My girlfriend, Letitia, was so amused she was practically cackling. The waiter was staring at me, and I couldn’t help staring right back.
He had just asked if we needed anything else.
“No. Just — ”
“Your number,” Letitia interrupted. “She’ll take your number.”
He gave me an appraising look, and I felt a flush spread from my cheeks to my chest to my pussy. Letitia was having a grand old time.
“Is that so?”
I shrugged, not missing the fact that his gaze had settled on my cleavage. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down,” I said, doing my best flirty voice.
He held out his hand, and I stared at it.
“Give him your phone,” Letitia said, rolling her eyes.
“Oh!” I handed it over, and he tapped rapidly on the screen and then handed it back.
“Jackson,” he said.
I nodded. I’d already known that. His name tag was prominent. “I’ll call you, Jackson,” I said.
He winked and wandered off.
“Give that man a tip and a half just for that cute butt!” Letitia whispered, plenty loud enough for him to hear as he retreated.
My phone buzzed, and she giggled a second before I asked, “Is that you? Did you take his picture or something?”
“You know me too well. I was super slick, though, right? You didn’t even know.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t know.”
“You gonna tell Logan?”
I nodded. “Of course I am.”
“Man, how’d you luck out like this? You get a smoking-hot husband, and he likes sharing you with other men. Lord.”
I grinned. “Just lucky, I guess.”
The night of my date with the waiter, Logan asked, “Now who is this charming gentleman who’s going to fuck my wife?”
I hadn’t shown him the picture yet. He knew I had one, but I was making him wait until the last minute.
Shortly after we’d exchanged numbers, I’d called Jackson and explained my situation: That I had a husband, but we were in an open marriage. I felt it only fair he be informed.
He was fine with our arrangement and asked me out for drinks. I was currently in a tight blue dress and tall black boots. Minimal makeup with bright red fuck-me lipstick.
Logan grabbed me around the middle and pulled me back against him. I could feel his hard-on pressing against my ass.
“The picture. Show me,” he whispered demandingly in my ear. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my scalp prickle. Beneath the bodice of my dress my nipples spiked.
I pulled out my phone and found the picture. “Here he is.”
He looked over my shoulder, still trapping me close to his body, his hard cock still nudging my ass. “Hmm. He looks like a strapping young lad. I think your pussy is in for a full-throttle workout.” Then he grabbed my mound through my dress and squeezed.
The rude gesture made me wet. I was going to be soaked before I even got to my date.