my ex-anything.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s cute when you’re jealous, Red.” Crew leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Especially when you’re full of my cum.”

I suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with the fact the air conditioning is on full blast in here. The tuxedo-clad maître de keeps walking toward the elevator, completely unaware of the fact my husband’s mouth is the exact opposite of everything else in here: filthy.