“Would you like to come in for a drink?” she asks as we park. “I shouldn’t take up more of your time, but I’m suffering from a terrible case of Sunday blues, and…” She bites her lip. “We need to talk.”
“Sure.” She can never take up too much of my time, and I’m not scared of talking.
In the kitchen, she walks circles around the counter on which I ate out her pussy, stacking plates and cake forks on a tray.
“Beer?” She finally turns to face me with flushed cheeks. “Or maybe you prefer iced tea since you’re driving.”
I close the distance to stop short of her, enjoying the turmoil in her eyes. Turmoil means she’s aware of me.
Brushing a stray curl behind her ear, I ask, “What are you having?”
“Tea.”
“That sounds good.”
She almost runs to the kettle. “Will Rooibos do?”
I can watch her make tea for hours. She has this ritual about rinsing out the teapot with hot water before steeping the leaves for no more than a minute in boiled water that has slightly cooled. Then she strains the tea three times before pouring the brew into paper-thin teacups and adding a slice of lemon and a pinch of ginger to each. I like my Rooibos strongly brewed with milk and sugar, but I’ll take it any way she makes it.
After serving two slices of cheesecake, she moves to pick up the tray.
“I’ll get it.” I pick up the heavy load and wait for her to lead the way.
We take a seat on the sofa in the lounge. She’s studying me intently as I wrestle my finger through the small ear of the cup and take a sip of the tea. It’s not half bad. I’m facing forward, but from the corner of my eye I see her gaze trail over me.
When she’s going for a second round from my feet to my chin, I grin at her. “What?”
“Your parents must be very tall.”
“My dad, yes. My mom not so much.”
She lifts a hand toward my stomach, but lowers it again. “How often do you work out?”
“Every day.”
“That’s a lot.”
“You run every day.”
“How do you know that?”
“I guessed.” I also watched her a few mornings, parked out of sight. I want to know her routine. I want to know everything about her.
“I love running. Can’t go a day without it.”
“Can’t say the same about working out in the gym. It’s been two years, and I still have to drag my sorry ass out of bed every morning.”
“Then why do it?”
“If you want to survive, you’ve got to be strong and healthy.” Stronger than your enemies.
She picks up her cup and takes a dainty sip, hiding her face behind it. “About that chat…”
“Can I ask you something, first?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Why is your husband taking back the house?”
She pulls her shoulders back, which makes her sit up a bit straighter. “He’s starting a new family.”
Damn. It can only mean one thing. “He’s with someone else and having a kid with her.”
“Yes.”
Good riddance. He doesn’t deserve Jane. I want to break his arms and legs for treating her like this while a less chivalrous part of me is happy he’s out of the picture.
“Why don’t you fight for it?” I ask. “It’s obvious this place is important to you.”
“Legally, there’s not much I can do. The house is in his name.”
He’s not only a cheater, but also a fucker. “Did you like any of the places you saw today?”
“No.” She tugs her legs under her. “It doesn’t matter. I just need an affordable roof over our heads until I can figure things out.”
“Have you decided which one you’re taking?”
“Not yet, but I have time. Most of the townhouses we saw today are new. They’re available immediately.”
She sounds sure and brave, but her fingers clutch the teacup tighter. Giving up her home is harder than she lets on.
“So.” Her throat moves delicately as she swallows. “We need to talk about yesterday.”
If she can’t say it, I will. I’m not ashamed of what we did. On the contrary. “You want to talk about me eating your pussy?”
Her cheeks light up. “Do you have to be crass about it?”
“I’m straight-forward. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever.” She pulls at the tussles of a cushion. “It can’t happen again.”
I expected the reaction and I’m ready. “You enjoyed it, or am I mistaken? Should I have done it differently? If you have specific preferences when it comes to sex you only have to say so.”
“No. It was good. I mean great.” Her tongue trips over her words. “Not what I usually do. Not that I’m a prude.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure what it means.”
“It means I find you so hot I want to come all over your thighs again, and over your tits, and in your pussy, if you’ll let me.”
Her breath catches. “There you go again with your crudeness.”
“Crude or not, if I put my fingers in your panties I bet they’re going to come up wet. Am I right, or must I prove my point?”
The flush on her cheeks deepens. “It was a special and intimate experience, but it’s not going to happen again.”
“Why?”
“It was a mistake, a beautiful mistake, but one none the less.”
I put the teacup down and rest my hands on my thighs lest I’m tempted to touch her while we’re having this discussion about touching. “I’ll definitely not describe my tongue in your vagina or my fingers in your anus as a mistake.”
“Brian, please.”
“Please what?”
“You’re not making this easy for me.”
“What is hard for you, princess? To tell me I shouldn’t lay my hands or mouth on you again? Because it’s going to happen, and we both know it.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Why not? What’s holding you back?”
“For starters, I don’t know what your expectations are or if I can meet them.”
Fuck. If I go into detail about my expectations, she’ll close the door in my face. I want everything. Every hole in her body, every minute of her time, and every ounce of her affection.
Instead of stating the truth, I ask carefully, “Do you want me to have expectations?”
“Of course not.” She appears embarrassed. “I know it was nothing to you. We don’t know each other, and I’ve only been divorced for a month. God, I’m probably on the rebound. It’s just…” She waves between us. “There’s no future here.”
I can’t disagree more, but arguing my point will drive her away. What she needs is to go slow, even if she doesn’t know it herself. Fine. I’m more than ready to fall head over heels into this, fucking her first and romancing her later, but that strategy won’t get me far. I need to take my time.
“Let’s just enjoy the attraction,” I say. “No strings. Can you do that for me?”
She stares at me with her huge, blue eyes, questions and doubts running through their depths, but she’s not saying no, so I’ll take that as an affirmative.
I’m going to be here for her, lock, stock, and barrel. I’m going to give her what she needs, and what she needs is an invitation to touch me, as if I’m giving her a choice.
Jane
The look in Brian’s eyes intensifies, as if he’s zoning in on me and only me. Everything else drops away, especially my stomach when he takes the cup from my hands and leaves it on the tray. Gently, he guides my hand to his abdomen and places my palm on the flesh that burns hot through his T-shirt. He’s as hard as granite. I’ve been itching to touch him, but it seemed twisted. Yet, now that he’s guiding my hand, slowly dragging it down over the defined muscles of his stomach, everything that felt wrong before falls into place. I’m back in the instant when I watched him leave yesterday with a
deep, warm glow spreading through my chest and between my legs. Special. He makes the moment light, magical, and sacred as he encourages me to explore his body with my hand. My fingers run over the ridges that define his abs, ribs, and the V disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
I feel him like I’ve never felt a man, and I don’t mean literally. I feel him in every fiber of my being, as if he’s flowing through my fingertips into my heart. The moment is delicately beautiful and fragile. I’m holding a soap bubble on the palm of my hand that can pop any second. It makes me feel weightless, as if I’ll float to the ceiling if he lets go of my wrist. The smell of his skin is a musky kind of clean. His scent is a mix of man and fabric softener, evoking a strange blend of gentle and masculine. The way he stares at me with a warm smile as he moves my hand over the hard riffs of his abdomen, giving me permission to explore, makes this shared minute sacred. It’s not lustful and animalistic, but tender and soft. This is the moment that sells me. It’s the moment I decide to let go, to simply be, and let this attraction run its course. Like Brian said, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be good if I let it. The moment can be enough.
The precise second I accept our delicate, explosive magnetism, he gives me free rein. He let’s go of my wrist. Flattening my palm, I drag it over the discs of his nipples. He’s leaning back against the cushions with his legs stretched out wide. His posture is relaxed, but his muscles twitch under my caress. His jaw clenches when I move back down his sternum to trace a finger over his T-shirt. He swallows when I use both hands to explore the ridges and grooves of his ribs. His neck strains when I run my hands down the V of his groin and over the waistband of his jeans to meet in the middle, cupping his erection. I’ve seen him naked, but I haven’t felt him, and it’s incomparable to anything I could’ve imagined. His girth is thick, but not overly so. It’s more his length that’s impressive.
Using the tips of my fingers, I outline the shape from his balls to the head that rests on his thigh. A hiss escapes his lips as I squeeze. I’m as wet as I’m ever going to get. My mouth waters for a taste. I want to trace him with my tongue and suck him down my throat until I can’t breathe. I want to consume him with a hunger I’ve long forgotten, one that desperately throbs between my legs.
When I reach for the button of his jeans, he grabs my hair, jerking my head up. The bite of pain on my scalp makes my eyes water. I moan, feeling it all the way to my clit. At my verbal admission of what his roughness does to me, his brown eyes turn molten. It’s as if a switch flips. He snaps back the control he gave earlier.
“Unbutton your blouse,” he says in hoarse voice. “I want to see your tits.”
His crass comments do turn me on. Straddling his lap, I hold his gaze as I do what he commanded. I undo the buttons of my blouse and let it fall open. His stare devours my breasts. There’s nothing sinful or wrong about it. It’s pure and intense, a dangerous cocktail of bottled-up passion.
Pulling my head back with a firm yank, he leans forward far enough to close his hot mouth over a lace-covered nipple. I whimper under the onslaught of his tongue. He’s sucking gently, allowing the scratchy fabric to create friction on my over-sensitive nipple. A nip of his teeth makes me jerk. He bites down and stretches softly, not enough to hurt, but enough to send pangs of angst to my mind. A fraction more pressure from his jaw and it’ll hurt like hell. The fear clears the haziness of my desire. Every sense comes alive with startling clarity. I’m aware of every nerve ending in my body. Another second passes with me in suspension between his teeth and mercy, and then he lets go. Cool air washes over my breast. The sensation intensifies when he blows over my nipple. The areola contracts, sending delicious goose bumps over my skin. I’m still grappling with the mind-shattering feeling as he starts licking my other nipple. I squirm with pleasure, almost allowing his skillful ministrations to derail me from my intention. When I lean back, escaping his tongue, he gives me enough of a reprieve to jerk the T-shirt from his jeans and push it up his chest. He assists me by letting go of my hair and grabbing the fabric in a fist to expose his abdomen. I fumble with the zipper like an inexperienced teenager. I’m nervous. When was the last time I was nervous around the body of a man?
Catching my wrist in his free hand, he says, “I’ll get it.”
I understand his concern. Under the jeans, he’s commando. He wouldn’t want me catching his skin in the zipper. He parts the edges of his fly and frees his cock. The skin covering his hard flesh is a flawless, tanned color, like the rest of him. The veins running down his shaft are visible, but discreet. He could’ve been a photoshopped model in an artist magazine. More. I want more. I want his unmarred body and all of its flaws.
“Show me more,” I demand, giving voice to my desire.
He doesn’t hesitate. Keeping a tight grip on the T-shirt, he lifts his ass and uses his free hand to push his jeans over his hips down to his thighs.
My breath catches. He’s a perfect example of a male specimen. Everything is beautifully proportioned, from the heavy sac at the base of his length to the ridge around the ring of the head. Pre-cum leaks from the slit. Using my finger, I catch the drop. His cock jerks. I tear my gaze away from all that beautiful masculinity to measure his reaction. What I see makes me dizzy with feminine power. He gnashes his teeth and breathes heavily through his nose. He’s holding back, and from the strain in his face and body it’s hard for him. For a moment, our eyes lock. Time stands still as our bodies rage underneath and on top of one another. His regard simmers with something dark and profound, a message I instinctively know I need to decipher, but fail to understand. Whatever is hidden in those turbulent pools is vital. It’s a key to a secret. All I need to do is reach out and snatch it, but it’s like a word stuck on the tip of my tongue. My body is aware of his male power and the pleasure it promises, but my sixth sense is even more aware of this strange truth as we keep on staring at each other.
The intensity is too much. I’m the first one to look away. Even as my gut acknowledges the flag waving in the back of my mind, my desire is more powerful, outweighing everything else. Wetting my lips, I lower my head, but his words stop me.
“If you’re going to suck me, take out your tits.”
I let the shirt fall over my shoulders and flip the cups of my bra down to show him my nipples. I don’t have big boobs, but the underwire pushes up the curves the way men like.
“No,” he says. “Take it off completely. I want to see them bounce.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but little arrows sting my clit, building my need. Only one man has been this honest with me about what he liked in bed. I push the thought aside. I don’t want to spoil the moment by bringing someone else into it. I push the blouse from my arms and unhook the clasp of my bra. When my upper body is naked, I reach for his cock, but he stops me yet again with further instructions.
“Put your hands on my hips.” He grips the base in a fist and angles his cock. “Suck me without using your hands.”
Brian
Fuck, Jane’s mouth is sweet. She licks from the base up my shaft, her pretty blue eyes locked on mine when her lips steal over the head. Another spurt of pre-cum heats the slit. We’re not even a few seconds into this, and I’m ready to come. Biting back the ejaculation takes extreme self-control and a shitload of concentration. While she stretches her jaw and slides my cock down her throat with an ease that should alarm me, I study her face. Her twisted expression as I vandalize her mouth sends me over the edge of my control. I’m going too far too soon, but I can’t stop. Palming her tits, I find her nipples and twist. It should be painful, but she moans in a way that tells me she likes the bite of pain. The sound vibrates all the way to my balls.
“Keep your hands exactly where they are,” I instruct.
Threading my fingers through her hair, I cup her head gently and take over the pace. Up and down, I work my dick into the heat of her mouth slowly, pushing deeper to test her limits. When she gags, I let up, giving her room to breathe before I
sink through her lips again, this time knowing how far I can go. As soon as I find a pace and depth that are within her comfort zone, I keep at it for a while, letting her lick and suck at will. Her tongue is hot, and her saliva sleek. The involuntary noises she makes as I fuck her lips make me harder. My dick is like a loaded gun, and she’s got her finger on the trigger. I won’t last much longer. It’s going to be tough. My befuddled mind is clear enough to realize she needs a warning.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth hard. Don’t panic. It’ll be quick.”
Tightening my hold on her head, I quicken the pace, sliding all the way to the back of her throat. Oh, fuck. This is so hot. She gags, and her eyes tear up, but she keeps her gaze fixed on mine. Her calm regard spurs me on. I move faster, making her beautiful tits bounce like I promised. The sight is too much. I push her head down with one hand and use the other to spank her breasts, first the one, then the other. They sway from the impact, her pearl-white skin immediately sporting red marks. Her scream reverberates around me, and her teeth graze the skin of my cock that is stretched to its limits. She didn’t do it intentionally, but I use the excuse to spank her ass cheek hard. This time, her teeth indent my flesh, probably from shock. She didn’t break skin. The delicious pain is just enough to push me over. I didn’t ask if I could shoot my cum down her throat, but it’s too late. It’s swallow or choke.
I come for a long time, so long that I have to pull out to let her breathe. She gulps in air as the last jet of cum spills on her bottom lip and dribbles down her chin. If I had more in me, I’d mark her blushing breasts, too.
“Easy now.” I wipe the hair from her face. “Breathe in slowly. That’s good. Just like that.”
It takes a few ragged drags before she finds her breath.
Cupping her head, I drag her face to my chest and let her rest there while I stroke her hair. The petting is my way of rewarding her for her trust and obedience, and my heart warms as she melts against me, allowing me to hold her close. After a long time, she pushes away. She doesn’t say a word, but it’s there in her eyes. She liked my roughness, but she thinks we shouldn’t have done it. Maybe she’s right. My intention was taking it slow, which is impossible with her. She pushes all my right–or wrong–buttons. I’m a demon, and my lust rules me. No matter. She’ll get used to it. A revelation as clear as a turquoise sea hits me right in the chest. She’s mine. I’ve claimed her, and I’ll do anything to keep her. Anything. That’s the part that scares me the most, because I’m not a noble man.
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