When I applied it to his erect penis he started and gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Do you like that?” I asked.
“It’s…interesting.”
“How about this?” I circled his nipples with the head at low speed.
He squirmed. “I don’t know…. I can’t decide whether it’s tickling me or exciting me. Put it on my dick again.”
This time I ran it up and down the ridges on his cock and his hips shifted, his eyes fluttering closed. “Keep doing that and I’ll come,” he murmured.
I turned the vibrator off. “Too easy.”
I slithered out of my spandex pants and panties. We were both naked now and I loved the way he looked at me, yearning for me to touch him, to make love to him.
And I did. I touched and stroked and kissed him, rubbing my face against his skin, exploring the textures of the springy hair on his chest, the soft fragrant hair of his armpits, the hollows of rib cage and flanks, and the earthy scents of his balls and cock. Some parts of him I knew already. Others, like the silkiness of his inner thigh, the corded tendon behind his knee, the delicate strength of his ankle, I learned. I rubbed my nipples against the masculine roughness of his chest hair and the stubble on his cheeks. His tongue flicked out to catch my nipples briefly before I moved away.
I lifted his cock, baring the head to caress my hard nipples, leaving them shining with fluid. He whimpered slightly and sighed.
“Taste yourself.” I allowed him to suck my nipples while I rode his thigh.
“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured.
“Good.” I shifted to kneel astride him. He tensed beneath me as I handled his cock, stroking him, and then applying the head to my clit. “I’m very wet. Can you feel that?”
“Oh, God, yes. Will you make yourself come?”
I did. I used his cock shamelessly as the instrument of my pleasure; no penetration, just the silky moistness rubbed on my clit. I squatted over him, knees spread, holding my vulva open so he could see every detail of my hair and folds and pink, excited flesh, and the shining coral of my clit. He thrust up and groaned and cursed. I laughed. I teased. And then I came, laughing still, and collapsed on him, his cock hot and hard against my belly.
“Will you not have mercy on me, you lovely fiend?” His voice was rough. He pressed his cock against me, seeking friction and relief.
“Oh, I’m quite happy here. Like this.”
“Bitch.” He sounded pretty happy. “Take all night. Do whatever you like.”
“Oh, I will.” I rose to my knees and shuffled astride him, positioning my crotch over his mouth. “Or, to be more specific, you’ll do whatever I like. Lick me.”
He groaned and set to work, his tongue circling and flicking my clit while I writhed and pressed myself against him—I had to be careful, I needed him to breathe, after all—and I came to his clever tongue and lips. I think I may have screamed. I know I was noisy and my legs shook and I collapsed to one side, curled against the headboard, one leg across his chest.
He turned his lips to my knee and kissed it, very wet around the mouth. “Having a good time?”
“Oh, yes. And you?”
“Phenomenal. Is there any chance of me coming anytime soon?”
“Maybe.” I turned and reached for the vibrator where I’d abandoned it earlier. I stretched out beside him and rested my head on his thigh and ran the vibrator up and down his cock. I found where he was sensitive, beneath the head where the skin was pink and delicate and gleaming wet, and pressed the undulating tip of the vibrator there. He panted and writhed and gasped and told me yes, like that, don’t stop, Jo, he was going to come. His body tensed. The head of his cock swelled, the slit widened and semen spurted onto his belly and chest.
He went completely limp and laughed. I untied him but he was so relaxed he barely moved. I went to the bathroom for a washcloth and when I returned he was holding his arms aloft, rotating his wrists. “I’m good for nothing now. Wow. That was something. Enjoy yourself?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I did.” I swabbed the semen from his belly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Well, almost anytime. Maybe we should only do that to each other once a week or so.” He yawned. “Am I a total wuss if I go to sleep?”
“That makes both of us total wusses.” I pulled the quilt over us and switched the light off.
Brady jumped onto the bed and settled between us. We fell asleep to the sound of his purrs.
This time waking in her bed had a lovely sort of familiarity. Their clothes lay scattered on the floor, along with a bowl and spoons; they’d decided last night, after a nap of an hour or so, that it was time for more ice cream. And one thing led to another and it was quite late before Jo announced she needed to sleep and they got up again to clean teeth and so on. The odd thing was that his usual insomnia didn’t kick in when he was with her, so he had the rare experience of waking from a deep sleep, swimming up to the surface and daylight. Maybe it was being in love, or maybe it was just utter relaxation from the great sex. And maybe the great sex came from being in love, a thought that pleased him immensely. The cat was wedged between them so that when Patrick opened his eyes he got a face full of whisker and Brady’s green mindless stare.
What woke him, he realized, was the relentless chirp of his phone in his sweatpants pocket, announcing he had a text message. It was too early for a client, but he put on his glasses and stretched out from the bed to retrieve his phone. Oh, shit, his da, texting to announce that he was flying in the next day and which hotel he was staying in.
He prodded Jo with one foot. “Hey, what sort of food do you like?”
“Oatmeal,” she mumbled. All that was visible of her was the top of her head, the quilt pulled over her ears.
“No, not breakfast. For dinner.”
“I can’t think about dinner before I’ve woken up.” A little more of her emerged. She blinked.
“My da’s coming into town tomorrow. Where shall we take him? Somewhere fancy and nouvelle.”
“Oh. Okay. Gillian’s.”
“So you’ll come, too?”
“Sure. I’ll get a sub. It’ll be best if we can do it early. There’s a concert satellite broadcast until nine, so I could get someone to come in for a couple of hours and then go back in if they can’t stay until the end of the shift.” She sat up and the quilt fell away, revealing her breasts and her nipples stiffening in the cool air. “I’ve got to pee.”
He watched with great appreciation as she wandered across the room. Even despite the threat of his father’s arrival he still had a hard-on like a log.
She continued the conversation from the bathroom, the door open. “So seven or seven-thirty.”
“I’m glad you’ll be there. I need you to see my genetic stock so you know what you’re getting into. And he can be pretty good company.”
“He sounds like a jerk,” she said over the sound of running water.
“He’s that, too. Are you coming back here? I’ve something to show you.”
She came back into the bedroom and stretched, watching him for his reaction. He loved how comfortable she was wandering around naked, something he’d found unusual in American women. His cock twitched beneath the quilt at the sight of her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, immediately feeling a fool after.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and he saw her stand a little straighter, raise her chin. “Thanks.”
He waited for the list of her imaginary flaws that inevitably followed any compliment paid to a woman, but she climbed back into bed with him and slid her cold feet between his calves. Again, something he wasn’t used to, a woman who was comfortable with her body.
“Except for your feet. They’re not beautiful. They’re freezing.”
“And my hands.” She placed them on his rib cage, making him jump. “It was too cold to wait for the water to run hot.”
“Don’t touch my dick with those hands. It’ll drop off.”
> She didn’t take the hint but snuggled up against him, her head tucked under his chin, which was nice, except he was getting hornier by the moment. And anxious, too, because she was thinking about something and it wasn’t him, and not admitting it, either.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She made a slight, sleepy sound, which he didn’t quite believe. Her body had a tense, springy sort of feel to it, not the relaxed heaviness of someone about to fall asleep.
He moved his hand to her rib cage and tickled.
“Stop that!” She came wide-awake. “If you want to get laid, you’re going about it the wrong way.”
“I didn’t think you were interested.”
“I’m not interested in being tickled.”
“What’s on your mind, Jo?”
“Nothing in particular. I just woke up.” Her hand traveled down his body. “Is this what you wanted me to see?”
He kicked off the quilt to fully appreciate the sight of her hand on his cock. She gave a grunt of annoyance and pulled the quilt over herself again.
“I want to see your tits.”
“Stop whining.”
“Okay, then.” He pulled the quilt over them, enclosing them in a dim, fragrant cave, and kissed her mouth and neck and breasts.
She broke away to take his cock in her mouth and while he appreciated the effort—more than appreciated—he was ashamed, briefly, that he could be distracted so easily.
“Jo,” he mumbled, “Jo, don’t…”
“What?” she stopped licking to stare up at him. “Is something wrong?”
“Don’t stop,” he said, although it wasn’t what he really wanted to say. Don’t leave me.
25
NOTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. MR. D. AND I would meet at the hotel bar, we’d have a drink, declare an end to something that had never really started and I’d drive back to meet Patrick and his father for dinner.
But if nothing was going to happen, why couldn’t I tell Patrick about it? About any of it? He’d never asked about the Association, what I’d done there, and I’d never offered to tell. Otherwise things were great, sexy and sweet. In just a couple of days we’d slipped into an easy domesticity; he waited up for me to come home late on Monday night, and greeted me with another delicious meal. We shared my bathtub and laughed and fucked like a pair of demented rabbits. But now and again I caught him gazing at me with an expression of suspicion and sadness.
I’d tell him everything…after. And I hoped he’d understand why I needed to get this last piece of the puzzle resolved.
“You look nice,” he said as I left the house on Tuesday. “A bit like a secretary from an old Hollywood movie, but nice.”
“I’ll be going to the restaurant straight from work.” I’d put on high heels and a black pencil skirt. On top I wore a clingy cream cashmere sweater, a gift from Kimberly that I’d never dared wear before; it seemed to be begging to have things spilled down it.
“Hey,” I said, punching his arm. “Don’t look so worried.”
“You’re right. I don’t have anything to worry about.” He leaned in to kiss me. I was expecting something friendly and casual. What I received was hot and sexy with lots of tongue and a thorough exploration of what was under my skirt. “I trust the stockings are for my benefit,” he said when he came up for air.
“It was meant to be a surprise for you later.” I straightened the skirt out.
“So long as it isn’t a surprise for everyone else when you sit down.”
I sighed. “I’ll keep my knees together, I promise. Go do some work.”
I grabbed my down coat and a scarf and left the house. I turned to see Patrick at the doorway, looking sexy and rumpled in a pair of faded old jeans and a sweater and I was tempted, for one moment, to run back to him and tell him everything. I waved and got into my car, taking care to flash him as I stepped in.
He grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
God, it was cold, and frigid air had whooshed up my skirt for Patrick’s cheap thrill. I knew it would be a good ten minutes before the heater pumped out any warm air. Shivering, I started the car and turned as though I were heading for the radio station, in case he was watching.
I felt like an adulteress.
Just under two hours later I was edging my way through city traffic looking for a parking place, weighing the benefits of the hotel’s valet parking against a possible parking ticket and arriving blue with cold to meet Mr. D. I succumbed, turning onto Tremont and into the front entrance of the venerable red sandstone hotel. I entered through the revolving doors, unwinding the scarf and unbuttoning the coat. I felt like a fool, now. I had no guarantee Mr. D. would turn up, given his history of half-truths and evasion. I also wasn’t sure where he’d be—hadn’t I told him to meet me in the bar?
“Jo?”
I turned to see Mr. D. rising from one of the armchairs in the lobby. He came to my side, smiling, and kissed my cheek as though we were casual acquaintances. Despite my vow that I would not allow myself to fall under his spell yet again, I was disarmed by the warmth of his greeting and his dark beauty.
“You look lovely,” he said. “Would you like a drink? Something to eat? Or we could have afternoon tea—it’s quite good here.”
I agreed to afternoon tea and he led me to the restaurant, where a waiter took my coat and scarf and we settled in armchairs. A harpist played softly. Black tea reminded me of Patrick so I chose oolong, and Mr. D. ordered us scones and finger sandwiches.
“Very civilized,” he said with a smile.
“Where are you from? I could never place your accent.”
“Oh, here and there. My father was from Greece and my mother was Scottish, and I grew up mostly in the States. I’m a hybrid.”
“I don’t really know anything about you.”
A waiter arrived with silver teapots and hot water and fussy little tea bags and china, a cake stand loaded with scones and tiny, delicate sandwiches and clotted cream and jam in bowls.
“Oh, you know a great deal about me,” Mr. D. said. “Why don’t you call me Dimitrios?”
“I know a lot about your fantasy life, not you.” I paused. I didn’t want to sound whiny or accusatory, even though I realized I shouldn’t have cared what I sounded like. “When did you decide to recruit me?”
“Recruit you? That’s rather a dire way of putting it, I think. I know Willis and he told me he’d dated you. It was really his idea. I was quite jealous when he suggested you. I wanted to keep you to myself, but you were so adamant about not meeting me.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. You wanted to meet me, or so you say, and then you paired me up with Jake. You said you were planning a threesome but if you were behind that mirror, why didn’t you come forward?”
He sliced open a scone with delicate precision. I had not realized before what beautiful hands he had. “This is rather embarrassing. I lost my nerve. I think you can probably identify with that.”
“There’s no excuse for pairing me up with a jerk who had a grudge against me. I didn’t even like Jake when he wasn’t acting like an asshole.”
He touched my hand and I felt a tingle down my spine. “You weren’t in any danger. I would never have put you in harm’s way.”
“So you say,” I replied and snatched my hand away from his a little too late. “It didn’t feel like it at the time. I think it was your sense of perverse fun to let Jake take your place—and I think you were annoyed that I recognized you when I went upstairs. Your plan went wrong.”
He took a sip of tea, and as I anticipated, neither acknowledged nor challenged my assumption. His innate confidence always got me. “Games, Jo. It’s all games. You weren’t bad at them yourself, were you? You were quite a favorite in the Great Room.”
“I’m done with the Association.”
“It’s a shame.”
I raised a fragment of scone to my mouth, hoping I wouldn’t drop jam all down my front. “I need to make sense of all this.”
/>
“To explain it to your young man?”
“I can’t explain it to anyone unless I understand it myself. I don’t know that you’re telling the truth even now. What did you want from me, Mr. D.?”
“Love.”
That took me by surprise, but then his rare moments of honesty had always disarmed me. “Well, you blew it. I can’t love someone who lies to me,” I said, willing myself to believe it. “And I did love you, you know, before I discovered you were playing me.”
“I realize that now.” He said it with such dignity and simplicity I believed him.
We sat in silence for a while. I nibbled on a finger sandwich. “I’d like to think it wasn’t your idea to make me and Patrick the floor show. So I’m not even going to ask you.”
“You’re really quite lovely together,” he said. “Very well matched. I hope he’s what you want.”
“He is. Thank you.”
“Does he know you’re here with me?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“And have I answered your questions?”
“Not really, but I’m glad we met.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
I shook my head. “Life’s too short to carry a grudge. What’s done is done.”
He dipped his hand into his pocket. I thought he was going to summon the waiter to pay the bill, but instead he laid a small white plastic rectangle on the table, stark and bright against the dark polished wood.
A room key.
I stared at it a long moment, then looked up to meet his eyes.
So it wasn’t the end of the story—not yet.
“So where’s your young lady?” his father asked. He snapped his fingers and their server appeared. He pointed at his empty Scotch glass. “Another of these, and we’ll see the wine list.” He gazed at her as she retreated. “Look at the arse on that girl.”
“Woman,” said Patrick, checking his phone again for messages. “Behave yourself, you old sot. They’ll spit in your soup if you’re not more politically correct. This place is the world center of political correctness.”
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