Chapter 12: Public Temptation
The leather seat of the taxi was cool against the back of her thighs. Very little fabric existed to provide a barrier. Cristina shifted, feeling the hem of the impossibly short, black leather skirt ride even higher. The sensation was deliberate, electric. Underneath, only the whisper-thin lace of her new briefs separated her skin from the smooth leather. Nothing else. No bra beneath the delicate, sheer black mesh top that clung to her torso, the intricate pattern doing little to obscure the dark circles of her areolas or the stiff points of her nipples. Veronica’s perfume, Enigma, a heavy cloak of jasmine and dark amber, filled the small cab. David sat beside her, quiet, radiating his usual low-key calm, but his eyes kept darting down to her legs, then quickly away.
"You look... different," he finally said, his voice neutral, but his gaze snagged again on the expanse of thigh revealed as she crossed her legs slowly. The movement made the skirt’s hem vanish entirely against the curve of her hip.
"Do I?" Cristina smiled, letting her hand rest lightly on his knee for a second before trailing her fingers deliberately up his thigh, stopping just shy of the inseam. She felt the muscle tense beneath the fabric of his chinos. "Just felt like making an effort. For you." The lie was smooth, delicious. It was for her. For the power humming under her skin, amplified by the fabric’s whisper against her clit as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs.
Catch hit them with a wall of sound and scent the moment they stepped inside. Laughter, the clatter of cutlery on porcelain, the rhythmic sizzle from the open kitchen, the briny tang of oysters and the rich aroma of garlic butter. Polished wood, chrome, and glass gleamed under warm, low lighting. Nautical ropes and vintage diving helmets adorned the walls, contrasting sharply with the sleek, moneyed crowd. David gave his name at the host stand. The hostess’s eyes swept over Cristina’s outfit, a flicker of surprise quickly masked by professional indifference.
"Right this way," the hostess said, leading them through the bustling room. Cristina felt eyes. From men at the bar nursing martinis. From women whose glances held a mix of appraisal and disbelief. A waiter carrying a tray laden with lobster nearly tripped, his gaze glued to her legs as she walked, the tiny skirt doing almost nothing to conceal the rhythmic sway of her ass. The attention was a physical touch, a validation that sent a fresh pulse of heat through her core. She wanted them to look. She wanted David to see them looking.
Their booth was tucked into a slightly quieter corner, dark leather, intimate. Cristina slid in, deliberately letting the skirt ride up as she settled, revealing the very top edge of the black lace briefs against her pale skin. David sat opposite, his expression a familiar mix of pleasant blankness and faint confusion. He picked up the heavy wine list as if it were a shield.
"Why the fancy place?" he asked, peering over the top of the menu. "Not that I'm complaining. Just... unexpected."
"Life’s short, David," Cristina said, leaning forward on her elbows. The movement caused the neckline of the mesh top to gape slightly, offering him a direct view down into the shadowed valley between her breasts, the dark nipples clearly visible through the sheer fabric. She saw his breath catch, his eyes widen fractionally before darting back to the menu. "Thought we could indulge a little. Try something new." Her foot, free of the tall stiletto she’d kicked off under the table, found his calf beneath the tablecloth. She ran her bare toes slowly up the inside seam of his pants.
A waiter arrived, crisp and efficient. David ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, his voice slightly strained. Cristina kept her foot moving, a slow, insistent pressure against his leg. She watched his throat work as he swallowed.
"So," she began, after the waiter departed, "how was your day? Anything... exciting happen?" Her voice was low, husky. She leaned forward again, this time deliberately adjusting the strap of her top. Her finger hooked the edge of the mesh near her shoulder and pulled it down, just enough to bare the smooth curve of her shoulder and the intricate ink swirling there. But the movement also dragged the fabric taut across her chest, making the outline of her nipple, hard as a pebble, unmistakable against the sheer material. David’s knuckles were white where he gripped the table edge.
"Uh, yeah. Fine. The usual." He cleared his throat. "Yours? You, uh, seem... energized."
"Oh, I am," Cristina purred. The waiter returned with the wine, pouring with practiced flair. Cristina lifted her glass, her eyes locked on David’s. "To new experiences." She took a slow sip, letting a drop of wine linger on her lower lip before her tongue darted out to catch it. David mirrored the gesture, his gaze fixed on her mouth.
The appetizers arrived – plump oysters on ice, glistening. Cristina selected one, squeezed a lemon wedge over it, the juice bright and sharp. She brought the shell to her lips, tipped her head back, and let the oyster slide into her mouth with a soft, wet sound. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring the cool, briny slickness, then slowly licked her lips, her tongue tracing their outline. When she opened her eyes, David was staring, utterly transfixed, a flush creeping up his neck.
"Delicious," she murmured, picking up another. "You should try one."
He fumbled with his own oyster, the shell clattering slightly. Cristina uncrossed her legs under the table, letting her knee bump against his. Then, with deliberate slowness, she spread her legs wide enough for her knee to press firmly against his inner thigh. The movement caused the tiny leather skirt to hike up at the front, exposing the full triangle of the black lace panties stretched tight over her mound. She held the pose for a beat, her foot still tracing his calf, before slowly closing her legs again. She saw the exact moment his eyes dropped, saw his jaw tighten, the color deepen in his cheeks.
"Cristina," he whispered, a harsh rasp. "People can see."
"See what?" she asked innocently, taking another sip of wine. Her free hand drifted below the table, not towards him, but to her own knee. Her fingers trailed slowly, slowly up the inside of her thigh, disappearing under the short hem of the skirt. She let her head loll back slightly against the leather booth, her eyes half-lidded, watching his reaction as her hand moved higher, tracing the edge of the lace where it met her skin. She paused, her fingertips just brushing the dampening fabric. "It's hot in here, don't you think?" Her voice was thick.
David didn't answer. He looked like he was struggling to breathe. He watched, hypnotized, as her hand retreated, resting innocently on the tablecloth again. The main courses arrived – seared scallops for her, grilled sea bass for him. The interruption felt jarring. Cristina picked at her food, the decadent flavors muted by the sharper taste of power on her tongue. Every movement was calculated. Leaning forward to reach for the salt, offering him another glimpse down her top. Shifting position, letting the skirt reveal a flash of lace-clad hip. Resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table, her posture deliberately making the mesh top cling even more revealingly.
Dessert was a shared chocolate lava cake, rich and decadent. Cristina dipped her spoon into the molten center, lifted it slowly. "Open," she commanded softly, her gaze holding his. Dazed, David obeyed. She fed him the spoonful, her eyes never leaving his. A dollop of dark chocolate clung to the corner of his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Cristina leaned far across the small table. Her movement pulled the neckline dangerously low. She brought her face close to his, her breath warm on his skin. Instead of using a napkin, she slowly licked the chocolate from his lips, her tongue tracing the shape of his mouth. She felt him shudder.
"Let's go home," she murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to see the raw hunger now blazing in his eyes, burning through the usual passivity. The dam had broken. She could see it. "Now."
The check lay between them like an unspoken dare. David fumbled for his wallet, his movements stiff. Cristina watched, a slow smile playing on her lips as he extracted a sleek black credit card. The low thrum of the restaurant, the clink of glassware, the murmur of conversations – it all faded to a distant buzz under the sudden, intense focus she felt.
Under the crisp white linen, hidden from the world, her hand slipped beneath the short leather skirt. Her fingers found the delicate lace edge of her panties, the gusset already damp. She hooked her thumbs into the sides, the cool air hitting her skin for a second before she slid them down her legs, the lace catching momentarily on her ankle strap heel. She tugged them free, the tiny scrap of black silk vanishing into her oversized clutch with a silent, deliberate flick of her wrist.
David placed the card on the leather folio. That was her cue. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she rested her forearm on the table, her face close to his. Her other hand, hidden beneath the tablecloth, drifted across his lap. The fine wool of his trousers was warm. She felt the distinct, hard ridge beneath, straining against the fabric.
"You seemed tense all dinner, baby," she murmured, her voice a low, intimate thrum. Her fingers traced the impressive outline, exploring its length through the cloth, applying a gentle, insistent pressure. She felt the muscle in his thigh jump violently under her touch. His breath hissed between his teeth, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the table. He kept his eyes fixed on the approaching waiter, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. "Just helping you relax."
The waiter collected the folio, his expression carefully neutral. David remained rigid, barely breathing, as Cristina continued her slow, maddening exploration under the table. Her fingers traced every contour, kneading lightly, feeling the heat radiate through the wool. Every shift of his weight, every suppressed groan fueled her own arousal, a deep, liquid warmth pooling low in her belly.
"Car. Now," she breathed into his ear as the waiter returned with the receipt. David signed with a jerky, unreadable scrawl, barely looking. He practically bolted from the booth, leaving her to rise deliberately, smoothing the minuscule skirt down her bare thighs. She felt the cool leather seat again, the absence of underwear a thrilling, open secret as she walked through the restaurant, acutely aware of every male gaze snapping towards the sway of her hips, the long expanse of leg.
The night air outside Catch was a cool slap after the restaurant’s warmth. The doorman flagged a passing cab. Cristina slid into the backseat first, the leather sighing under her weight. David followed, slamming the door a little too hard. "Cristina, what—" he started, his voice strained.
She didn’t let him finish. Ignoring the partition, she dropped to her knees on the floor mat between his legs. Her hands were already at his belt buckle, fingers working the clasp with practiced ease despite the confined space. The click was loud in the sudden silence. The zipper followed, the sound obscene. She freed him, the thick heat of his erection springing into her waiting hand. David gasped, his head thudding back against the headrest.
"No talking," she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes. The streetlights streaked past the window, painting fleeting patterns on his face. She lowered her head, her lips parting, and took him into her mouth. Slowly at first, savoring the velvety heat, the salty taste of pre-come, the choked sound he made high in his throat as he stared straight ahead, trying not to betray the obvious reality of the situation to the driver just ahead of them. Then deeper, setting a rhythm that was all suction and swirling tongue, her fingers cupping his balls, massaging gently. His hips twitched involuntarily. She felt his hand come down, tangling roughly in her short dark hair, not guiding, just holding on.
"Can't... fuck... wait," David groaned, his voice thick, fingers tightening painfully in her hair.
She released him with a slick pop, grinning up at him, her lips swollen. "Don't you dare." Rising fluidly, she turned her back to him, facing the driver's mirror directly. Her tiny leather skirt was barely a suggestion as she straddled David's lap, facing away from him. Reaching back, she guided him inside her, sinking down onto his thick length with a low, satisfied sigh that echoed in the small cab.
Her head fell back against David's shoulder as she began to move, rocking her hips in a slow, deliberate reverse cowgirl rhythm. The sensation was intense, the friction delicious, the feeling of being utterly filled overwhelming. But her focus was split. Her eyes locked onto the driver's reflection in the rearview mirror. His gaze was fixed, unblinking, watching the rise and fall of her torso, the glimpse of where their bodies joined with each deep thrust.
She moved faster, riding David with increasing urgency, grinding down hard, taking him deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin mingled with David's stifled groans and her own sharp gasps. The city lights blurred outside. The driver’s eyes, dark and unwavering in the mirror, held hers. She arched her back, presenting herself fully to that voyeuristic gaze, letting him watch every intimate detail as she took her pleasure, owning the moment, the power, the raw, exposed thrill of it all. David cried out, his body jerking beneath her as he came, his hands clutching her hips. She kept moving, chasing her own peak under the driver's rapt, hungry stare, her climax crashing over her in a wave of pure, electric heat.
The cab finally pulled up outside their apartment building, the sudden stop jolting them both. The driver didn't turn around, just stared fixedly ahead, the meter clicking over. Cristina slid off David’s lap, the separation slick and abrupt, leaving him gasping against the sticky leather seat. She smoothed the ruined leather skirt down her bare thighs, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and dropped a crisp bill onto the front passenger seat through the partition slot. "Thanks for the ride," she murmured to the driver, her voice rough. Then she was out, the cool night air hitting her sweat-slicked skin, walking towards the building entrance without looking back. David scrambled after her, fumbling with his fly as he stumbled onto the pavement.
The elevator ride to their fifth-floor flat was thick with silence and the potent smell of sex, salt, and Veronica’s lingering Enigma perfume. David leaned against the mirrored wall, breathing hard, avoiding her reflection’s gaze. Cristina punched the button, her knuckles white, the adrenaline from the cab ride still buzzing under her skin like live wires. She felt raw, powerful, utterly exposed in the most delicious way. The mirrored walls reflected her disheveled hair, the smudged edge of her dark lipstick, the sheer mesh top clinging to her damp skin, the hard points of her nipples still visible. David’s reflection showed a flushed face, unfocused eyes, his shirt rumpled.
The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind them, David turned on her. "Holy shit, Cristina?" His voice was a ragged whisper, stripped of its usual easy calm, edged with something like panic. He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up. "In the cab? With the driver watching? Jesus!" He paced the narrow hallway, the scent of expensive seafood from Catch now clashing violently with the musk clinging to them both.
Cristina kicked off the ankle-strap heels, letting them clatter onto the hardwood. "You seemed to enjoy it," she stated flatly, walking past him towards the dim living room. She peeled off the sheer mesh top, dropping it carelessly on the back of the worn sofa. Her bare skin prickled in the cool air. "You came harder than you have in months." She turned to face him, standing there in just the minuscule leather skirt, her small breasts bare, tattoos stark against her pale skin in the low light filtering through the blinds. "Don't pretend you didn't."
David stopped pacing. He looked at her – truly looked – at the defiance in her posture, the raw sexuality radiating off her, so different from the baggy t-shirts and quiet resentment of weeks ago. His gaze traveled over her bare torso, down to the scrap of leather barely covering her, then back to her face. The confusion in his eyes warred with a dawning, unsettling hunger. "It's not... it's not that simple," he stammered, his voice cracking. He took a step towards her, then stopped, clenching his fists.
Cristina closed the distance between them. She pressed her palms flat against his chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart through his damp shirt. "Simple?" She tilted her head, her dark eyes holding his. "What's complicated, David?" Her thumbs brushed his nipples through the thin cotton. "Tell me what you want. Really want." She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her breath hot. "Because I saw your browser history, baby. I know what gets you hard when you think I’m not looking." She felt him freeze beneath her hands, a sudden, rigid stillness. "All those tabs... hidden deep."
David flinched as if struck. The color drained from his face, replaced by a sickly pallor. He tried to pull back, but Cristina held him firm, her fingers digging into the fabric. "You... you saw?" The whisper was barely audible, choked with shame and sudden, naked fear. His eyes darted wildly, unable to meet hers. All pretense, all his easygoing facade, crumbled in that instant. He looked utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way she'd never seen.
"Yeah," Cristina breathed, her voice low and relentless. She pressed her advantage, her body flush against his now, feeling the renewed tension coiling within him despite his shock. "All those videos. The ones with girls like... like this." She gestured down at her own barely-clad body. "The ones where they’re loud, demanding. Taking what they want. Where they’re watched." She paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air, thick as the scent of their cab ride. "Where they make their boyfriends confess things." She traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "What do you really want to confess, David?"