Blair looked effing hot. He clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, trying to restrain himself. He wanted to lean over and tell her that. In fact he wanted to be leaning over her, in her bed upstairs, while he told her that. He wanted to be telling her while his mouth was beneath her curls on the nape of her neck, nibbling, and she was arching helplessly beneath him. While her hands were caressing his upper arms and her knee was digging into his hips.

He'd never imagined that sex with Blair would be so phenomenal.

When they started this before Thanksgiving he'd managed to come upon her in weak moments and coax amazing whole nights out of her. He had redefined his concept of marathon. Then damn school had started up again, no skin off his back but Blair loved to plan things. It was part of her charm, until he discovered he was one of the things that she intended to plan. Now he was allotted exactly two hours every afternoon and god knows how he'd gotten to this place where he agreed to such a ridiculous arrangement like a boyfriend. All he wanted was to enjoy every passionate minute she allowed him. Which in the current timetable gave him from the end of school until five twenty pm and that was it. The first day he'd assumed she was joking or at the worst that he could convince her otherwise – what women would be content with only two hours of Chuck Bass?

As it turned out, Blair Waldorf.

He could tell she always wanted more, she was like him after all. But it was as if there was a digital clock in her brain, linked to that atomic clock keeping Greenwich Mean Time. Blair removed his hands, handed him his clothes and kicked him out at five twenty every day so she could start her study time and make him want to scream.

It was never his choice to leave. Blair, naked and resplendent in her post-sex glory, was oddly chatty yet affectionate as they relaxed in her sumptuous bed afterwards. He loved savouring the taste of her with long, languid kisses while they plotted or argued and Marie Antoinette looked on disapprovingly. It was nothing he'd ever experienced before. And two hours was not nearly enough. Earlier this afternoon he'd managed to get away with pressing her up against her door and kissing her for an extra fifteen minutes before she could drag herself away.

His hands still tingled with the memory of how perfectly her waist fit into each of his palms.

Obviously he'd put a bad vibe out into the universe. He'd been desperately craving more time but karma had come back to bite him on the ass because he definitely had not craved more time like this. Why in the hell would he want to find his way into the one situation where he couldn't surreptitiously arouse her? This was torture! Geez even if Nathaniel was nearby he would have found ways to whisper in her ear or stroke his hungry gaze all over her tight curves and spectacular fingers and evil eyes. Instead he was undoubtedly frustrated, which was exacerbated by the fact that he didn't know everything. He didn't understand why Eleanor had asked them over for dinner. Or when this was planned. Since when did he and his father make social calls together?

The feeling of not knowing where all the pieces lay on the board was worrying his analytical mind.

"Dinner is ready."

Dorota made the announcement just in time. His veneer was cracking with Blair so close and so unobtainable. Eleanor stood and they were ushered to the dining room. She and Bart immediately sat together on one side of the table and Chuck's brow crinkled suspiciously. What the hell was going on? Was his father doing both Lily Van der Woodsen and Eleanor Waldorf? It was entirely possible, why else would they be so friendly all of a sudden?

When Blair took her usual place at the immaculate table he realized that only left him the chair by his lover's side. That analytical part of his mind that would have found this entirely too convenient was suddenly shut down as blood got diverted to skin and sensation and the possibility of Blair. He stopped wondering about his father and her mother and eagerly took up the seat vacant for him, with all its attendant perks. Like the fact that Blair's foot immediately slipped free of her sexy heel and rubbed the top of his foot temptingly. And that beneath the cover of the table, his hand immediately sought then found her familiar supple thigh. Silky and bare above her thigh high stockings. He traced the top of the lace disapprovingly – why had she put them back on when mere hours ago he'd so strenuously worked to remove them?

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and instead got a head full of her perfume. It took everything he had not to lean into her neck and take a deeper, more satisfying breath right from the source. Then taste the rich flavour on his tongue and savour it in his mouth.

She was – amazing. He'd been her friend for literally years and hit on her countless times but he'd never actually expected her to respond. How stupid he'd been, to assume that cool exterior went all the way through. Now he knew about the hot lingerie beneath her prim dresses and the fire beneath her staid society façade. There was no going back for him. No way to stop himself desiring her. It was all he could fantasise about, all he could think about. He usually left here satisfied and got home with just enough self-control to make it to the shower before he needed to sink his dick into his palm and remember her sweet torture.

Tonight he hadn't done that, his father had been waiting. He had never been so close to losing control before.

Dorota placed soup bowls in front of them and Chuck caught the nasty glare directed square at him. He waited until she turned to serve Eleanor and quickly leaned over.

"If any one is going to crack here, my money's on the maid," he whispered into Blair's ear.

Blair was implacable above the table, not even blinking to show she'd heard his words. While below her toes had wormed beneath his hem and were now stroking around his ankle. Her front was faultless and he admired her ability to look absolutely innocent. He also felt a little proud for having released such a minx, realising that the chemical explosion in the limo that first night had been some freak occurrence. How else could someone go from virgin to karma sutra queen so quickly?

The pointed "Thank you," Blair gave Dorota made it clear she was uncomfortable with the maid's third degree.

Chuck took his soup spoon in the correct hand, carefully ladled the thick liquid away from him and lifted it to his lips without spilling a drop. He was arrogant, not ill-bred. The same couldn't be said for his father. The teenagers had barely taken one mouthful when his father got to the point. Just like Bart Bass – the barest social niceties (had they even been here ten minutes yet?) and then straight to business.

"You two are going to stop it."

Blair's toes were rubbing against his shin, delightfully stimulating. He was wondering if her foot would climb all the way up into his lap and pondering if she was flexible enough to do it. Until those words came out of his father's mouth, then she seized up completely and the soft curling of her toes did too. To be fair the hand he was using to slowly caress her inner thigh froze as well. His teasing flew completely out of his mind as he tried to comprehend his father's words.

Stop what?

"Yes, let's be done with this. Discreetly. Before anyone finds out," Eleanor looked at her daughter pointedly.

Chuck was confused and cautiously looked back and forth between the two adults. He

scowled as it clicked that somehow they knew what he and Blair had been doing to each other. They disapproved, that much was evident. He didn't care what Bart's reason was, he'd lived his life with one of the most selfish fathers on the planet after all. But it stung that Eleanor didn't want him with Blair. What possible reason could there be, considering that their parents were clearly friends and his personal wealth greatly outstripped that of any of his classmates? The only thing he could think of was one particular prejudice he'd come up against before.

Eleanor didn't think he was good enough for Blair. She wanted the Nates of this world to be with her daughter. A perfect gentleman. A public fop who could politely smile and impress his elders while Blair's fire went unstoked. He slid his hand further up Blair's spectacular thigh, almost into her underwear, just to prove that he was more than qualified to be with this immaculate society princess. Nate had never come close to doing what Chuck did to her. And he never would – he didn't have the guts.

He caught his father's judging blue eyes on him, cold as freshly hewn steel. With that one look, his fragile heart fell. The knowing disgust was plain to read in those judgmental irises of ice. Like he knew where Chuck's pinkie was resting, why Blair was almost panting at his side, and that he hadn't expected any better from the constant screw up that was his son.

"I –" Blair tried to rescue the situation, to say something. Anything would do right now but she was clearly too stunned to get beyond that first pronoun.

So he took charge, like he always did.

"Done with what?" he asked innocently, playing the naïve card. It worked surprisingly often in his experience. Even his best friend hadn't yet figured out that Blair's sheets were hideously rumpled from their daily tumbles and getting more so as time went on.

Then again naivety worked on the Archibalds of this world. Not the sharp Basses or calculating Waldorfs.

"Done with this," his father emphasised in that no-nonsense tone which pretty much defined the way he always spoke to Chuck. "I wanted you to commit to something Chuck. School, business, a job. Not a relationship."