A/N: This idea came from a dream I had, and it was too hard to ignore it.
Also, as a warning, mature content is ahead, so reader discretion is advised. Thanks for reading!
The large event room was bustling with businessmen, investors, and potential business associates with their wives, all dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns. Caterers walked about with champagne, caviar, tiger prawns, and gourmet chocolates to pass out to the patrons. A wind quartet played soothing classical music in the corner of the room. Crystal chandeliers glistened atop the ceiling.
"May I have everyone's attention, please?" a man spoke into a microphone. The music and chatter stopped, and the guests all turned towards the entrance of the room, where the man stood. "Welcome to the annual Winner Corporation gala. I would like to introduce our host and hostess for the evening: the CEO of Winner Corporation, Quatre Raberba Winner, and his lovely wife, Lista."
A round of applause erupted in the room as Quatre walked through the large archway, decked out in a sleek black and white tuxedo, with Lista on his arm. She wore a red silk evening gown with a keyhole neckline, a thigh-high slit, an open back, and a diamond-encrusted bodice. Her black hair was in bouncy curls pinned to the side of her head, cascading down one of her shoulders, complete with a pair of dangling teardrop diamond earrings and red pumps.
They entered the room, waving to Quatre's business partners, as well as his many sisters, who were scattered about the room.
One of Quatre's father's oldest business associates, a white-haired man in his 60s, walked up to meet with the young CEO. "Quatre, my boy, you're growing into more of a man every time I see you," he replied with a robust chuckle. "Zayeed would be proud."
Quatre smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Westmont. I hope he would be." He motioned towards Lista. "I believe you've met my wife."
Westmont nodded and took Lista's hand in his, kissing her knuckles. "It's a pleasure as always, Mrs. Winner. You're looking beautiful this evening. Quatre is a very lucky man."
Lista smiled and patted her hand against his. "Thank you, Mr. Westmont. You're too kind." She looked over his shoulder, noticing some people she knew. "I hope you don't mind, but the Noventas are here. I'd like to go say hello if that's all right. I'll leave the two of you to your business talk."
Westmont shook his hand and chortled. "Not at all, my dear. It was a pleasure seeing you."
"You, too, Mr. Westmont. I hope you have an enjoyable evening," Lista said with a bow of her head. She turned to Quatre, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'll find you soon."
With that, she walked off, Quatre watching her go with a smile, secretly enjoying the bare curve of her back, the sheen from the lights above playing about her perfectly peach skin. He felt the ball in his throat tighten suddenly, and he forced himself to return his attention to Westmont, and the two engaged in discussion as the music picked up once more.
Quatre spent the first hour of the evening away from Lista while he spoke to business associates his father had before he was even born, as well as those he had acquired himself. His sisters, he knew, were no doubt sweet-talking a few potential clients and new business associates for planned projects in the upcoming fiscal year. He decided to leave those preliminary talks to his sisters.
But despite Lista not being at his side, he'd been stealing glances at her often, watching the way she laughed, the way the tendrils of her hair curled provocatively over her bare shoulder, the way her dress hugged her hips, the taunting peek of her breasts through her keyhole neckline, the flame red of her dress that matched her fiery personality.
He cursed his overactive imagination, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversations he had with his associates, who regaled him with stories of his father's passion and cutthroat business politics. But he barely heard them.
Their voices were muted out in his head in favor of the sound of Lista's gentle laughter, the whimpers she made when they were alone, the gasping, begging moan of his name under his touch as she rolled her body into his…
He swallowed hard and cast the thoughts from his mind, cursing himself. It was hardly the appropriate time to begin daydreaming of making love to his wife, while talking with men who had done business with the family company for a quarter of a century.
"Quatre, son, how did you manage to snag such a beautiful woman?" one of the men asked, jarring him from his thoughts. The other two men chuckled and nodded in agreement. "If I were a young man again, you may have some competition for her affections."
Quatre smiled at his banter. "I consider myself a very lucky man. I'm very grateful for her. She's a wonderful wife and an even better mother to our son." He turned over his shoulder, peering at Lista again just in time for her to look in his direction. Her lips, painted pink, curved into a warm smile, and she returned to her conversation.
He made a decision. "Speaking of my wife, I should check to see if she needs any refreshments. Please excuse me, gentlemen." He turned on his heel and moved towards Lista and the couple she spoke to.
One of the men, a man in his 30s, waved at him as he approached. "Mr. Winner, it's good to see you! How are you?"
Quatre came to Lista's side, smiling, and shook the man's hand. "I'm well, thank you. I hope you and your wife are enjoying the evening."
The woman nodded. "Very much so. Your wife is a delight to speak to. She has so many interesting stories about your time together in the war."
Quatre placed his hand on the small of Lista's bare back, rubbing his palm in a circle. "There are quite a few of those." He moved his hand from her back and took her hand. "Forgive me. I hope you'll excuse us. I'd like to steal my wife away for a few moments. Please have some champagne and do some dancing."
The couple nodded, both thanking Quatre, and he gently tugged Lista away from the crowds of people, moving to another hallway that led towards his office. "Is something wrong?" Lista asked, turning over her shoulder at the party. "We probably only made a dent in half of the guests. A lot of people want to speak with you."
"That can wait," Quatre replied nonchalantly. They came to the end of the hallway, and he opened the door to his office, ushering her inside. He shut the door behind him and locked the deadbolt. Lista didn't seem to notice.
She moved towards his desk, looking out the windows at the pole lights flickering to life down below. "The gala is going really well," she said with a smile. "I talked to a couple of your sisters. They're pretty sure they're going to acquire a few more clients tonight. It seems as if everyone's eager to do business with you."
She turned around to engage him, finding him standing right there, watching her, a small smile curled onto his face. She returned his smile with one of her own and propped her hands on her hips. "What's going on with you? It's not like you to sneak away from a business event."
He stepped up to her, sliding his hands over her shoulders, under the curly bed of her hair. "I needed some time alone with my beautiful wife." He paused, tracing a finger over her collarbone. "My beautiful wife who should not have worn this dress in front of me."
Lista smiled playfully at him, swiping her hands against the crispness of his tuxedo to rid him of a few stray hairs. "You like me in red. The saleswoman said this was a statement gown. I couldn't say no to it."
"A part of me wishes you had," he replied. His hands moved down her arms, sliding around her hourglass waist. He tugged her against him, and it was then that she felt the hard erection pressing through his pants. She snapped her head up at him, surprised. "But a very big part of me is so very glad you didn't."
Lista swallowed. The room suddenly felt hot. Now she knew why he brought her here. "Quatre, we're the hosts. If we're gone for too long…"
He shook his head and took a step back from her, casually shedding himself of his tuxedo jacket and placing it neatly on the back of one of the chairs. "It's no one's concern what I do behind closed doors with my wife, in my own building."
Lista felt her breath picking up. She rarely saw this side of him, but when she did, it sparked an ember of desire within her core. And she cursed his way with words over her, for they weaved their magic more than effectively.
He leaned back towards her, pressing his mouth in the crook of her bare neck. She grasped his arms, curling her fingers into the clean, crisp white of his shirt, tilting her head. "I need to make love to you," he rasped, cupping his hand over her face, splaying his fingers down her neck. "You are far too tempting for me, love."
Lista slid her fingers through the curls of his hair, biting back a moan. "And I'm guessing that waiting until the gala is over is out of the question."
He shook his head, dragging his lips from her neck to the top of her shoulder, nipping kisses there. "I haven't been able to concentrate all evening with you looking like that," he murmured. "My sisters will handle things. No one will miss us."
Lista gasped when she felt him suddenly grab her by the backs of her knees, propping her on the edge of his desk. His hands were on her knees, shuffling the silken skirts slowly up her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as he did so.
She couldn't stifle her smile, shaking her head as she curled her fingers over his neck, under his collar. "You will never stop surprising me, Quatre."
He smiled at her, some of his fingers threaded under her dress as he moved to bunch the skirts at her waist. Then his smile faded when his hands reached her hips; he felt no fabric from undergarments.
Because she hadn't worn any.
He snapped his gaze down to the bare, inviting apex of her legs, then stared at her in surprise and a drowning desire for her. She chuckled, shrugging playfully. "This kind of dress isn't very forgiving. I had to go without."
Quatre felt the fire burning in his stomach. What a vixen his wife could be. He tried to control the tremble in his hands on her thighs as he moved in between her legs, pressed a kiss against her lips, and slid his tongue into the warm recess of her mouth.
Lista felt his hands leave her, then heard the sound of a zipper opening, followed by the metal clinking of his belt buckle. "I have a feeling that you try to tempt me for the sake of testing my control around you," he whispered after pulling away from their kiss.
"I don't think I need to do that anymore," she teased as she slid her feet around his lower back, locking them together. His cock was pressing against her thigh. She dragged her tongue over her mouth, biting her bottom lip, feeding him a grin. "Don't forget who brought who here."
He smiled at her wanton playfulness, pushed her thighs apart, and slowly, torturously slid himself inside her. She bit her lip again, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and eased her hips into him. He released a shaky exhale against the crook of her neck, resting his forehead there at the hot, wet feeling encasing his throbbing erection.
And then he started moving, slow at first, enjoying her, as the sounds of the gala continued in the background, muffled against the closed door. Her ankles tightened around him, clutching him for support, his thrusts long and languid. He was desperately trying to keep the beast chained within him, to make love to her properly, rather than the scenario that had played out in his head once or twice throughout the evening of taking her roughly, rousing gasps and moans and screams with no care to who heard.
Lista tilted her head, sliding her tongue to trace the inside of his ear. He shuddered against her, releasing a heavy exhale that left a spot of warm dew on her skin. "I'm not glass," she whispered, grazing her lips against his ear, across his jawline. "Don't hold yourself back. Show me, Quatre."
He whimpered at the sound of her throaty, quiet pleas, his control unraveling. One of his hands found her face, tugging her into a desperate kiss, and slammed himself into the welcoming cavern of her body.
She gasped against his mouth, surprised, and tore at his bowtie, undoing it and tossing it to the floor behind him. She practically ripped his shirt open and pressed her hands against his chest, rubbing her thumbs against his nipples, and met his ravenous thrusts with gyrating hips.
Her pink lipstick was smeared around her mouth now as she pressed her cheek to his, breathing raggedly in his ear, moans beginning to crawl their way from her throat.
The sounds of the gala – the music, the chatter – drowned out as Quatre concentrated on the tempo of his wife's labored breathing, the moans she tried to bite back and failed, the feel of her fingers digging into his bare shoulders under his open shirt.
He jerked against her hard, without abandon, and one of her hands left his shoulders to grasp the edge of the desk for stability. His hand found the bed of her hair and grasped it, nearly pulling it out of its pins, frazzling the neat curls as he whispered her name and pressed his mouth against hers for another hungry kiss.
Quatre leaned forward, mumbling against their kiss for her to push back further onto his desk. He slid from her warmth, his cock throbbing for her, and stalked onto the desk atop her as she slid back, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and dragged him down with her. She splayed over small stacks of folders and papers, no longer important.
He pushed her skirts back up around her waist, his hands trembling, and quickly slammed back inside of her. She craned her neck back, bent her legs, propped her feet firmly on the polished desk surface, and curled her nails into his back.
He bent down, grazing his lips against her bared neck, suckling against her throat as she swallowed. His mouth against her sent a shiver through her. "I wish I could give attention to every inch of you," he rasped as he hung his head against her chest, breathing shakily, as he rocked his desperate thrusts against her.
"Later," Lista said, a shrill gasp roused from her throat, "I'd be happy to take my dress off for you."
The thought of what lay at the gala's end only spurred him further, driving deliciously inside the sweet, wet cavern of his wife's body, claiming her for himself as he had grown so well at over their years together.
Growing anxious as her climax built far too slow for her comfort, Lista dipped her hand in between them. She slid her fingers to the untouched, throbbing nub above their heated joining and stroked herself, her panting growing heavier, desperate, seeking out a blissful end.
"Let me," he rasped, his hand moving in between them. He pushed her hand away and he furiously rubbed against her, leaving her bucking and gasping against his touch. She snapped her head back with a loud, uninhibited moan, followed by the low call of his name.
Her fingers curled over his shoulders as sparks began to shoot through her. "Quatre, I'm – I'm…"
"Good," he croaked, breathless, pressing his head against hers. He continued his merciless ministrations on the center of her body and grabbed one of her legs, bending it towards her chest.
"Oh, god," Lista groaned, her inner walls bearing down around him. She was hanging right on the precipice, so very close to being pushed over that sweet edge of oblivion. "Oh, god, Quatre."
He reveled at the sound of his name on her lips, pleading, moaning. "Let me hear you," Quatre rasped as he swirled his finger around her swollen bud. She hissed against him. "I love to hear you, sweetheart."
She slammed her eyes shut, clenching, throbbing, gyrating against his thrusts, desperate for her release. She was tense against him, her moans chained together like a melodious song.
Lista snapped her head back with a choked moan. She gasped, her legs managing to come around him again, and with one last rub of his finger against her and another long, hard thrust, she came hard and trembling against him with a cry.
Quatre took a few slow, languid strokes, allowing her to ride out her orgasm. He stared down upon her mesmerized, claiming a personal victory at the satisfied look painting her face. Her fingers scored his back and down his arms with a breathy moan, grasping him until she finally collapsed back to the desk with heavy pants.
And she opened her eyes, staring up at him dazedly. He smiled upon her, pleased, and leaned down to capture her lips with his lazily. And his pumping resumed, now searching for his own delectable end.
Lista slipped her tongue into his mouth before he could pull away. She clenched her walls around him, hoping to nudge him towards his white-hot end.
Quatre could barely hold himself over her as his breathing grew labored, his thrusts harder, faster, feeling the tension in his lower body. He could feel her orgasm dripping from her as his pumping grew easier, more fluid.
He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked down at her, who now smiled back at him playfully, teasingly. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, pressing her lips against his ear. "I want to feel you come inside me," she whispered before swirling her tongue inside his ear, tugging the lobe between her teeth gently.
He released a grunt and hung his head over her, drops of sweat falling from the curls of his bangs into the open keyhole of her dress, trickling into the grove of her breasts. She wrapped her legs around him, tugging him into her, the purposeful clenching of her inner muscles working to milk him of every last drop he had to offer her.
Her name spilled brokenly from his lips, and all the tension that had been building since the first time he saw her in that fiery, tempting gown furled, crackled, and exploded into hot shards inside of him. He groaned, thrust twice more before holding himself deep inside her, all the while hearing her quiet, sweet coaxing of him to fill her with every last bit of him.
He had no trouble obliging, his hot seed filling her womb. And he collapsed against her, his arms no longer able to hold him up. He rested his forehead against her left shoulder; he could hear the steadying thumping of her heart.
Lista threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss against his temple. She could feel the hot dew from his breath against her as he fought to regain oxygen in his lungs. He remained nestled deep inside her as he managed to lift his head from her shoulder, staring into the deep well of her green eyes, before dipping down to give her a grateful, lazy kiss.
"We should get cleaned up," Lista suggested quietly as she brushed her knuckles against his cheek. "People are bound to start asking questions as to where we are."
He nodded silently, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, and carefully pulled himself from inside of her before backing off the desk. Lista pushed herself into a seated position, and Quatre held out his hand for her, helping her step down, careful of the skirts of her dress. He quickly righted himself, adjusting his slacks, zipping and buttoning them back up.
She smiled at him as he reached for her, brushing his thumb against her lips, against her smeared lipstick. "Forgive me for that," he said with a soft sigh. "I should have taken better care not to ruin your makeup."
Lista pressed her hands against his face, shaking her head. "It wasn't on your list of priorities. Or mine," she replied with a chuckle. "It's okay. I can fix it in the bathroom. Be right back." She dipped a short kiss against his mouth before pulling away into his office bathroom, where he watched her dab and carefully rub at her mussed makeup in the mirror.
He buttoned his shirt back up and grabbed his tuxedo jacket from the back of the chair. As he slid it back on, he turned to the disarray that was his desk, studying the aftermath of their impromptu lovemaking. Papers and folders had fallen to the floor. A cup of pens had spilled over. A framed photo of their wedding day had also been knocked down.
A set of hands slid over his shoulders from behind, prompting him to turn around. Lista's makeup had been corrected, and she'd reapplied her lipstick. Her hair held minute signs of disorder, but he hoped no one would take notice.
She stepped around him, flashing the ribbon of black fabric that had been his bowtie, and moved to tie it back together under his collar. "So, do you feel better now?" she asked, tightening the finished bow and sliding her hands down the front of his chest.
Quatre couldn't help but smile at her. "Only you could make it so, sweetheart. And you're the only one who deigns to put up with my…lack of self-control."
She gave a little giggle, raking her fingers through his disheveled bangs to smooth them out. "So do you," she pointed out. "It's a nice balance."
Nodding, he pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth before peeking at his watch. "I suppose we should return to the gala. Our spotlight dance is in 15 minutes. That would surely raise eyebrows if we were late to that."
Pressing his hands against her waist, he tugged her against him, bestowing one last, long, passionate kiss against her. He sighed satisfactorily as he pulled away, and he took her hand in his. "I hope you know how much I love you, sweetheart."
She smiled and leaned into him, leaving a kiss against his cheek. "I do." She held a finger up, stopping them before they moved from the office. "Oh, and I hope you know that I intend to keep my word."
Quatre tilted his head in confusion. "Your word?"
"Mm-hmm," she said with a nod. "My parents have Xander all night. So once this gala is over and we get home…" She leaned into his ear, leaving a throaty chuckle. "…I'll show you how I look with my dress off."
Quatre swallowed at the tantalizing thought as she pulled away with a knowing, playful grin. She turned and tugged him towards the door. The sounds of the gala poured inside his office as Lista opened the door. He gave one last look at the condition of his desk, and he wondered just how much work he'd be able to complete in here with the vivid memory of taking his wife on his desk forever ingrained in his mind.