Sex On The Dining Table

Susan

If being clingy didn’t work and being high-maintenance backfired spectacularly, then maybe… just maybe… being an absolute slob would do the trick.

Men hated mess. They liked their women put together, tidy, and organized. So, if I became the opposite of that, Elliot would surely rethink this engagement.

The plan? Simple, turn his pristine, luxurious penthouse into a disaster zone.

The opportunity presented itself when he invited me over for the weekend. I arrived Friday evening with a suitcase full of strategically chosen outfits...wrinkled pajamas, old sweatpants, and a hoodie that had definitely seen better days. No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. The goal? Zero sex appeal.

Elliot opened the door, and the moment he saw me, his brows lifted. His gaze trailed over my oversized hoodie, my mismatched socks… then settled on my bare, makeup-free face.

"You look cute," he murmured.

Damn it.

Ignoring him, I dragged my suitcase inside and immediately began phase two: Operation ‘Wreak Havoc.’

First, I left my clothes everywhere. I threw my hoodie over his pristine white couch, dumped my jeans on the dining chair, and strategically left my bra hanging on the doorknob of his bathroom.

Why wouldn't Elliot complain already? This is so frustrating!

He walked into the mess, took one glance at the chaos, and simply adjusted the throw pillow I’d knocked over.

Okay, fine. Time for phase three...kitchen disaster.

I decided to ‘cook’ him breakfast. And by cook, I meant turn his spotless kitchen into a war zone. Flour dusted every counter. Eggshells littered the sink. A suspicious burning smell filled the air.

I stood back, surveying the catastrophe with satisfaction. There. That would do it.

Elliot walked in just as I ‘accidentally’ spilled a bag of sugar all over the floor.

I turned to him with wide eyes. "Oops."

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. I braced myself for the lecture. Any moment now...

"You’re making pancakes?" he asked instead.

I blinked. "Uh… yes?"

He rolled up his sleeves. "Let me help."

WHAT?

Within minutes, he had taken over. Flour? Cleaned. Burnt batter? Tossed. Somehow, he even managed to save the pancakes, flipping them with effortless skill.

I stood there, mouth slightly open, watching as my plan disintegrated before my eyes.

And to make matters worse… when we finally sat down to eat, Elliot pulled me onto his lap and murmured against my ear, "If you wanted to make a mess, sweetheart, you should’ve just invited me to the bedroom instead."

****

Elliot

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew Susan was up to something the moment she walked into my penthouse looking like a disaster on purpose. The messy clothes, the careless attitude, the way she deliberately wrecked my kitchen...I saw through it all. She was trying to push me away.

Too bad for her, I wasn’t the kind of man who ran at the first sign of chaos.

Especially not when I found her chaos fucking irresistible.

She sat on my lap, pretending to be unfazed, but I felt the way her breath hitched when I murmured against her ear, "If you wanted to make a mess, sweetheart, you should’ve just invited me to the bedroom instead."

Susan swallowed, her fingers stiff around the fork. She was pretending she wasn’t affected, but the way her thighs squeezed together told me otherwise.

Slowly, I dragged my palm up her bare thigh, beneath the oversized hoodie she wore. No shorts. No leggings. Just her soft, smooth skin. My fingers slid higher, finding the lacy edge of her panties, and I let out a dark chuckle.

"You really came dressed like this?" I murmured, my lips grazing her jaw.

"Don’t flatter yourself," she shot back, but her voice had lost its sharp edge.

I traced my fingers over the damp heat between her legs, feeling how her body betrayed her words. I kissed the curve of her neck, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her. Fuck. I’d planned to give her space, let her play whatever game she was playing, but she was making it impossible.

"You’re so wet for me," I whispered, pressing my fingers harder against her soaked lace.

She sucked in a breath, her body tensing in my lap. "Elliot, we’re at the table..."

"That’s not a no," I smirked.

Before she could argue, I stood, gripping her waist and lifting her onto the dining table in one smooth motion. Plates clattered, and a fork hit the floor, but I didn’t care. Her lips parted in shock, and I took advantage, capturing her mouth in a deep, searing kiss.

Her hands fisted in my shirt as I pushed her back against the cool marble surface. The contrast of the cold table and my heated touch had her shivering.

"You want messy?" I growled, dragging her panties down her thighs and tossing them aside. "I’ll give you fucking messy."

She gasped as I spread her legs wider, my fingers tracing over her slick clit before sliding one inside her. So tight. So perfect.

Her head fell back, a soft moan slipping from her lips. I couldn’t stop myself...I leaned down, nipping her throat, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. Mine.

I pumped my fingers into her, curling just right, teasing that sensitive spot inside her until she was writhing beneath me.

"Elliot," she whimpered, her nails digging into my arms.

"Tell me what you want," I demanded.

She bit her lip, trying to resist, but I added another finger, twisting them just right. She arched against me, her resistance snapping like a fragile thread.

"You," she gasped. "I want you."

That was all I needed to hear. I freed myself from my jeans, stroking my hard dick as I positioned myself between her thighs. I wanted to take my time, tease her, draw this out...

But I was too far gone.

I thrust inside her in one deep, punishing stroke, groaning as her warmth clenched around me. She cried out, her hands flying to my shoulders as she adjusted to my size.

"Fuck, Susan," I rasped, fighting to keep control.

She trembled beneath me, her legs locking around my waist as she pulled me closer. "Don’t you dare hold back."

That was all the invitation I needed.

I grabbed her hips and started moving...slow, deep thrusts that had her gasping, her nails raking down my back. The table creaked beneath us, dishes forgotten, silverware scattered.

Each thrust sent her closer to the edge, her moans turning into desperate cries. I was drowning in her...the taste of her skin, the way she tightened around me, the way she looked at me like I was the only man in her world.

"Susan," I groaned, gripping her hips tighter.

"Harder," she begged. "Please."

I growled, slamming into her, driving her back against the cool surface as I fucked her hard, fast, relentless. Her body bowed, and then...

She shattered.

Her climax ripped through her, a sharp cry spilling from her lips as she clenched around me. The sensation sent me spiraling after her, pleasure detonating inside me as I buried myself deep, groaning her name like a prayer.

The aftermath left us panting, her legs still wrapped around me, my hands braced on either side of her.

I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing her in, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against mine.

"If this was part of your plan to make me leave," I murmured, "you really miscalculated."

She laughed breathlessly, her fingers tracing my jaw.

Yeah. I wasn’t letting her go. Not now. Not ever.