Failed Date Night
-smut, dom! Jean w/ teasingsub! Intern, sneaky
You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the upstairs bedroom you shared with Jean, adjusting the outfit you'd chosen with very deliberate intent.
"Baby, are you almost ready?" Jean's voice drifted from the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water. "Our reservation is in an hour."
You smiled at your reflection. The outfit was perfect. You'd chosen it specifically because you knew exactly what it would do to him.
"Almost!" you called back, running your hands down your sides, smoothing the fabric. "Just need your opinion on something."
Jean emerged from the bathroom, still buttoning his own shirt—crisp white linen that made his tan skin look even more golden. His dark hair was slightly damp, pushed back from his face, and he was barefoot, which you always found unfairly attractive. He'd rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing forearms that had no business being that distracting.
He looked up, and you watched his hands freeze mid-button.
"So?" You turned slowly, letting him take in the full effect. "What do you think?"
"Shit," he breathed, his accent thickening the way it always did when he was flustered. His dark eyes tracked over you with an intensity that made heat pool low in your belly. "What do I think?"
"About the outfit." You played innocent, adjusting yourself in the mirror. "Is it too much for the restaurant?"
Jean's jaw tightened. You could see him fighting for composure, his fingers resuming their work on his buttons with deliberate focus. "It's... fine."
"Just fine?" You turned to face him fully, leaning back against the dresser. "I can change if you want."
"No." The word came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "It's perfect. You look perfect."
You bit your lip, watching him struggle to finish buttoning his shirt. "You sure? Because I have that other outfit—"
"Love.." His voice held a warning note. "Boom and Bing are downstairs."
As if on cue, Boom's booming laugh echoed up from the game room below, followed by Bing's higher-pitched cackle. They were playing cards, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the bedroom upstairs.
"So?" You pushed off the dresser, crossing the room toward him with slow, deliberate steps.
Jean's eyes darkened as you approached. "So you should stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" You stopped just in front of him, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something woody and expensive that he'd never quite left behind from his old life.
"Like you want me to ruin those clothes you just put on." His hand came up, fingers ghosting along your jaw but not quite touching. "Like you wore this specifically to drive me insane."
"Would I do that?" You tilted your head, letting your lips brush against his palm.
"Yes. You absolutely would." His thumb traced your bottom lip. "You're doing it right now."
You caught his thumb between your teeth gently, watching his pupils dilate. "Maybe I just wanted to look nice for our date."
"Liar," he murmured. His other hand settled on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"Am I winning?"
A rough laugh escaped him. "Too well. Too fucking well."
You turned back to the mirror, ostensibly to check your hair, but really to give him a perfect view. You bent slightly, adjusting your shoe, and heard his sharp intake of breath behind you.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're killing me."
"I'm just getting ready." You straightened, meeting his eyes in the mirror. They were molten now, all pretense of control slipping. "Is there a problem?"
"You know exactly what the problem is." He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching your back. "You wore this knowing what it would do to me."
"Did I?" You leaned back slightly, feeling the heat of him. "Tell me what it's doing to you."
His hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel exactly what it was doing to him, hard and insistent against your lower back.
"That," he growled in your ear, "is what you're doing to me. And we have dinner reservations, and our friends are downstairs, and you're standing here looking like every fantasy I've ever had."
You turned in his arms, looping yours around his neck. "Sounds like a you problem."
"A you problem?" His laugh was strained. "Baby, you're the one who's going to suffer when I get you alone later."
"Promises, promises." You traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "Maybe I don't want to wait until later."
"Boom and Bing—"
"Are very invested in their card game." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "They won't even notice."
"They'll notice if you can't stay quiet." His hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you harder against him. "And you're not very good at staying quiet."
"Maybe you're not very good at making me want to stay quiet."
That did it.
"Enough," he snarled. "You asked for it."
In one fluid motion, he spun you around and walked you backward toward the bed. Your legs hit the mattress and you fell back, bouncing slightly. Jean followed you down, his body covering yours, one hand braced beside your head while the other worked at undressing you.
"Jean—" you started, but he cut you off with a kiss that was all heat and hunger and barely restrained control.
"No," he breathed against your mouth. "You don't get to tease me like that and then say my name so sweetly." His fingers made quick work of your clothes, pushing fabric aside. "You want to play games? Okay. We'll play."
He kissed down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you arched into him with a gasp that was too loud.
His hand immediately covered your mouth. "Shh," he warned, his accent thick. "What did I say? Boom and Bing are downstairs, but they'll hear you if you're too loud."
You nodded against his palm, and he slowly removed it, replacing it with his mouth in a kiss that swallowed any sound you might have made. His hands were everywhere—sliding your clothes off, touching bare skin with a reverence that contradicted the urgency of his movements.
"This is what you wanted, right?" he murmured against your collarbone. "To drive me so crazy I couldn't wait?"
"Yes," you breathed, helping him with his own buttons, desperate to feel skin against skin.
"Then you're going to have to be very, very quiet." He bit down gently on your shoulder. "Can you do that for me, baby?"
"I'll try."
"You'll do better than try." He sat back on his heels, pulling the rest of your clothes off and tossing them aside. His eyes raked over you, dark with want. "Because if they hear us, I stop. Understand?"
You nodded, already aching for him.
"Use your words."
"I understand," you whispered.
"Good." He made quick work of his own remaining clothes, and then he was back over you, skin against skin, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. "Now let's see how quiet you can be."
His mouth found your neck again, kissing and biting a path down to your chest. When his lips closed around your nipple, you had to bite your own hand to keep from crying out.
"That's it," he praised, his voice low and rough. "So good for me."
His hand slid between your thighs, and you were already embarrassingly wet. He groaned softly when he felt it.
"Fuck, baby. All this from just teasing me?" Two fingers slid inside you easily, and your back arched off the bed. "So fucking wet already."
You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in, trying desperately to stay quiet as he worked you with his fingers, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.
"Jean," you whimpered, "please—"
"Please what?" He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moan. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Inside me. Now."
"So impatient." But he was already positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Remember—quiet."
He pushed in slowly, and it took everything in you not to scream. He was big and the stretch was intense and perfect, and you had to bury your face in his neck to muffle your sounds.
"Fuck," he breathed, his control slipping. "So tight, so perfect."
He started to move, slow deep thrusts that hit every nerve ending. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he cursed against your ear—a stream of breathless profanity that made you clench around him.
"You feel so good," you whispered. "So fucking good."
"Shh." But his hips snapped harder, faster. "You're going to get us caught."
From downstairs, you heard Boom shout something about his hand, and Bing's responding groan. Jean used the noise as cover to thrust particularly deep, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep quiet.
"That's it," he growled. "Bite me. Mark me. Let me feel it."
His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and the dual sensation was almost too much. You were climbing fast, pleasure building at the base of your spine.
"Jean, I'm—I'm close—"
"I know, baby. I can feel you." His thrusts became more erratic, his own control fraying. "Come for me. But quietly."
His fingers circled faster, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, and you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, and you had to press your face into the pillow to muffle your cries. Jean fucked you through it, his own breathing ragged.
"Shit, I'm—" He barely got the warning out before he was coming too, burying himself deep with a muffled groan against your neck. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and perfect, and it triggered another small aftershock that made you both shudder.
For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, breathing hard. The fan continued its lazy rotation overhead. From downstairs, the card game continued, Boom and Bing none the wiser.
Jean lifted his head, and you saw his lips quirk into a satisfied smirk. "So much for dinner reservations."
You laughed breathlessly. "We still have time."
"Look at you." He gestured at your thoroughly debauched state—hair messed, lips swollen, skin flushed. "We'd have to get ready all over again."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours." He kissed you softly. "Absolutely yours. Walking around in that outfit like you weren't asking for exactly this."
"Maybe I was." You traced patterns on his back. "Maybe this was the plan all along."
"Diabolical." He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest. "You're dangerous, you know that?"
"You love it."
"I do." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "But next time you try this little stunt, we're not making it to the restaurant at all. I'll fuck you right here and keep you in bed all night."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"It's a promise, baby."
You snuggled closer, feeling satisfied and lazy and thoroughly loved. "We should probably actually get ready. We can still make it if we hurry."
"Or," Jean suggested, his hand sliding down your side, "we could order in. Tell Boom and Bing we're not feeling well."
"They'll know exactly what we were doing."
"They probably already know." He grinned. "You weren't as quiet as you thought."
You smacked his chest. "You said I was good!"
"You were good. For you." He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. "But I know every sound you make, baby. And that was definitely your 'Jean is fucking me so good I can't think' sound."
"I do not have a—"
A knock on the door interrupted you. "Ey, you two!" Bing's voice called from the hallway. "Me and Boom could hear everything downstairs. Everything. You gotta learn how to fuck quietly, man!"
You and Jean looked at each other.
"We'll keep it down!" Jean called back, his voice strained with barely suppressed laughter.
"Yeah, you better!" Bing shouted. "We're trying to play cards down here!"
More cackling from him as he retreated back downstairs.
You buried your burning face in Jean's chest. "Oh my god."
"I told you," he said smugly, running his fingers through your hair. "Not quiet enough."
"This is your fault."
"My fault? You're the one who wore that outfit."
"Which is now somewhere on the floor, completely wrinkled."
"Too bad." He kissed you again, slow and sweet. "Worth it."
You couldn't argue with that. "Rain check on the fancy restaurant?"
"Absolutely. Next week. And you're wearing something completely unsexy."
"Like what?"
"A t-shirt and jeans. Baggy sweatpants. Anything that doesn't make me want to tear it off you."
You grinned. "You think that'll help?"
He sighed dramatically. "I'm doomed. Doomed to be seduced by my own partner in my own home."
"Poor baby." You kissed his jaw. "How will you survive?"
"With great difficulty." But he was smiling, that soft smile he reserved just for you. "And great pleasure."
You lay there a while longer, wrapped in each other, listening to Boom and Bing argue about pizza toppings from downstairs. The Havana heat pressed in through the windows, but you didn't mind. Not when you had Jean's arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and the promise of many more date nights—successful or otherwise—stretching out before you.
Eventually, you'd have to get up. Put on actual clothes. But for now, you were exactly where you wanted to be.
"I love you," Jean murmured into your hair.
"I love you too," you whispered back.
And if dinner reservations had to be sacrificed for moments like this? Well. That was just the price of being with the man you loved.
Even if that man had absolutely no self-control when you wore the right outfit.
(You were definitely wearing it again.)
