Author's Note: This is my response to the second prompt for the sixth Limoversary– "family". Set post-finale but as an interlude to "Twelve", meaning that this can be read as an addition to or an alternate to the November portion of that story. That said, you do not have to read "Twelve" in order to enjoy this story. Happy Limoversary!

The brush of her nose against his cheek could be explained away as an innocent gesture caused by the limo catching the curb on its turn was it not for the way her head angles against the seat so that brown eyes still in a daze of champagne and excitement sweep up to gaze at his own. And her fingers slide across the leather seat to tangle with his fingers, her crossed legs unfurl and fall open to press against his, and her whole body moves across literal inches and proverbial miles to answer his question in the only way that has ever been true.

The press of her lips against his, the parting of his lips by her tongue because she is no innocent. Not after she assured him of her answer by crashing her lips against his in a heated frenzy. Not after she took his offer of a simple ride home and twisted it into the ride of his life – an up and down, no-safety-harness-provided, emotional roller coaster that turned him inside out and changed the course of his life.

And the fire below still burns brightly – hot, red flames fueling desire so that greedy hands are sliding from her ribcage to her ass in order to pull her closer still. Because nothing will sedate the hunger of a man starving for another piece of pie, for another chance to take what she is offering and devour it rather than throw it back in her face.

Yet for all his infamy and all his greed, nothing will quite match her passion once uncaged. A pouncing lioness whose nails scrape through his hair as she presses herself into him and whose desire becomes implicit with every shifting, seductive slide of her body against his as her tongue duels for control, her teeth nip at his lip, and her purrs of delight are breathed into his kisses.

Her fight for dominance found in the way she backs him into the far corner of the limo with her lips pressing against his and her fingers stroking against the nape of his neck. His attention momentarily distracted when her hand falls from his face because he tries – because he will always try – to catch and hold it. A tender movement she rebukes by shaking off his hold and running her fingers over the zipper of his pants; a movement that breaks the melding of their lips as his concentration wanes and her body flushes with smug victory.

Yet offense becomes defense because the new angle of her head exposes the line of her neck, and the creamy white patch of skin has been unmarked territory for far too long. Purrs of delight becoming a mewl of half-hearted protest because she loves his teeth nibbling on her skin just as much as she hates wearing turtlenecks and uniquely twisted scarves. But it's the time of year when passion becomes a free for all, when desire is answered with every tantalizing stroke of her tongue against his and his fingertips against her skin until all thoughts are forgotten as he lifts the hem of her skirt and traces the line of her stocking.

Fingers achingly close as he curls his hand around the strap of her garter belt; fingers tugging roughly as they fist the cascade of curls running down her back. Because only her boyfriend gets to touch her hair and only her husband gets to adore her stockings.

Adoration serving as his weapon of choice because it will never cease to cause her undoing, never cease to cause her toes to curl in excitement, never cease to cause her to see herself as amazing and beautiful and a whole list of adjectives spanning the length of the alphabet and back again. Adoration distracting her from her need to control just long enough to move entangled limbs backwards so they can take turns on—

Thwack!

The sickening sound and the accompanying roar of displeasure causes all movement to cease. A moment where his hands leave her body and his body shifts back to his own side of the seat because he would never, ever want to hurt her; a moment where panic flares in his eyes as she shifts to sit on the edge of the seat whilst pressing her hand to the back of her head. Fingers moving from his lap to cradle her head and find the welling knot; fingers moving from her lap to bat away his hand.

"I told you to make sure Arthur took out the car seat before we left," she snaps harshly in a tone that barely conceals the whimper of pain in her voice.

The throbbing pain in her head replaces all the throbbing desire that once roared through her veins and thudded in the space between her thighs. The same place closed off to wandering fingers searching for just a stroke of the satin smoothness of her thighs, for just a brush against delicious, wet heat. But concern is an overwhelming emotion so his fingers slip not to her legs but curl around her waist to pull her towards him and away from the offending car seat, so his lips press not against hers but against the spot where her head hit against the plastic siding of the car seat.

"You okay?"

The soft question is breathed into her ear as fingers slide against her neck to cup her jaw. The red flush from before barely having an opportunity to recede beneath the lace collar of her dress before his tender adoration encourages its return. And it takes a moment for her to answer him, for her to turn her head and brush her lips against his in a reply of unspoken words.

Slow and gentle – the light brush of lips lasting for all of one second – yet an unspoken invitation for more because this is their night to escape and celebrate and remind themselves that they could never, ever be boring. Headaches forgotten when his lips part beneath hers – inviting and enticing the fire in her kiss to burn brighter – and when her fingers run through his hair down to his back and her nails sink into his skin through the fabric of his suit coat to hold him still. Punishment for his crime forgotten when his hand moves from her jaw to her breast to send pure, sharp pleasure racing through her that makes her arch into him and push her breast more firmly into his hand.

Long fingers stroking and caressing through the fabric of her dress until her nipple pebbles through two layers of fabric and he can set about with temping, teasing, squeezing adoration. Breaths caught in tiny gasps against his lips as her body responds like a peony under the gaze of the sun – petals unfurling with the yearning for ever more heat.

Yet the heat is turned down to a simmer as he carefully twists their entangled bodies until her back is pressed against the leather bench seat of the limo and he can take his turn on top. Fingers slide against the sides of her torso; lips detach with a growl of frustration over how much easier the slip was compared to this dress.

The champagne colored slip with its flimsy straps that looped through his fingers like a ribbon and fell off her shoulder with the minor flick of his wrist; the silky fabric that slipped easily down her body and pooled on the floor beneath their feet leaving her in nothing but her La Perlas and the stockings he so adored. But this dress with its high neckline, long sleeves of lace, and hidden side zipper started it all and there's something exciting about how his wife tries to play pure and innocent tonight.

"It didn't fit over—"

An unfinished correcting phrase barely concealing harsh condemnation of her altered body – how the slip doesn't fit over her new style of bra, how the dress is pulled taunt over her hips – become purrs of delight as his fingers slip through the opening created by the side zipper and trace against the skin beneath the underwire of her bra. Head falling backwards against the seat as his fingers unsnap the button on the strap of her bra and peel back the fabric, as the sensitive skin of her breast is palmed by his cool hand.

A shudder of pleasure runs through her body overwhelming her protests and causing eyelids to fall with a breathy moan because there is nothing sensual about the way her newly enlarged breasts have been abused over the past few weeks and she would like to reveal in the return of this feeling for as long as she can. Eyelids lifting only when she feels an hot exhale of breath against her chest only to fall again when she feels the soft brush of his hair against her chin immediately followed by the hot brand of his mouth against her neck.

"Show me, Blair."

And he slides off the seat and falls to his knees before her ignoring the jabbing pain in his knees because she's got moves and he likes to watch. That ever so tempting dance where she frees her body from the confines of a puritan dress and her soul from the confines of a gilded cage; that ever so tempting dance she performed just for him that allowed them to find the reflectance of their soul in each other.

The tight confines of the limo – the bench seat half consumed by the bulky, designer car seat to her right – limits how much she can move, how much she can shake her hips side to side without risking yet another injury. But neither of them seems to mind because the sentiment is still the same as they look at each other – her at him with a glowing smile and him at her with obvious awe – and, besides, the pull of their passion is hard to ignore.

The flick of his wrist and the quick workings of his fingers peeling off her La Perlas and snapping her garter belt just as soon as her dress hits the floor of the limo before him; the seizure of her lungs causing her breath to catch and her legs to fall open as his lips skate over the curve of her stomach. And then his head dips lower until scalding heat closes over the faint scar etched into her skin and then lower still until she gasps and arches and feels more than hears the growl of a hungry many finally sedating his hunger

Lips curving in a smile, her fingers slide through his hair twisting and pulling in encouragement as a blissful spike of pleasure courses through her. Her body shifts against the seat and lifts so erratically with a chant for more, more, more such that one hand has to curl around her hip bone – fingers brushing against the pale pink indicator of stretched skin – and hold her still.

She cracks open her eyelids and glances down; feels the grip of desire enclose tighter around her as she watches him minister and savor her swollen, wet flesh. And almost like he knows she's watching, his eyes flash upwards and catch hers to hold her gaze as he stop his ministrations only to slowly draw the bud of tightness beside between her legs into the hot wetness of his mouth.

Her eyelids fall with an escaping moan, and her vocalization is rewarded as his free hand stops running over the silky skin of her upper thigh and instead boldly touches higher, strokes reverently, and then parts so as to slide one long finger into her. And when she cannot manage to suppress her gasp, he shifts his hand, presses deeper, and then strokes. Any and all thoughts fragment, come together with a moan, and then abruptly shatter again as he repeats the act – again and again until her nails sink into her scalp and she comes undone with a gasp followed by a purr of complete and total satisfaction.

"Chuck."

The soft, breathy mewl meant to beckon him off his knees only serves to cause his lips to curve into a smug, satisfied smile while he skates his lips from one inner thigh to the other and back again because six years ago he was the first one to bring her to this place, the first one to have his name fall of her perfect, red lips and now he will be the last. Till death do they part.

But she gives just as good as she takes tugging him off of bended knees to rejoin her on more equal footing; her eyes narrowing through the haze at the way he flinches in pain. Awareness returning like a dump of cool water onto her face as she searches for answers because he was nowhere near the car seat, because he has never looked quite so—

The plastic cover over the pacifier pressed into his kneecap – not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark – causes her to wince as he pulls it free. The offending object is held up to her as a reminder that, yes, he was supposed to make sure Arthur removed Henry's car seat, but she was supposed to remind the nanny to keep his toys and belongings together and out of the limo.

"If I had known this would happen to my limo, I never would have agreed to give you a lift home."

Words she does not believe for a moment because she knows everything about him and because she saw the excitement written all over his face when they brought Henry home from the hospital, when his den of iniquity on wheels became the Bass family limo.

"Chuck Bass, you are a horrible liar. And you should be thanking me for even accepting your offer of a ride."

"Isn't that what I just did?"

A smarmy question breathed in her face as he leans in closer to her; a reminder that causes her to roll her eyes and pepper him with teasing yet grateful kisses because he is the only one that's ever matched her passion and her desires stroke for stroke and thanked her rather than throwing it back in her face. And twisting against him, she slides one thigh against his and lets her hip and thigh caress him until he sucks in a tight breath and loses all of his smarminess as Henry's pacifier falls from his hand and, instead, cups her jaw with his hand and covers her lips with his.

Tongue plunging and ravaging and distracting her from undoing the buckle of his belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants so badly that she has to turn away, has to distract him with the edict that he produce a condom so that she concentrate on caressing him, on taking his hardness into her delicate hand and lavishing it with just as much adoration as he given to her.

But he is already ahead of her pressing a foiled package into her hand as long fingers trace upward over her kneecap to palm skin he just lavished with affection once more. Reaching higher still to touch, stroke, and part to show her just exactly what he wants and how much he wants to accept what he's offering.

And six years later, she doesn't need help placing her knees on either side of him or directions on how to ease down slowly. Instead, she places her hands on shoulders, leans forward, and kisses him before making the wanton caress into a promise. Before easing backwards and taking him, before allowing such filling and possessing sensations to wash through her and create a maelstrom of passion and desire, of surrender and love that speaks to how sure she is and how this place will always be sacred even as car seats, toys, and midnight drives to lull a crying baby to sleep become the new additions and uses to their chosen method of transportation, adding a new family-focused purpose to their sacred space.