by Nella Tyler
“Over the phone? Or Skype?” I pressed my lips together. She’ll either go for it or she’ll fire you as a client.
“In person,” I replied.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding flustered. “Brady’s in bed, and I can’t go anywhere.”
“I could come over—if you don’t mind,” I told her. “And, it wouldn’t be a big deal; we’d just sit around watching TV, maybe have a glass of wine. Celebrate being adults who can stay up past nine.” There was a long silence on the other end and I thought at first that maybe the call had dropped. After I confirmed that wasn’t the case, I thought that Natalie would tell me off as soon as she got over her shock at my stupid, horrible proposition.
“I guess it wouldn’t be a problem,” she said finally. “As long as you’re okay with my house being a mess of toys and the fact that I look like a slob—not professional at all. I’m not putting on makeup for you.”
I laughed. “It’s not a real date,” I pointed out. “We’ll just be hanging out, watching TV, reveling in how exciting our lives are.” There was another long pause and I cringed. I could definitely see why the women I’d asked out in the past few days had turned me down.
“Okay,” Natalie said. “You can come over. I’ll text you my address.”
Chapter Nineteen
Natalie
I had no idea what made me tell Zeke it was okay for him to come over; it was a complete and total violation of the professional code I’d agreed to. But I was bored and—I had to admit—feeling a little lonely, sitting on my couch watching TV with Brady asleep in his room. As soon as I sent Zeke my address, I rushed into my bedroom; I wasn’t about to put makeup on or get fully dressed the way I would for one of our practice dates, but I also wasn’t about to let him see me in an oversized tee shirt and panties, either.
I pulled on a pair of jeans that I’d worn earlier in the day, slipped on a bra, and threw a tank top over that. I brushed my hair and managed to pull it back into a messy bun and decided that I didn’t look completely terrible. By the time Zeke knocked quietly on my front door, I was almost vibrating with the nervousness of what it would mean for me to let him into my apartment, even if it was just a social visit, even if nothing at all happened between us. I took a deep breath and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal Zeke on the other side; he had a bottle of wine in his hand, and for a second, just the sight of him—even in a simple pair of jeans and a black tank top—was enough to make my heart stutter in my chest.
“Hi,” I said shyly. Why am I being shy? I already know him. I know who he is, what he’s like. I tried to push the feeling away and stepped back from the door, gesturing for him to enter. “I told you my house is a mess,” I added, smiling nervously.
“This is what you consider a mess?” Zeke stepped through the door and kicked off his shoes without me having to ask him, pushing them against the wall where they’d be out of the way. Somehow the fact that he was wearing black socks—not white—was appealing to me. Woman, if you’re examining a guy’s sock choices, you have real problems, I thought firmly. “You didn’t sneak-clean while you were waiting for me to get here, did you?” I laughed and shook my head, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Hell, no,” I told him—it was honest enough. “I changed into real clothes, but only because I thought it would strain our professional relationship to be seen in pajamas.”
“You could have just told me to come in pajamas, too, and then it would’ve been a slumber party—not that I’m planning to stay the night.” I pointed to the bottle of wine in his hand.
“If you’re planning on drinking all of that with me, you’re probably going to sleep on the couch or get a cab; I’m not letting you drive drunk,” I told him firmly.
“I’ll catch a cab,” he said, smiling slowly. “Got any glasses?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” They’d been given to me when Alex and I had gotten married; I was just glad that they were neutral—no overt wedding motif or our names or anything like that. I went into the kitchen and Zeke followed me, looking oddly at ease—and even more strangely, just right—in my apartment.
I got the glasses off of their shelf at the top of the cabinet, and Zeke found a corkscrew in one of my kitchen drawers. In a matter of moments, we were both sipping the wine he’d brought, and I felt the tension in the pit of my stomach start to ease. “Let’s go into the living room; I’ll put something else on TV,” I suggested. In spite of the effects of the wine, I still felt jittery—restless in a way that I hadn’t felt in years.
I finished off my first glass of wine faster than I would have believed possible while we looked through the Netflix selections, debating each possibility quietly. Zeke He our glasses and I made myself sip more carefully as we finally began watching The Princess Bride. The last thing I wanted was to get drunk before the movie was even a third done; I reminded myself that I had to keep my wits about me.
We’d both seen the movie at least a dozen times, so in between quoting our favorite lines, we started talking. “I really appreciate you letting me come over,” Zeke told me, refilling our glasses once more. How much wine is even in that bottle? I tried to estimate—it hadn’t seemed that large when I’d first looked at it, but it was definitely starting to effect me, and after three glasses each, it didn’t seem to be empty.
“I have no idea why I agreed to that,” I admitted, grinning.
“You felt bad for me, admit it,” he said, mirroring my grin.
“I did not!” I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and as Zeke shifted on the couch a few feet away from me, I saw a flash of his abdomen—more than enough, as far as I was concerned. I looked at the TV for a few seconds to try and get my composure. “I guess I was feeling lonely, too.”
“When was the last time you dated someone—like really dated them?”
I shrugged. “I’ve had a few dates since the divorce,” I said, taking another sip of my wine. It was the best red I’d had in a long time—fruity without being overpoweringly sweet, rich and full-flavored in my mouth. “But with the job, going out on actual dates is kind of…”
“A busman’s holiday?” I nodded.
“You know,” Zeke said, shifting in his seat once more and swallowing down a little more wine, “At the risk of completely overstepping my boundaries here…”
“That ship has sailed,” I interjected.
“Anyway,” he said, holding his glass up to the light and looking at its contents for a moment before sipping again, “I think the thing that sort of…gets to me, in a way…is that I haven’t gotten laid in so long.”
“Oh God,” I said, covering my eyes with my hands. “This is not a safe topic of discussion.”
“We’re half-tipsy and we’re both adults,” he pointed out. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to regain my composure.
“It’s been a while for me, too,” I admitted.
“Well, women are expected to not be all that into sex,” he countered. “I’m not saying that’s accurate or right, but it’s the expectation. Everyone sees a guy who isn’t having sex with however many women he can—or at least with a girlfriend or a wife—and they think there must be something wrong with him.”
“Are you seriously only doing this matchmaking thing to get laid?”
Zeke shook his head emphatically. “I want a relationship,” he said. “I want companionship. The whole deal. That’s why I haven’t been getting laid.”
“Run that by me again?” I knocked back the last of the wine in my glass, and he obligingly refilled both of our glasses; thankfully it seemed like we’d gotten through the whole bottle, finally.
“I’ve had a few one-night stands here and there,” he explained, “but I hate them. It’s always bad sex when it’s that situation.” I considered that for a moment; I had only had a few one-night stands in my life before I’d met Alex. I nodded my agreement with Zeke’s point. “So, I guess in some stupid way, I thought that if I could get a woman
to go on a few dates with me—real dates—then I might actually get laid again finally.” I laughed out loud and hen clapped my hand over my mouth, remembering Brady asleep in his room.
“Good sex isn’t that hard,” I said, shaking my head.
“Not for a woman,” Zeke said challengingly. I rolled my eyes.
“Not for anyone,” I countered. “It takes communication, but it’s not that difficult.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Prove it,” he said. I stared at him for a moment in shock.
“Did you—did you just proposition me for sex?”
He hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “I did,” he said, smiling slightly. I opened my mouth, realized that I had no idea what to say, and then closed it again. I drank down some of my wine while I tried to think. This is a terrible idea—don’t even consider it! You would absolutely ruin your career in one fell swoop if you did it. But the memory of kissing Zeke, of feeling his hard, muscular body through his clothes, pressed up against mine, filled my head.
“Come on,” I said, setting my wine glass down and standing up.
“What?” I reached for his hand and pulled him off of the couch.
“You told me to prove it,” I said, my heart beating faster in my chest and my whole body heating up. Zeke’s bright eyes widened and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing my body against his. He licked his lips and before I could even question what had possessed me, he was kissing me—hungrily, passionately, without even a moment’s hesitation. I draped my arms around his broad, muscled shoulders and rose up onto the balls of my feet, letting him deepen the kiss, opening my mouth as soon as his tongue slid against my lips.
We stayed like that for what seemed like an hour, just kissing, and I began to let my hands wander, trailing along his back, over his arms, down to his tight, firm ass. Zeke’s hands came to life on my body as well, exploring the curves from my hips to my waist to my breasts, touching me everywhere. Every nerve in my body began to tingle with sensation, and I felt myself getting more and more turned on by the moment, heating up. I realized as Zeke broke away from my lips to kiss along the column of my throat that I was already soaking wet—I could feel the dampness of my panties against my skin. It had been so long since I’d been with anyone, and while I had a vibrator very carefully hidden away in my underwear drawer, it was nothing to compare to just the feeling of Zeke’s body pressed against mine, even with layers of clothes between us. I felt like I was burning up. I had to know what his body looked like under all that fabric, I had to know what his skin felt like, I had to know everything I could possibly find out about his body.
I pulled back, panting for breath, and Zeke gave me a sharp, concerned look. “Bedroom,” I told him breathlessly; I didn’t have enough brainpower for more than a single word. I could feel the alcohol and arousal buzzing and humming through my body, making it impossible to think, to even wonder if I was making the biggest mistake of my entire life. I grabbed Zeke’s hand and tugged him in the direction of my bedroom; I couldn’t wait, not even for a moment. I closed the door behind us and turned on the light, and suddenly remembered Brady. “Fuck,” I muttered, looking around my room.
“What’s wrong?” Zeke’s hands curled around my hips and I wanted to say that nothing was wrong—I wanted to forget that I was a mom, that I was a divorced, single mom—but I couldn’t.
“Brady,” I told him quickly. “I don’t want to wake him up.” Zeke’s eyes widened.
“I can go—I shouldn’t have suggested this.”
“You can shut up and let me figure something out,” I told him sharply. “I know you are every bit as turned on as I am right now.” He laughed, and covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound.
My darting gaze landed on the Bluetooth speaker I’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at the company holiday party the year before and inspiration struck. I grabbed my phone with fumbling hands and picked an album at random: Daniel Johns’ Talk. I connected to the speaker and almost threw the phone away from me, turning back to Zeke as the music came on—just loud enough to hopefully cover any noises we might make.
He kissed me again and then we were tumbling onto the bed together, and I didn’t even have the time or the interest to feel guilty about the fact that the sheets and blankets were all rucked about, that my room was messy; all I could focus on was the goal of getting Zeke naked, of feeling him inside of me. Our clothes fell away bit by bit, our hands tangling up in the effort to get each other naked as quickly as possible. He chuckled, burying his face against my breasts and nuzzling me as soon as he had my bra off. “How long do you think we’ll be able to last?” I shook my head.
“I don’t care,” I told him, giggling. “I just want…” I took a deep breath. He looked up into my eyes and grinned slowly.
“I know exactly what you want,” he told me. I struggled with the fly of his jeans, but finally managed to get the tough fabric over his hips, revealing the briefs underneath—dark red, straining under the pressure of his erection pressing against the material. My eyes widened at the sight; Alex had been—at least in my memory—more or less average. Certainly, I’d never had any real complaints. But the bulge of Zeke’s erection actually gave me pause.
“We are going to go so, so very slow,” I told him, looking up at his face again. He laughed, covering my body with his own. Somehow he’d managed to get me down to nothing but my panties before I could even notice what he was doing; I was too absorbed in stripping him down to care what was happening to my own clothes. He reached a hand up between my legs and began to rub the heel of his palm against me, sending electric, crackling jolts of pleasure through my body. It was so much better than my vibrator—I didn’t know how I’d managed to fool myself for so long that masturbating was “just as good.”
Zeke’s fingers slid underneath the elastic waistband, slipping under the fabric, and as he began to stroke and rub me, I moaned out, twisting and writhing underneath him, my hips bucking and shifting to get better contact with his probing, teasing fingers. I groped along the lines of his body until I found the ridge of his hard cock, and I began to stroke him in counterpoint to his touches, feeling the thickness, the heat, the heaviness of his erection.
When I was sure I couldn’t possibly take anymore teasing, his fingers retreated from my pussy and caught on the waistband of my panties. He tugged the fabric down over my hips in one fast movement, and I gasped—caught between startled almost-fear and delight. In moments, there was nothing between us at all. He held himself up on his knees and elbows, rocking his hips against mine, teasing me with his hot, hard cock rubbing along my labia. “Fuck—Zeke—Jesus…” I rubbed myself against him, wanting more—needing it.
“You said slow,” he told me playfully, letting the tip of his cock press up against my clit as he continued to rock against me.
“Not this slow,” I countered. He laughed and kissed me until I was breathless, shifting on top of me, reaching down between our bodies to adjust himself against me. I felt the tip of his cock rubbing along my inner labia before he thrust into me slowly—achingly slowly. He filled me up inch by inch, pushing past the resistance of my body, and I moaned long and low against his lips, grabbing at his shoulders helplessly as I took him deeper and deeper.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pushing my hips down to meet his thrusts, and Zeke began to move inside of me slowly and steadily, sliding in and out. The friction felt delicious; I hadn’t realized how much I had missed sex, how much I had wanted the feeling of someone inside of me, until I had it again. I kissed him over and over again, letting my lips wander from his mouth to his neck and down to his shoulders and even his chest, tasting him everywhere. The pleasure built up in my body so fast that I struggled to almost suppress it—I wanted to last as long as possible, I wanted to savor the moment of his hips pressed flush against mine, the feeling of his pubic bone rubbing against my clit, the tip of his cock barely brushing against my g-spot.
Zeke began to speed up momen
t by moment, and I fell into his rhythm, twisting and writhing underneath him as I tried to keep myself just short of climax for as long as possible. He kissed me everywhere his lips could reach, licking and nipping and nibbling at my sensitive skin as we moved together. I couldn’t hold back any longer; I felt the tension that had been building up somewhere deep down between my hips snap all at once, and wave after wave of pleasure crashed through my body as I came. I tried to muffle my moans against Zeke’s neck, against his lips, against his shoulder, but as I felt his cock beginning to twitch inside of me, my climax only got more intense. I knew the moment he came, groaning against my lips, his whole body shuddering just slightly as I felt the hot, sticky-slick gush of him inside of me. We kept moving together, both of us trying to keep the climax going as long as possible—but after what felt like forever, we both fell back against the bed, gasping and panting for breath, dripping with sweat, as the music swirled around us.
Chapter Twenty
Zeke
“You’re actually leaving on time today, Zeke?” I glanced away from the elevator doors to see one of the other executives coming towards me.
“I’ve heard there’s this thing called work-life balance,” I told Tom, grinning. “Thought I might try it.”
“Good call,” Tom said, coming to a stop at the elevator at my side. “You’ve been cheerful lately. What’s the secret?” I shrugged.
“Just getting my personal life more interesting,” I said. I glanced at the clock in the lobby; I was supposed to be meeting with Natalie for another practice date in about an hour, and I was more excited for the date ahead of us than I had been for any of the ones we’d been on before. I had something really special in mind—and I knew she would just love it.
Tom and I got onto the elevator and I tried to keep my patience as the car started to slowly make its way down to the ground floor. Ever since I’d spent the night at Natalie’s place, I couldn’t wait to see her again. I’d put Trevor on the task of finding the perfect date for her, and he’d come through in a big way. Remember to give him a bonus at the next review, I told myself.