Mike grabbed the back of my head and pushed into my mouth, and I scrambled to get my hand on the base of his cock to keep from gagging. My hand wasn’t very big, it was all that protected my throat.
“You like a big cock in your mouth, don’t you?” said Mike.
It did feel pretty good, I had to admit, more of that thrill of turning a man on, having him trust his most sensitive appendage next to my sharp teeth. But while there was nothing especially wrong with Mike’s cock, it wasn’t super large, about the same size as the other men I had been with. Not that I had a lot of experience, it had only been a few. But still.
Mike must have been a little insecure about his cock size, or maybe he hadn’t seen many cocks either, which was probably a good thing, because he said, “You like my cock, don’t you? I bet you can’t take it all.”
Without thinking I dropped my hand off his shaft and let my head follow it down, taking more and more, feeling the pressure at the back of my throat, the light hairs on his balls tickling my lips. I’d never done that before, and I pulled back, gasping.
“I told you, you can’t take it all,” said Mike, smugly.
But of course I just had. I did it again, more to prove it to myself than him, and reveled in it, thinking I’m such a slut, I’m on my knees, deep throating an almost-stranger, and I’m getting turned on by it.
My hand slipped under my skirt, reaching for my pussy, and I glanced up briefly. Mike’s head was back, his eyes closed, he had at least for now let go of the idea of fucking me, and I rubbed my pussy with one hand while the other hand stroked him, the tip of his cock never leaving my mouth.
The very wantonness of it aroused me like nothing ever had before, and although my clit was still raw I mashed it with my fingers, all the while continuing to suck his cock, and because of that connection I sensed immediately when Mike tensed, and I rubbed myself even faster, caught up in his excitement, moaning, his back pushing against the cushions, and he blasted into my mouth, filling me with long, thick spurts, and as he cried out I came again. I would normally have turned my head to spit it out, but my orgasm was in control, and I swallowed, something I rarely did, all of it.
I dragged myself up onto the sofa, my clothes a mess, not wanting to think about what my hair and face looked like, the salty tang lingering in my mouth. I put my head on Mike’s chest, listening to the thumping of his heart.
“You’re really good at that,” he said, appreciatively. “All that demure stuff was a good act.”
I slapped him playfully on the chest, thinking he was kidding me. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“No, I mean it. That was great. You must have a lot of experience.”
“I haven’t actually. At least not with many men. I’ve just had a few boyfriends.”
“Then they were pretty lucky, you must have given them a lot of head.”
I looked up at him, frowning, trying to see if he was joking around. But his head was still thrown back, staring at the ceiling, reveling in his post orgasmic bliss. For some reason I needed to set the record straight. “Really. I don’t have that much experience. You just got me really turned on, maybe we have some kind of chemistry.”
“Whatever. As long as you keep doing it.”
“I’ve never done that. You know, on the first date.”
Now Mike looked at me. “Really? Never? That’s hard to believe.”
“I guess you have, a lot?”
Mike shrugged. “Well, you know, the ladies like me, sometimes they want to show it.”
I pulled away a little, my sexual warmth cooling down fast. “That’s not what this was about.”
“Hmm. You practically threw yourself at me.”
“What?”
“In the cab. You were rubbing all over me. At dinner I had pretty much given up on you, I thought you were, you know, a little uptight. But the cab ride changed my mind, I thought I’d give it a go.”
I had sat close to him in the cab, but I wasn’t throwing myself at him. Or maybe that’s how he had read it. “You are full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“You’re pretty full of me too, right now,” he said, grinning. “If you know what I mean.”
“You’re disgusting.” I moved to the other side of the couch, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around my legs.
Mike gave me a long look, then his voice softened. “Hey, I was just kidding around. About all of it. Just trying to get a rise out of you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”
He sounded sincere enough, and I had a hard time right then being mad at a guy who had just made me come twice. Once really, I’d done it the second time, but I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t turned me on so much.
Still, it made me wonder what his expectations had been, what his first dates were normally like. Was I a prude? Did most women put out on the first date? I knew all about drunken hookups, I hadn’t had one, but I knew how common they were. And maybe under the right circumstances I’d let myself go that way, but not with a guy who I wanted to be serious about.
Would the fact that we had sex on the first date put me in that category for Mike, just a one night stand, a hookup, someone he would write off as a potential relationship?
What had I done?
“What did Gerry say about me, anyway?” I asked.
Mike hesitated before replying. “He said you were hot.”
“That’s it? Hot?” Is that how Gerry described me to his friends?
“Something wrong with that? You are pretty hot. Would you rather he said you were ugly?”
“That’s not what I meant. What else did he say?”
Mike shrugged. “He said you were fun. Smart. Not needy.”
I guess that wasn’t all bad, considering. Not the way a woman would describe a guy to one of her friends. Well, not a guy she thought would be serious candidate material. And not always in that order, looks first, then the other stuff.
But I couldn’t believe that’s all that had been said. Whenever I had set up a guy with one of my girlfriends, we’d talk for an hour about him. What’s he like? What does he laugh at? What are his friends like? Does he like his family? The whole third degree. The only reason I hadn’t been able to do that with Liz was because Mike was Gerry’s friend, not hers.
Could guys just leave it at that? Hey, my wife has a single girlfriend, she’s hot, fun, smart, not needy. Want to go out with her?
There had to be more.
“Gerry must have said something else to make you want to go out with me. Since, you know, the ladies are throwing themselves at you.”
Mike hesitated. “You really want to know?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. He said you fucked like a rabbit.”
I was momentarily speechless. “No way.”
“That’s what he said.”
I searched Mike’s face. I didn’t know his mannerisms, he might have a great poker face. This might be his idea of humor. “So that’s what got you interested in me?”
“It didn’t hurt.”
“And how did Gerry say he came upon this bit of personal information? I can assure you, he doesn’t have any first hand knowledge.” I was confident that Liz hadn’t said any such thing, even to her husband.
“Second hand, I guess. Some guy named Ward told him.”
Now I was totally speechless. Ward? Would Ward really have shared details about our sex life with Gerry? They had known each other, but only through me.
Was this what guys talked about? Did Gerry pull Ward aside after meeting him a few times, maybe when Liz and I were in the restroom, and ask, Hey Ward, what’s Tessa really like? And that’s what Ward had decided to tell him?
I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak. I must have looked like a fish, because Mike laughed. It gave me a glimmer of hope that none of this was real. “You made all this up, right? This is your idea of some kind of joke?”
Mike raised his right hand. “I swear, that’s what Gerry sa
id. Look, I know it may bother you, but it’s a good thing in my book. Although we didn’t quite get there. Yet.” He reached over and lifted up my skirt.
I slapped his hand away. “And you’re not likely to. I can’t believe any of this.”
“Why does it bother you so much?”
“Why? You think that’s how a woman wants to be known, how she wants to be described to someone?” My opinion of Mike, outside of his abilities with his tongue, was dropping fast.
Mike grew serious. “I get it. You think that if a guy thinks you are easy, he won’t take you seriously.”
“Well, duh.”
“That’s not true. Not always, anyway. Do you believe that’s how men like to be thought of, all lumped together like that?”
He’d done a good job of turning my logic back on me. “I bet you do,” I countered. “Think like that. If a woman does it on the first date, she’s cheap. And,” I added, “I’m not easy.” Although I certainly had been tonight.
Mike laughed again. “I don’t think you are. Cheap.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
“Next Saturday. Let’s go out, do the whole thing, dinner, something elegant. A Broadway show. If I just wanted sex I wouldn’t do that.”
I had been ready to write the whole thing off, my mind already drifting to whether I had any ice cream I could drown my sorrows in as soon as I ushered Mike out the door. But his offer stopped me cold. If he had really wanted a one nighter, he wouldn’t be asking me out again, and on such an expensive date. “We aren’t going to skip the show because it has a long line, will we?”
“I’ll get tickets, of course. I know someone at a production company, we’ll get a box even though everything good is probably sold out to the public. If you want to skip the show, it will be because you decide to. You know, because you can’t wait to get me somewhere private.”
Fat chance. I was going to make Mike pay for this evening, and a Broadway show would be just the ticket. I know I should have told him to fuck off, I didn’t need this, he wasn’t serious relationship material, not with his preconceived notion of me, which I had confirmed for him by my actions tonight. But I could still feel the wetness between my legs, and his cocky smile made me silly.
And I was already thinking of what I might wear.
Mike was true to his word. He picked me up for our date in a limo, wearing a Brioni suit that must have cost more than all my outfits combined. He’d looked good the first time I met him, but now he looked dashing, his tie impeccable, his shoes perfect.
I’d dressed up too, in a flattering little black dress, the most elegant thing I owned. For jewelry I’d chosen a pair of small emerald earrings, left to me by my grandmother, which set off my green eyes. And a simple pearl necklace that I hoped set off my chest. With all my talk of being prim and proper, I still wanted to look, as Gerry had uncouthly described me, hot.
The dinner went well, Mike was on his best behavior, not a hint of lewdness. He laughed at my jokes and was such a gentleman that I began to warm to him; I was still pissed at the way he had treated me the first night (well, not every way he had treated me, some of it I had relived all week) but he was picking up points. On the way into the show he held my hand, like we were long time lovers, instead of one time oral sex partners.
After the theater we went for drinks at the bar at the swanky Four Seasons, and by the second drink I was laughing, realizing against what might have been my wishes that I was having a good time. At well after midnight the limo picked us up.
Outside my apartment, sitting on the smooth leather in the backseat of the limo, there was a strange awkwardness. I’d shared bodily fluids with this man and for some reason I felt like I was on a first date all over again. Mike seemed to be waiting too, although I doubted he felt awkward. I thought about giving him just a little kiss goodnight, but that felt foolish after what we had already done. And though I had virtually sucked Mike’s face in the movie line, for some reason the presence of the driver in the front seat, even with the privacy screen up, made me oddly hesitant.
“Would you like to come up?” I asked, tentative.
“Only if that’s what you want. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“No, I want you to.”
“Okay. I’ll try to behave.”
It was only when I had put my key in the outer door and the limo had driven away did I realize that Mike hadn’t said anything to the driver. Even the driver had known that Mike would be coming up.
Or Mike had expected it, and had told him earlier.
The second date ended as the first one had, with oral sex, Mike clearly wanting more, but me managing to hold out. He left in the middle of the night, and I was too tired to obsess over having had sex again with him.
Two days went by, with not a word, and I was beginning to feel morose, when I finally got a text from Mike. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, had to fly to London for a deal.
Believable, about having to fly off, given his job, but certainly he didn’t have to wait so long. On the other hand, I was supposed to be a modern woman, maybe I should have texted him. But that didn’t fit with my ideas of the early parts of a relationship, and besides, it might sound needy, which I had been before, and had seen before in other women, and it was ugly. I had vowed never to be like that, ever.
Besides, there was Gerry’s description of me. Hot, not needy.
I still had mixed feelings about Mike, but accepted his offer of another date two weeks later. This one was just a quick drink, on a Friday afternoon, before he headed out to the Hamptons. I wondered why he didn’t invite me, but was too embarrassed to ask.
On the fourth date, we did the deed. My on again, off again feelings about whether Mike was right for me were overwhelmed when I was with him; there was just something about him, or his phonemes, or whatever thing he had going, or we had going. I couldn’t think straight.
We were at my apartment, as usual—I still hadn’t seen his—and this time, when Mike got me mostly undressed, I didn’t resist his obvious desire to be inside me. Fucking on the fourth date was still way early for me, but everything with Mike had been so short circuited. So it wasn’t like a big surprise. Certainly not for Mike. I had a few condoms left over from Ward, who I now considered a lowlife shit for talking about me the way he had, even though I was about to make his description of me come true.
Mike gave me another first—an orgasm during intercourse without having my clit touched. I’d heard about it, I’d read about it, but I’d never experienced it. After I came I lay there in shock, still unable to comprehend how he did what he did. All through it Mike kept talking dirty, about his prowess, about his big cock, about how hot I was getting over him, which all sounds lame, but it worked, or something worked. I was convinced now that his cock wasn’t any bigger than anything I had seen before, and as a matter of fact he wasn’t even as sensitive a lover as Ward had been, or even Jack. Mike was mostly about Mike, wanting to get himself off. He did like licking me, but I think it was more for his enjoyment than mine, or just as much; it turned him on getting me out of control, it made him feel even better about his lovemaking abilities. I wonder what would have happened if he had come first when fucking me, if he would have just pulled out and said That was good and fallen asleep, leaving me high and dry, or more accurately, wet and low. But because of my body’s inexplicable reaction to him, I didn’t find out, since I came even before he did.
Mike and I continued to see each other after that night, but after a while an odd pattern emerged. We’d get together mostly during the week, rarely on Friday, never on Saturday. He never once invited me to the Hamptons, and when I kind of hinted at it, he shook his head and said it wasn’t my scene. I got the distinct impression that Mike was pigeonholing me into his during the week date, and started to suspect that he had something else going, or more than one thing going, on the side.
Or maybe I was the side.
Could Mike have another girlfriend,
a real girlfriend, instead of someone he dated and just had sex with? Or was I someone he had sex with, and sometimes dated? What kind of relationship was it when you didn’t spend weekends together?
For a while I didn’t say anything. I kept hoping that it was just his busy work and lifestyle, that maybe Mike went a little wild with the guys on weekends, and he didn’t want me to see that. That he was deciding about me, too, and hesitating to take the next step.
All this should have made me leery, but instead I tried harder to make myself appealing. When Mike complained about being too tired to go out for dinner, could we order in, I went along. I gave him backrubs. And we had sex, lots of sex. I can’t deny that I enjoyed it, his strange need to comment on his prowess notwithstanding, but after a few months I began to feel like a mistress.
Or a prostitute.
Finally, I could take it no more. After yet another eat in/fuck in, lying on my bed, I said, “Mike, I think we are getting into a little bit of a rut. Chinese food at my place every so often is fine, but I’d like to do something else now and then.”
Mike gave me his grin, the one that usually proceeded something with a sexual overtone. “You want to do something kinky?”
“I’m serious. I’ve never even been to your apartment. And you never take me to any of your work events. It’s like I don’t exist.”
“You’d be bored to tears. A bunch of bankers, talking about deals.”
“Still, I’d like to at least be asked. And what’s with you being too tired to go out?”
“You know how much pressure my job is. I’m mentally tired. I just want to chill.”
“You seem to have enough energy for sex.”
“Hey, you never had it so good.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have much to compare you too.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, the usual female line, I’ve only slept with a few guys.”
“It’s true. I only slept with three guys before you.” I didn’t think I was technically lying, that was the number of guys I had slept with, as in slept all night with, as opposed to having had sex with.
Revenge In The Hamptons (Revenge Is Best Served Hot (Powerful Women Series)) Page 4