I knew what he wanted from me when he asked what I was wearing to the theater. I rattled off a few options of things I knew were clean -- the jean shorts, the black capris -- and noticed when his eyes lit up at the mention of my pink skirt.

“Well whatever you wear, don't forget a sweater. You know it's cold in there.”

He’s so sweet.

We sat in the back row, like always. And not only was I ready for him in the pink skirt, but I had topped it off with the right white blouse and the black heels I knew we both loved. He'd been practically drooling all through dinner. I saw him noticeably sigh and breathe heavy when he caught a whiff of my perfume. Amazing. This would be so much fun.

The theater was mostly empty. A middle-aged couple in the second row from the front and a pair of teenagers about six rows in front of us, off to the left.

I bit my lip and smiled when I saw them. I knew I'd have to be quiet.

My man and I slid to the center of the back row, and I used my Twizzler like a straw to sip my soda. It was always a fun trick, and I wanted my breath sweet and my mouth cold and wet.

As soon as the lights dimmed for the previews, his hand slid up my thigh. I scooted forward on the seat and spread my legs slightly, but he didn't go above the skirt hemline yet. Still too bright in here. We'd see what happened when the lights went down even more.

As the previews continued, I twisted sideways to kiss his neck. Such a sweet taste. Like salty berries. I moaned in his ear.

“Keep it quiet,” I heard him purr. His hand slid farther up my thigh, and I inhaled quietly. I knew if I didn't follow the rules of the game that he'd quit playing. So, I kept my moans low.

He lifted his hand from my thigh and brought it to my shirt, which wasn't very low cut, so he couldn't go in from the top. But it was loose at the waistline, and he shimmied his fingers along my ribs and over my lacy bra. My tit throbbed against his heavy, warm touch.

I moaned again, and he placed his other hand over my mouth, his rough, calloused palm against my face, his large hand covering from my nose to my chin.

“Baby, I told you. Keep it quiet.”

The theater was totally dark now, lit by the on-screen action of an R-rated action-drama that we knew we wouldn't watch. I couldn’t see the other couples at all, but I bit my lip anyway. It throbbed in the same pulse as my clit under my pink skirt.

Flicking my nipple through the bra with his fingertip, he moved the palm of his hand in a circular motion, cupping and squeezing my entire tit. Both my nipples were hard and throbbing, my whole body pulsing in time.

I whispered to him, “Please, come feel how wet I've got this pussy.” He squeezed my nipple hard. “It's dripping down my thighs.” I breathed heavy on his neck.

His body tensed as he suppressed a shiver, and his hand instantly slid down to my skirt.

“Sit on your hands,” he whispered. He threw the words sideways, but I was sure the other groups couldn't hear us anyhow.

I slid my hands under my ass raising my wet pussy toward his hand, and he drove under my skirt.

“Oh, that's good.” He patted the outside of my lacy panties, tapping my lips with his fingers. He could feel how wet they were through the fabric. When he stopped and slid one finger under the edge, he indeed found that I was dripping down my inner thighs.

“There's my lady,” he whispered, making the hair on my neck stand up. “So wet for me.”

He pulled his hand away, and against the light from the screen, I saw him raise his fingers to his mouth and lick them. I moaned again softly, watching him, wishing those lips were wrapped around my clit.

Sliding his hand back up my skirt and under my panty line, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and enveloped me in his dark scent. It was easy now to turn my head in either direction and bite into his shirt, smash my lips against the muscles of his chest or his arms to muffle my moans.

With the palm of his hand against my clit, he slid his large middle two fingers into my pussy, spreading the lips with the outside fingers. He curled the tips up ever so slightly, until they pressed on my g-spot, on the underside of my clit. I felt like I was going to pee on his hand, and I pushed back into the pressure from his hand with my hips. We both heard the squish of our flesh pressed together, but then the movie got loud and covered it.

“Yeah, that's it, baby,” he whispered into my ear. "Squirt on my hand."

He pushed on my g-spot with his fingertips and bent and flexed his knuckles to slide the fingers in and out of my lips, pushing against the pressure of my pussy swelling and gripping on his fingers. Finally, he pulled them all the way out, and the cold air hit my wet lips. I yelped into his shirt sleeve, and he shhh-ed me quietly, tapping against the throbbing lips with his wet fingertips.

Then, slow and steady, he inserted them again. Pulled them out. Pushed them in. And out again. The whole way. Over and over.

I was leaned back in the seat, the skirt pushed well up over my hips, thong digging into the flesh of my thigh, moaning into his arm and praying the movie soundtrack hid us from the others in the theater, as I felt myself rise over the edge of the wave and come crashing down into his hand. He pushed his fingers all the way in and kept them there, wiggling them back and forth inside me, as I gripped him from every angle.

"Yes, that's good. All of it. I want all of it," he whispered.

I felt the second contraction of muscles in my lower abs that I knew meant I was squirting onto his hand, and when he felt the rush of liquid, he pushed in and up on my g-spot again, over and over, tapping it like a dying remote control button.

Finally, the wave receded. I realized I hadn't been breathing, and I gasped for air. He chuckled quietly. My whole body was hot, electrified, dancing on icicles.

I opened my eyes and dared to look up at the other couples in the theater. The light was blinding, and all I could hear was ringing in my ears. Everything looked like I was underwater, as my head swam, and I struggled to get a grip.

Neither of the other couples seemed to notice our existence. They were all dead focused on the movie, and I lowered my eyelids again and inhaled slowly.

My boyfriend chuckled again, and I reached up to pull his face closer. I kissed down his jawline and his neck, as he slid my soaking wet panties back over my throbbing, dripping pussy. He tapped it twice in farewell, then slid his hand up to my thigh and tugged at the hem of my skirt in a confused attempt to pull it down.

I laughed, louder than I intended, and stood to straighten it. The middle-aged man toward the front turned to glance back at me, but quickly turned away. Sitting back down, I nuzzled up under my man’s arm and whispered, "I'd like to return the favor."

"Good. You should suck my dick in the car on the way home." He didn't look my way as he said it.

"With pleasure." I smiled and settled back into my seat and his scent.