Cannon seems in a weird mood tonight. Ever since I texted to let him know I was ovulating again, he's been weird and distant.

I wonder if he's getting sick of me. Maybe the pressure of this whole situation is weighing on him too much. Or maybe he's just anxious to get this over with so he can get back to his usual MO—philandering around town with his friends, hooking up with any girl he's interested in. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he hasn't brought another girl home while we're doing this, even though, of course, since we're doing NSA, he would be totally within his rights. But I wonder if he's getting bored. Getting tired of this whole routine.

That's why I decide to spice things up. I mean, we have one week of this left—hopefully, ideally. If all goes well, then I'll be pregnant by the end of the week, know within another couple of weeks, and we can both move on with our lives. So we might as well enjoy this last week together.

So I text him to meet me at our favorite restaurant, a quiet, romantic little spot a few towns over where we're never recognized. I change at the office before we meet. I splurged a little, hoping to make this night extra special, and I don't want him to see me until we meet up later.

Finally, when I'm ready, I step out into my car, navigating with only a small amount of difficulty in the spiked heels that I bought for this.

Okay, so it might be a little much. But I don't care. It's totally worth it when I saunter over to our regular table and Cannon's expression lights up in something between shock and white-hot desire.

I'm wearing six-inch heels, so high that I'm almost nervous to walk in them. But they make my calves pop and my legs look miles long underneath the dress I'm wearing. The dress is also new. It's skin-tight, bright red, with a hemline long enough to not be too scandalous, but short enough to draw Cannon's eyes right where I want them. Not to mention the scoop neck, where I've hung a simple pendant that nestles right at the top of my cleavage, hinting just enough to make him lick his lips as he studies my chest.

But the biggest change, the one that has him glancing at me again and again, studying me with wide, lust-filled eyes, is the wig I tossed on. It's simple, just a black bob wig, but it makes me feel like a totally different person. Like a Bond girl stepping out of one of the action thrillers and sitting across from him at our table.

"Rina," he murmurs when I finally slide into the chair across from his, crossing my legs with a demure yet sexy smile cast in his direction. "You look... Holy shit."

My grin widens. "You like?" I lift one eyebrow.

His gaze sweeps across mine, hungry as ever. "I have to admit," he says after a moment, "I still prefer you as a redhead. But the black is a fun change." He reaches out and catches a curl of the wig, spins it around his fingertip. "Is this your sex goddess alter-ego?" he asks with a smirk.

"Yes," I reply with a lift of my eyebrows. "That's Ms. Smith to you."

"I see," he replies, at the same time that he drops a hand under the table and slides his fingertips up the inside of my thigh, starting at my knee, then inching higher, higher, higher...

I tense when he reaches the spot where my thighs are pressed together, and cast a glance around the restaurant. There's only a couple other tables in here, and our table has a long linen cloth draped around the sides. But it won't disguise what we're doing if Cannon keeps going. Not for long.

"I ordered already," he adds, as though in afterthought. "I hope that's all right. I got the usual."

"That's fine," I say, and he takes advantage of my distraction to slip his hand between my thighs. He works them a little higher, until his fingertips graze against the thin, silky fabric of my sexy, barely-there panties.

"Hmm." His eyes light up with that animal look of lust that I savor so much in him. "New panties, Ms. Smith?"

I hold my head and consider him with a widening smile. "I wanted to match my new persona. So, you know... I needed something... particularly scandalous."

"I see." He hooks his forefinger through my panties and tugs lightly against the silky fabric. "I hope you don't mind if I wind up ruining these before the night is through," he says, his voice dropping so low it's almost a growl. "I find I can't help myself around you, Ms. Smith. Especially not like this." His gaze sweeps back over my body, lingers on my chest, on the spot where the dress dips low enough just to hint at my cleavage.

At that moment, the waiter swings by our table with the first course, and we jump apart—or rather, I do, while Cannon watches me from beneath hooded eyes, laughing softly in amusement. The waiter, for his part, just leaves our food, makes sure everything is okay, then bows and exits without a comment about my wig or the nervous, bright red flush that's come over my face.

"What's the matter?" Cannon asks, once he's gone and we've returned our attention to the food at hand. "I thought you liked getting dirty in public, Ms. Smith." He slides one foot along the inside of my calf, tracing up and down my leg, driving me wild just from that light touch alone.

My eyelids flutter to half-mast, and it takes all my concentration suddenly not to drop the fork I'm holding in complete distraction at the sensations he's shooting through every nerve in my body. But two can play at this game. I hold his gaze and then take a long, slow, purposeful look around the restaurant. At the same time, I slide my foot up his inner leg, mirroring what he's doing to me. But I go higher, higher, and then I reach down to unhook my stiletto. Let the heel drop to the floor, before I slide my leg along his lap, to inch my toes between his thighs until I feel the telltale hard, thick press of his cock.

Naturally, he's already rock hard. I love knowing that I can still have that effect on him. Whatever else might happen between us, I always know how to get him excited, whenever and wherever I want.

So, just for tonight, I try to forget about everything else. About the promises we made each other, about the feelings that I can't help, but sort of hate myself for developing. I forget it all and I just focus on this, on him.

I trace my foot along the length of his cock, curling my toes around him through his pants. His mouth parts faintly, and his eyes glaze over with that hunger that I enjoy watching happen so much.

But he's not content to just sit back and let me work. He never is. He has to take control, every time. And as frustrating as that can be sometimes, I won't lie—I love it.

This time, when he leans forward, he doesn't hesitate. He forces my knees apart and runs a hand between them, straight to my pussy. I'm already wet, but I only realize how much when he begins to stroke my pussy through my panties, and I can feel the wetness coating his fingers even through the fabric.

"I love how hot you get for me, Ms. Smith," he murmurs.

"As excited as you get for me," I reply, tilting my foot to drag along the sides of his cock, one after the other.

"You know what I want to do to you right now?" he asks, his voice low and thrumming with heat.

"Tell me," I reply, continuing to stroke his cock with my toes. It takes effort, and I’m forced to give up when he pulls his chair around to my side of the table, pressed close against my side. He pushes my panties aside and runs one finger along my slit, between my lips, making my eyes unfocus and my lips part with need.

"I want to pull you out of that chair, throw these plates to the floor, bend you over this table and fuck you right here, in front of everyone," he murmurs. At the same time, he begins to stroke my pussy faster, not entering me, not yet, but circling my clit with his thumb at the same time that his fingers stroke along my slit.

My mouth parts, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to remain sitting upright. I grip the edges of the table with both hands.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the waiter looking our way, and I freeze, worried he'll be able to tell what's happening underneath this long tablecloth.

Cannon doesn't stop, though. He just keeps stroking me, faster, rougher. "Does the thought of that make you hot, Ms. Smith?" he whispers. "The thought of being fucked right here in public, bent over this table, having your dress yanked up around your waist? Exposed to the world..."

I lick my lips. Try to regain my composure, my self-control. But fuck, it's hard when he's touching me like this. And talking like that. "Yes," I admit in a low whisper. "I like thinking about you taking control." I lean closer, lower my voice to a sultry whisper. "I like it when you take what you want from me, whenever and wherever you want it."

"And if I want you here?" he murmurs, bending closer across the table. "Now?"

I lick my lips. Lock eyes with him. "Where do you want me, sir?" I breathe against his cheek.

He searches my gaze. I wonder if he's checking whether I mean it, whether I'm serious. But he must know me by now. He knows how much I'm up for.

Finally, his mouth quirks into that dangerous, deadly grin that I love so much. "Bathroom," he murmurs. "I'll meet you there."

I swallow hard. We're really doing this?

The movie theater was one thing. It was dark, mostly deserted. Chances of anyone actually seeing us or overhearing us when I was going down on him in the middle of that movie were slim to none. But now, this... The restaurant is pretty empty. People will notice if we both leave the table, and don't come back.

Then he curls his fingers and pushes one inside me, gently, slowly, an inch at a time. I grind my hips against the chair, against the heel of his hand where it cups my pussy, pressing my clit against his palm, and I decide, fuck it. I don't care. Let's do this.

"Wait a minute before you join me," I hiss. Then, with a tremendous surge of effort and self-restraint—because my body wants to stay right here, wants to keep his fingers inside my pussy, stroking me until I come—I force myself to stand, smoothing the hem of my dress back down around my thighs as I rise. I flip my shoes back upright under the table, step back into them, and then, with a deep, steadying breath, I stride away across the restaurant. I smile and nod to the waiter as I pass, then duck into the bathroom, heart racing.

Luckily it's a single stall, one of the big handicapped ones. And surprisingly clean, though I guess that makes sense for a small restaurant out this way.

I barely have enough time to check my face in the mirror, make sure I still look more put-together and less out of control than I feel, when there's a faint knock at the door.

I open it just wide enough for Cannon to slip inside and slam it shut behind him again, turning the lock.

"That was—" I start to say, but he cuts me off by grabbing my face, cupping it between both hands, and pulling me into a searing hot kiss. I forget what I was about to say. I forget about the restaurant, the world outside. I forget about everything but his tongue sliding between my lips, his kiss hungry and desperate and wanting. His hands slide down my hips, grip them and pull me flush against him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, grab for the hem of his shirt, pull it up and aside so that I can push one hand under the waist of his pants and down to grip his ass, hard.

He walks backwards, keeping me pinned against him, our mouths still locked in the heated kiss, as he shoves one shoulder off my dress off. Only then does he break away from the kiss, and just long enough to shove my bra down and kiss and suck at my nipple, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin while it hardens into a pebble between his lips. I gasp, letting my head fall back, and he takes advantage of my distraction to hoist me onto the sink, perching me on the edge as he continues to lick and suck my breast, his hands sliding down to my waist to hold me in place.

"Rina," he moans against my skin, and I can't help it. The sound of my name in his deep voice sends a thrill straight through all my nerve endings, a plummeting feeling in my stomach.

I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, tugging him closer to me. At the same time, I grab his shirt, begin to undo the buttons as fast as I can, my hands trembling with the combination of adrenaline and the pleasurable sensations that fly through my veins every time he strikes another nerve ending, biting or kissing or licking just the right spot. He kisses his way back up to my collarbone, along it, and then up the side of my jaw. My head falls to one side, and I gasp aloud as his teeth rake across the sensitive spot just below my earlobe, where he always loves to kiss, to drive me wild.

I push his shirt down his arms, and he pauses in his caresses just long enough to yank his hands out of the sleeves and let it fall to a puddle at his feet. Then he's back, grabbing me around the waist and pinning me against the mirror, my ass arching against the sink, my hips angling toward him. Through the fabric of his pants, I can feel the hard bulge of his cock, and it makes me want to rip those pants off, just to get them out of the way, to get what I want.

His body, naked, against mine. His cock inside me, filling me. Making me feel closer to him than I ever thought possible. Taking his pleasure from me even as he gives me so much ecstasy in return.

But he's teasing me tonight. Cannon leans back to study me, his eyes drinking me in while his hands roam from my waist to my ass to grip tightly, pulling me against him. "God, I love watching you get all worked up for me," he murmurs against my neck, his lips grazing my skin as he speaks.

"You know just how to do it," I breathe against his cheek, even as I run my hands up his back to his broad shoulders to grip tightly, bracing myself between him and the sink.

"What can I say? You're a fun mark to learn," he murmurs. At the same time, he slides one hand up my skirt again, pushing the fabric until it bunches around my waist. In one swift motion, he tugs my panties down my thighs, exposing my bare pussy to him. He gazes down at me in appreciation, and I notice his eyebrows rise as he sees. "Did you get waxed for me?" he asks, a sly grin on his face.

"Maybe," I admit, shifting against the counter, angling myself to grant him a better view. "What do you think?"

He breathes out sharply, in a sound that's almost a sigh, almost a groan. Then he slides his hand along the plane of my stomach, down to my smooth mound, which he traces with his fingers, exploring me, savoring the smooth, bare skin. "I think it's sexy as hell that you did this for me," he admits, and for a second, our eyes lock, our breaths hitching in sync.

See. Moments like this. In moments like this, I feel like I glimpse another side of Cannon. A side that's normally hidden behind the miles-high shields he has up around himself, protecting himself. But moments like this, I can see through that into his heart. And there, I get a glimpse of what he really wants.

And I think, just for one, impossible, magical, insane moment, that that might be me.

He might want me, just the same way I want him.

"Rina..."

Then he breaks his gaze from mine, and the spell shatters, the illusion gone. It's just us in this tiny bathroom again, the heat rising as he draws me against him, pulls me in for another deep kiss, his tongue penetrating my lips, toying with mine, his scent and his unique flavor flooding my senses, while his hands move my legs, fold me up to yank my panties the rest of the way off, and drops them on the floor beside us, before he grips my waist and suddenly flips me around.

"Let's try something different," he suggests with a sly grin.

I gasp as he shifts our positions, bending me over the sink in front of him. From this angle, it's easier for him to keep stroking my pussy, spreading my lips and caressing me, his fingers exploring every inch, slowly, maddeningly. I buck against him, and he laughs softly.

"Eager, my little dirty girl?"

I glance up at him in the mirror, enjoying the view—him behind me, his shirt off, bare chest glistening with sweat, and his eyes hot as ever as they focus in on me. From this angle, it looks even hotter that I'm in this tight little dress, now bunched up around my waist, with my bare ass sticking straight up in the air behind me, and my carefully positioned wig askew.

He seems to notice the latter at the same time as I do, and gently disentangles it from my hair, bending down across me to bite my shoulder lightly as he does. "Sorry," he whispers against my skin. "But I need to see the real you." Then he runs his hands through my hair—which is a mess from being bunched up under the wig all night, but he doesn't seem to care. He grips a handful and pulls just hard enough to make me arch my neck, watch him in the mirror as his fingers slide forward and start to circle across my clit, increasing the pressure with every rotation.

Before long I'm gasping, finding it hard to keep my breath steady. My chest heaves, and in the mirror, I watch him grin down at me, enjoying the view. "I love when you come for me, Rina," he murmurs.

"I... I'm going to... soon," I manage to gasp, as he increases the pressure, his fingers circling, harder, faster... Then, without warning, he plunges one hand into my pussy, all the way to the knuckle. I cry out faintly, and he steps closer. I thrust my hips back against him, drive his finger deeper, and I don't stop moving until I feel his hips collide with mine, feel the shape of his hard cock through the fabric of his pants.

"Cannon." I meet his gaze in the mirror. "I want... you..."

"Not yet," he replies, his gaze steady as ever, damn him. How is it that he always knows just where to touch, just how to drive me wild, without letting me make him this crazy in return?

I'd say it isn't fair, but right about now, as he adds another finger to my pussy and begins to stroke back and forth, building up speed, I can't really complain. I'm enjoying this way too fucking much.

"Tell me, dirty girl." His voice brings me back into myself, distracts me for a moment from the orgasm building in the pit of my belly. I glance up at him in the mirror. "Do you want to try something new?'

"Try what?" I ask, my voice soft.

He raises a single eyebrow. And then he withdraws his fingers from me, making me groan faintly in frustration.

Then, he places one of those fingers, still slick and wet with my juices, between my cheeks, pointed straight at the tight little nub of my ass. "Do you want me to fill you even more fully this time?"

I swallow hard. Keep my gaze on his. I've never tried this before. Never let anyone take my ass, in any way, because to be honest, while I was always curious about it, it made me too nervous to try with someone I didn't know. I never let any of my casual hookups go anywhere near my ass.

But with Cannon... Things are different. We've tried so many new things. And I trust him. Hell, I wouldn't allow anyone else to lock me into a restaurant bathroom with them.

So I nod, just once, my gaze steady.

Without waiting for any more reply than that, Cannon begins to press his finger forward, gently. Another wordless cry escapes my lips as the very tip of his finger glides past the tight pucker of my ass, inching inside me. At first, it does sting a bit, but it's the same kind of hurt I experience when he bites my chest or when we fuck so hard that it's difficult to walk the next day. It's a good ache, bone-deep. The kind of hurt that borders on pleasure.

And it doesn't last long, either. As he continues to press forward, a centimeter at a time, I can feel my body relaxing, feel myself letting go of control.

"That's it," he murmurs, approving. "Relax. I'm in control now, Rina. As long as you remember that, this will feel amazing."

So I do just that. I let him take over, completely. Surrender myself to his touch, for him to use as he wants. The thought alone makes me wetter, because I love the idea of him taking his pleasure from me, using me however he wants. There's something so hot about the surrender of control there.

He finishes pressing his finger inside me, and for a moment he just holds it there. I breathe in, out, adjusting, getting used to the sensation of having a finger inside my ass.

I'm still adjusting to that when I feel the tip of his cock press against the entrance to my pussy, and now, my eyes widen in the mirror, going wide with surprise.

"You can take this, Rina," he murmurs. "You're a fucking size queen, remember?" His eyes flash where they meet mine, and just hearing him say that, knowing that he knows what he's doing, relaxes me again.

He pushes inside me, and I can't help it. I gasp, loud, in pleasure.

I've never felt this full.

He goes slow, entering me almost as slowly as he slid his finger into my ass. When he finally reaches the end, his cock fully inside my pussy, his balls resting against my lips, he draws back, pulling both his finger and his cock out of me at once. I groan at the sensation of loss, already desperate to feel him filling me again.

I don't have to wait long. He thrusts forward into me once more, and I thrust back at the same time, crying out, forgetting where we are, forgetting everything else around us.

He starts to pick up the pace, fucking me harder, his finger moving in and out of my ass in time with his thrusts. I rock with him, bracing myself on the sink, glancing back and forth between the mirror and over my shoulder, to savor the view of him thrusting into me like this, bent in half in front of him.

That's when a loud knock sounds at the door. "Hello? Miss?"

We both freeze, our chests heaving with breath, hearts racing. I clamp my lips shut to try to stifle the sound of my breathing.

"Are you all right?" someone calls through the door, probably our waiter. "I heard a cry."

"I'm fine," I call back, wincing. "Um... I'll just be a minute."

"Let us know if you need anything," the man calls again. We wait until we hear receding footsteps before Cannon leans down and chuckles softly, pulling my hair back from my forehead to catch my eye.

"I guess we'll have to be faster," he says, already pulling back to thrust into me again. I whimper faintly, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Faster and quieter, Rina."

I bite my lip and nod, resolving to be quieter as we keep going.

But I don't know how hard that's going to be. Especially with Cannon abusing both my holes at once, fucking my pussy hard, and keeping his finger gliding in and out of my ass. Before long, I'm squirming against the sink, still pinned between him and it, trying my best to keep my hips moving in time with his, thrusting back against him to grant him as much access as I can, to drive him as deep as I can.

Before long, I can feel the orgasm building inside me. I grit my teeth, strain to keep silent, but in the end, Cannon drops his grip on my hair and claps his other hand over my mouth as I groan, unable to stop myself.

Footsteps sound outside again, but I arch my back, urge Cannon with one long desperate look to keep going. So he does. He continues pounding into me, and this time, when the manager calls out again to ask if everything is all right, I'm the only one with it enough to turn and call back to him.

"Just... fine... I'll be there in a moment!" I manage to shout. That seems to buy us time, at least for now.

Thank God, because less than a minute later, Cannon thrusts into me once, twice, a third time, and comes with a guttural growl, deep in the back of his throat. He keeps his hands wrapped around both my hips, so tightly that I know it'll leave a mark tomorrow. I love that. I love knowing he's marked me as his, if only for now.

I love, too, the feeling of his hot cum shooting deep into my belly. Filling me. I love the little popping sound that happens when he draws his finger out of my ass, and I love the hot rush that spills down my thigh as he draws his cock out of my pussy, and our combined juices rush out in a flood of heat.

We both take another minute to clean up, trying our best in the cramped space. Then I reach for the knob, but before I can turn it, Cannon grabs my chin and draws my face up toward his, kissing me, deep and slow, our tongues tangling for one desperate moment.

Then we break apart, and I grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. "I'll go out first," I whisper. "You come in a minute."

"I think I'll need longer than that," he whispers back with a laugh, and I roll my eyes and elbow him.

"You know what I meant, Mr. Stamina," I murmur. Then, without another word, I slip past him back into the restaurant, my dress as smoothed as I can make it, my wig crumpled under one arm.

The whole place stares as I return to my seat on trembling, shaky legs. After that fucking, it's harder than ever to walk in these heels. I retake my seat, trying for a casual smile, hoping that nobody else in here can tell that I've just been fucked in the bathroom stall. But to judge by the stares, and the faint snickers and whispers among the staff, it's pretty obvious what was going on.

When Cannon emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, hair a wild mess and his shirt crumpled in places where he's tucked it back in, the whispers and soft laughs hidden behind palms redouble throughout the staff members.

We play it cool for the rest of dinner, finishing eating with hardly a word, because every time we make eye contact long enough to try to strike up a conversation, one or the other of us dissolve into muffled laughter again. Finally, we get the check and pay, and on our way out, the waiter claps Cannon on the back and winks at him, then shoots me a grin.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," he advises us as we pass him by, and that does it. We can't hold it together any longer. We burst into peels of laughter, and grab hands as we hurry across the parking lot toward Cannon's distant car, breathless with amusement, embarrassment, and, under it all, the desire to go home and do all of that right over again.