She picked the fishnet bodysuit on purpose, knowing the reaction he had last time he had seen her legs covered in a thousand little lines, like swarms of Lilliputian bondage experts had trussed her up from foot to ass, just for him. In fact, she had collected all manner of hosiery since that fortuitous discovery, and even had a little drawer in her dresser now dedicated solely to making her legs utterly irresistible for him. There were thigh-highs, sheer black silk stockings with a seam running up the back, and even a pair with wide vertical stripes that made her legs look miles and miles long.

But tonight, they had arranged to go out together to celebrate his latest promotion, and she decided to bring out the big guns. She had bought this bodysuit on impulse when she saw it, not sure when exactly one could even wear such a garment. On her way home from the office this afternoon, though, she had a eureka moment and remembered it, tucked away as it was in the back of what she thought of as her "Legs To Die For" drawer.

So when she got to the restaurant, she stopped just inside the bar, wanting to find him first so she could enjoy the look on his face when he noticed her. And that moment was just as she had hoped: he was wearing her favorite charcoal grey pinstriped suit with a somehow-still-crisp white shirt and solid black tie, loosened only a little. He was sitting at the end of the bar, his eyes scanning the crowd near the door. She watched them quickly slide past, unseeing, and then was gratified to see them snap back sharply to her once his brain processed the image of her on the top step, staring directly at him. With great satisfaction, she saw his eyes widen as he took in her ensemble.

Christ, he thought, surprised almost to the point of shock, what the fucking hell is she wearing? He swallowed deliberately, trying to wrap his brain around what he was seeing. This was nothing he had ever seen her in before, and nothing he would ever have expected to see her in, especially not here, in this kind of place, where people they knew and worked with were likely to run into them. God, he thought, frozen for a second longer, she's a fucking siren. Does she even know how sexy she looks tonight?

She wore a tight-fitting black jacket, nipped in above a flared peplum that emphasized the narrowness of her waist; beneath it, a charcoal grey pencil skirt curved over her hips and thighs with a band of tiny pleats attached to the bottom, which flicked forward just above her kneecaps each time she took a step. And the icing on the cake, he decided, was the pair of legs below that skirt, clad in the fishnet stockings she knew made him mad for her. The whole delectable package ended in a pair of black patent heels just shy of shockingly tall.

His eyes flicked back up to hers, and he saw the smallest hint of a smile tease the outer corners of her lips. She does know, that minx, he thought, and one corner of his own mouth curved up in a smirk, even as his eyes remained wide in amazement and pleasure.

That she would dress like this for him, in this provocative outfit so different from her conservative work wardrobe — that she clearly had an "agenda" for their evening — made him instantly aware of his own body's response. He turned sideways to face her, but he had to subtly adjust himself to avoid being completely embarrassed by the erection that apparently had no compunction about being seen in public.

Finally, after he had ogled enough to convey both his astonishment and lust quite clearly — to her great delight — she moved, breaking his stare to look down and take her first step down the short flight that led down from the street level to the bar.

She made her way across the room to him, slipping between couples and around waiters balancing trays. He stood up from his barstool, leaving his drink on the bar to drip condensation, ignored. She held his gaze steadily, and though it felt like she was walking slowly just to torture him, part of his brain was still functioning properly enough to know she was walking at a normal pace and it was just him operating in this haze, making him unable to look at anything or anyone else.

Once she stood right in front of him, eyes dilated with what he hoped was the same fog of lust he was experiencing, she rose on her tiptoes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly on the cheek, whispering, "Hello, handsome. Are you waiting for someone?" He smiled against her neck, brushing his lips at the juncture with her shoulder, just along the line of her collar. She let go of him and sank back down onto her heels, and he straightened to his full height, so despite her death-defying shoes, she was still nearly a full head shorter.

Her movement shifted her jacket, and before she could reach its hem to pull it down straight again, he caught a glimpse of what she wore beneath it — not a silk blouse, not a cotton camisole, not a lacy bra. No, tonight, for whatever reason, she wore something he couldn't quite figure out, but he knew one thing: it was black and tight, and for the love of all that's holy, it was made of the same fishnet that she wore on her legs.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. What the fuck can she possibly be wearing that's fishnet on the top AND the bottom? he wondered, and then, true to his gender, a full-color slide show of the ten thousand things he could imagine started to flash through his brain, one after the other, all of which combined with the feel of her curves under his hands and the scent of the skin at the nape of her neck to make him throbbingly hard, aching to find out.

She grinned, clearly pleased with his reaction, and reached up to slide her fingers down the length of his tie, murmuring, "Mmhmm. That's the plan, love." Then, pushing herself away from him and upright into a more professional posture, she added, "But that's not gonna happen until we have dinner and you feed me dessert like a proper date. Especially since now I know you can afford it, Mister Executive Director." She smiled broadly at him, knowing that now she could tease him all the way through dinner and he'd be a mess by the time they got home. That'll make two of us, she thought to herself, slightly uncomfortable from the stickiness already developing between her thighs. The crotchless bodysuit made it impossible for her to contain the wetness that had been gathering between her legs since the minute she walked into the bar and saw him.

Grinning back at her, he replied, "Oh, I see. That's how it is, huh? I get promoted and you get—"

"You get promoted and you get lucky," she interrupted, purring into his ear. "But before then, I get to share a meal with the sexiest man in the room."

Fuck. Clearing his throat, he realized he was going to have to make it through this entire meal knowing what he knew about what was next to her skin — and what wasn't, he reminded himself — and he told himself to calm down so he could survive without attacking her over the salad.

His eyes darkening again for a moment, he looked down at her, and then his hands at her waist spun her around to face away from him so they could present themselves at the hostess stand and get to their table. With his hand at the small of her back, she swung her hips exaggeratedly for his benefit, knowing that the delicious torture had just begun — for them both.

############

The door to the apartment crashed open, and they all but fell into the darkened entryway, twined around each other like the world was ending. Between pants and grunts, his keys landed on the floor, where she had just flung her purse and wool coat. His own overcoat was next, and then his shoes and socks, as he walked her backwards towards his bedroom. With his foot, he swung the door closed behind them, never interrupting the sweep of his tongue across hers, never slowing the pace of their footsteps.

Keep…moving…towards…bedroom…he thought, deftly holding one hand and then the other on the small of her back to keep their bodies pressed together. He was delighted — no, beyond delighted, he was fucking ecstatic — at the way the evening was progressing, and he worried that any change in momentum could bring everything to a crashing halt. Fucking straitjacket, he thought, desperately stripping the sleeves of his jacket off, one at a time, juggling her from one hand into the other so he could shrug the damned thing to the floor, already, never allowing his hands to leave her body.

Meanwhile, she was working the buckle of his belt as fast as she could, whipping the leather away from the button of his pants and unzipping his fly as quickly as her fingers would let her. Keep…moving…towards…bedroom…she thought, mentally cursing the fact that suits were sexy but complicated things as she pulled his belt from its loops. This is so much faster when he wears a t-shirt and button-fly jeans, she thought grumpily. Who in God's name is responsible for the hidden extra button on the inside of this fucking waistband? Not a woman who wanted quick access into her man's pants, she concluded. Finally, triumphantly, she cast the freed belt against the wall as they moved, carefully but unceasingly, further into the shadowy hallway and towards the door at the end of the corridor.

Reaching between them, she put her hand all the way inside his pants, palming his cock, eliciting a deep moan from him that made her feel yet another surge of wetness between her thighs.

"Jesus," he groaned, growling the word low in his throat, "Wait. I... we... I wanna..." and he tried to move her hand away from him, afraid for a moment that all this tension, all this buildup could make him come like a schoolboy in the front hall of his apartment, before they even got inside his bedroom, much less before he got inside her body. He stopped in his bedroom doorway, giving himself a second of respite from her eager hands so he could get his wits about him.

Ooh, he's almost speechless. she thought to herself. Mister Smooth is stuttering and tangled up and I fucking own his sexy ass! Not that he doesn't regularly render me a wordless mess, too, she reminded herself. It's just nice to be on the other end of things tonight. And she mentally patted herself on the back, noting that a trip back to that funky little store where she bought tonight's outfit was definitely in order.

"I wanna, too," she replied, looking saucily up at him from beneath her lashes. "And we will. I promise. But I just have to touch you. I've been wanting to touch you since I saw you tonight, and now it's been hours and I'm dying to feel you. I want you around me, on me, in me..." She trailed off, her hands gliding down his chest along his tie.

She lifted her fingers off his body and moved to her own, spreading her hands wide and sliding them slowly, torturously from her waist up over her breasts and onto the lapels of her own jacket. When he growled in response, she smiled again, clearly thrilled at the evidence that she was driving him crazy, pushing his buttons and arousing him even more — as if that's even possible, he scoffed. I'm pretty damned sure I can't even get harder than this, he observed, though his assertion was immediately undermined when he felt himself twitch, somehow swelling more and causing a deeper ache in his balls, even though it seemed impossible.

And as she walked, continuing further into his bedroom, she unbuttoned her own jacket — that looks a fuck of a lot more graceful than I just was, he noted briefly — and let it fall to the floor behind her, and then pushed her skirt down over her hips and stepped out of it. And then she stopped, in only her heels and the Fishnet Wonder, as she had come to think of it, right at the foot of his bed, where she raised her hand up next to her face and curled one finger at him: Come. Over. Here.

Well, he's nothing if not obedient, she thought to herself, only partly suppressing a giggle as he practically pounced and threw her onto the crisp white comforter. Bending over her, he kissed her thoroughly, keeping his hands mostly chaste on her waist and the sides of her torso for a moment, before he pulled himself away and stared down at her.

"You're fucking unbelievable, you know that, kitten?" he said, his eyes hungrily moving up and down her body, unapologetically leering at her breasts and her uncovered pussy. "I've never even seen one of these things you're wearing. It's — you're — there are no words. Just..." and he shook his head a little, dazedly, before diving at her neck, sucking and licking and nipping at the skin there until she was panting again, just like she had been in the cab all the way home.

"I want you to fuck me," she said, abruptly and without preamble, making him freeze mid-nibble on her earlobe. "I want you to take me just like this, like I am right now, from behind. And I want it now — I barely made it through dinner and I'm not gonna wait any more. Not when you're here—" and here she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his still-boxer-brief-clad cock, straining as it was against the dampened cotton, "and I'm here and nearly naked and you can have me, right now."

He bolted up, pushing his torso off hers and holding himself above her with both arms extended. She reached up and loosened his tie, undoing just the top button, and then realized he was staring at her, unmoving.

Meeting his eyes, she asked, "I'm sorry. Did I stutter?" in a breathy voice, feeling brassy and flushed with arousal.

Quickly, he shook his head, though he was clearly stunned by her… request? announcement? Fuck, no, I think that was an order, actually. "Uh, no. No, you did not," he stammered a bit, wide-eyed, then roused himself from whatever sex-induced trance he had fallen into with a small shake of his head.

With his eyes more focused now, he tipped her chin up with his fingers and asked in a low, gravelly voice, "Are you sure? 'Cause I want to fuck you eight ways to Sunday, you know. And I'm not kidding. You're the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen—"

Here, he apparently abandoned any attempts to converse further. Why am I fucking talking, anyway? he berated himself, Since I can barely put words together now, and there are a thousand other things I'd rather be doing with my mouth — grabbing her around the waist with both hands and flipping her over, onto her stomach. His hands skimmed down the outsides of her legs, down past her ankles and to her shoes, which he tipped off her feet and let drop to the floor.

She tossed her hair over to one side and craned her neck around so she could see him, his dark eyes intensely focused on her body. She saw his unabashed appraisal of her, watched him drag his eyes upwards along her calves, past the tops of her thighs and over her ass, her hips, and up her back to her exposed neck and the waves of her hair, while he somehow kept his hands still, fingers frozen in their curves around her waist. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly and half-closed his eyes for a second, his breath shuddering a bit and revealing the shakiness of his self-control.

At this realization — the knowledge that he was as unraveled as she was, just as helplessly in the grip of this heady encounter — she realized that she had never in her entire life felt sexier, more desirable, more worthy of his lust and need. She felt a flame of desire sear through her, seeming to ripple out from her center all the way to her fingers and toes.

"Oh, god, yes. Please? Please. I want you to. Fuck me, please. NOW." She turned her head forward again, groaning into the comforter beneath her face, knowing she was seconds from feeling him plunge into her, all the way in, until she was so full and he was so deep that she couldn't do anything but gasp for air.

Holy hell, he thought. Wasting no time, he pushed the waistband of his boxer briefs down with one hand and kicked them blindly across the room, while his other hand smoothed over the creamy expanse of skin showing in the open space left by the crotchless bodysuit around her ass and pussy. She shivered a bit — she's not cold, he decided quickly, she's just so fucking ready for me — and he raised his other hand to the opposite side of her ass, moving the two together to meet at the cleft in the center, right above her rosy puckered entrance and the swollen wetness of her pussy below.

Slipping his thumbs together between her drenched lips, he dragged them slowly down to her clit, where he circled once and then again before bringing them back up, one after the other now, over her clit and her entrance and back up to her asshole. One at a time, he pressed them gently over her, pushing in only a little bit, wanting to be able to play with her ass while he fucked her but all too aware that in the past, she had been nervous and shy and he didn't want her to flinch away now, not when he was so close to slamming his cock into her just like he had wanted to all night.

To his great surprise and pleasure, she moaned beneath him, arching her back slightly when his fingers passed over her, moving her body into the stroking. Note to self, he thought, apparently three glasses of champagne and a promotion make for a hornier girl than ever. Immediately, he scolded himself for indulging in a mental high-five when there was clearly no time to be wasted — not now, not when she was moaning for him, pushing into his touch, asking wordlessly for more.

"Mmmmmnnnnn, oh god please!" she pleaded beneath him, flipping her head to the side so she could look up at him from the bed. She raised her hips and backed closer to him, so her knees were just on the edge of the bed and there was no distance between them left to cover. "Please, just fuck me, you feel so good, I just—"

So he did. He thrust inside her as far as he could go, his balls slapping against her clit and nearly making him black out from the unbelievable wave of pleasure that washed over him, threatening to take him under before they even really got started. His eyes clenched shut, and he tipped his head back in bliss, only able to vocalize an incoherent "Unnnggghhh," as he filled her entirely.

She answered him with an inchoate grunt of her own, and pressed back against him as they stopped, both of them nearly stunned and dumb with the sensations they were creating in each other. Fuck, I think I feel him in the back of my throat, she thought, so deep and so hard and UNGH...

Pulling out almost entirely, he looked down at her, his own mental commentary utterly silenced for the moment by the powerful bolt of pleasure he was experiencing. As he lined up for another thrust as hard and deep as the first, he slowly ran his left thumb into the wetness where they were connected, and then up to her asshole, where he pressed it firmly but slowly against the taut ring of muscle and soft, unexplored skin. When she didn't object or wiggle away, but rather pushed back against him, inviting more pressure, his eyes widened and he murmured, "Oh, fuck, this is so fucking hot. I want to just—"

And he thrust into her again, rocking both of them forward until she almost lost her balance, but he kept her stable with his right hand on her hip, so despite the sudden shift in momentum they remained upright with him sunk as deeply into her as he could go. With twin groans, they each stopped again, frozen together at this deepest point, their bodies as connected as they could possibly be.

He looked down again, enraptured by the view before him: fishnet as far as the eye could see, starting across her back where the thin straps of the bodysuit connected to the netting, curving over her delectable ass cheeks, leaving a space for him to play in around her ass and pussy, and then covering both of her legs all the way to her toes. And in the center, in the fucking spotlight where her pale skin was left bare, was his cock, only visible for a fraction of an inch but coated in her wetness where he could see it, and above that, his thumb, pressing ever so slightly into her asshole while the fingers of his hand splayed in a neat fan in the center of the heart-shaped ass he was admiring.

I'm still wearing my fucking shirt and tie, he thought, somehow even more aroused because of it. And this woman is going to be the death of me. And if she is, I'm going to die with a huge fucking smile on my face. He took another moment to appreciate the view, to memorize this particular erotic landscape laid out before him, and then he pounded back into her, this time pulling out and thrusting back in over and over and over again until neither one could hear anything but their repeated mantras of "Fuck…fuck…fuck!" and "Ohgodohgodohgod!" because both of them were well beyond any kind of coherent expression at this point.

And she felt herself let go, felt the fluttering and clutching and squeezing of her pussy as she fell over the edge into oblivious bliss. Holy...shit, I think he killed me. Is this what it feels like, dying? she thought detachedly as her body jerked through aftershocks and spasms during his continuing glorious assault on her.

Just when she started to come to her senses again, she heard him behind her, grunting, "Oh, I'm gonna come, kitten, so fucking hard, I'm — oh, fuck!" and then he slammed against her one last time, so far in she could feel his balls drawn up and clenching against her now-oversensitive clit.

"Oh, GOD," he exhaled above her, unmoving now and not pressing so hard against her, and draping his torso across her back.

Panting, he laid his head next to hers on the bed, and they grinned at each other through half-lidded eyes. "Are you—" he asked, while she said, "Holy fuck, that was—" and they both laughed, both still inarticulate and still breathing hard and utterly amazed at themselves.

"Ladies first," he said, kissing her softly on the side of her neck, just below her ear.

"I...I don't think I can," she said. "My brain isn't really working."

"I know what you mean," he grinned back at her. "But I do have one very, very clear thought that I have to share right now, before I forget."

Raising her eyebrows, she asked, "Yeah? What's that?"

"I. Fucking. Love. Fishnets," he chuckled. "Just in case you wondered."

A/N: I stumbled across the photo inspiration for this piece while skipping merrily/playing naughty voyeur on Tumblr — and have not been able to find a photo credit for it. It is, at the very least, not my photograph — nor is that my ass, much to my dismay. You can find the picture on my tumblr; it was posted on July 23, 2012, in case the link in my profile doesn't work.

Sloppy wet kisses to BornOnHalloween, who beta'ed this for me, and graciously listens to my rambling plot bunnies unravel and (gently) pokes me to keep writing. ;)