by Roya Carmen
Please, God.
I grab the Hershey bar I bought especially for the occasion, and tie it to the letter with a red ribbon. I know it’s her favorite. And I figure if anything’s going to work, it’s apology-chocolate.
I lick the sticky seal of the envelope, the taste sweet. I seal the envelope thinking if I ever have to choose between Weston and Gwen…
I’ll choose Gwen, hands down.
Weston and I meet up at a posh French restaurant. I peruse the menu displayed on a classic mahogany podium just outside the door. The menu looks amazing, but of course, I’m not too hungry. I’m filled with anticipation. But on second glance, I do make a mental note to order the crème brûlée for dessert.
Weston sneaks up behind me. “Hello.”
I turn around to greet him and kiss him on the cheek. He’s clean shaven and smells like clean laundry. Delicious.
He leads me into the restaurant. “You look lovely,” he tells me with a gentle hand on the small of my back.
“You too.” He does. He looks fabulous in a tailored two-piece charcoal suit and button-down burgundy shirt, top button undone, no tie. Just as sexy as those male models in that suit catalogue Gabe keeps getting. Gabe says it’s a waste of trees, but I secretly enjoy receiving it every few months. It’s my personal version of Victoria’s Secret. But I digress.
Weston looks hot.
“I like that little matching handkerchief thingie in your pocket,” I tell him. “That’s always a nice touch.”
He smiles at me with a quizzical expression. “You mean my pocket square?”
“Of course…yes…pocket square,” I try to backtrack, in pursuit of trying not to sound like an idiot. You would think I would have learned a few things ogling those catalogues, but in my defense I wasn’t exactly reading the copy.
“Table for two?” The hostess asks, a tall beautiful woman with long silky black hair, oozing class. I’m pretty sure this woman knows what a pocket square is called.
“Yes, under Hanson,” Weston replies.
She leads us past the lounge area into the main dining room. The place is fantastic; traditional classic gleaming dark hardwood floors, wood paneled walls with arched windows looking onto the busy street. Large floating crystal ball-like lighting fixtures dot the ceiling. Sleek sixties style curvy white leather chairs line the crisp white linen covered tables. The stark contrast of modern and traditional is striking.
“You sure know how to pick a place,” I tell him as he pulls out my chair for me. I fall into it with wild abandon. It wraps around me perfectly.
Weston takes a seat opposite me. He also wraps around me perfectly, I muse, taking him in. He’s looking absolutely delectable.
“You fit right in. That’s a lovely dress.”
“Thank you,” I reply. My words are soft, laced with shyness. Why does he still have this effect on me?
Speaking of catalogues, I ordered this particular dress from a catalogue, thinking about Weston. It seems every time I buy a dress I have Weston in mind. This little sleeveless silky cerulean blue number with a cute peplum accent caught my eye and I knew it was right up his alley—sexy but sophisticated.
“Thank you for dinner,” I add. “The menu looks great.”
“It is. Thank you for being here. I’m glad to be with you.”
This is so odd.
I laugh a little. He eyes me with curiosity.
“Why are we so odd?” I ask him, not waiting for an answer. “We’re always making small talk.”
He laughs. “We’re not always odd. We weren’t too odd the other night at my place.”
I smile, remembering that night—him teasing me, pleasuring me repeatedly. God, I’m looking forward to doing that again.
He shoots me a sly look. He’s having the same naughty thoughts I’m having.
I laugh.
He bites his lip. “Your friend Gwen seems like quite a character,” he says with a wide grin.
I laugh. “Yes, she is. I’m so sorry about that.”
He tilts his head and studies me. “I gather she’s not a fan of mine.”
I smile. I can’t lie. “She hates you.”
He pulls a face. “But she hasn’t even met me. What could possibly inspire such hatred?”
I sit up straight and blow out a breath. “She thinks this whole thing is a horrible mistake. She thinks I’m messing up things with Gabe. She loves Gabe.”
He nods slowly. “I see…” he trails off. “Someone’s been breaking the rules.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. She and I are best friends. We tell each other everything.”
He cocks a brow. “Everything?”
I laugh. “Well, not everything. But I might have mentioned how amazing you are in bed.”
His face lights up. A wide grin stretches across his face. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” I tell him with a cheeky smile. But my smile fades as I think about Gwen. I slouch in my chair. “But she and I are on the outs right now.”
“Why?”
I rub my forehead, remembering that dreadful argument. “We had a fight and I said horrible things.”
“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he says with a hint of a smile.
“I did. I messed everything up.”
He rests his hand softly on mine. “I’m sure it will all work itself out. And if you need a friend, I’m always here.”
He’s so sweet.
“Thank you. Yes, we’re friends right?”
“I’d like to think so,” he says, his lips curving up slowly. “But friends don’t exactly put their hands where I had mine last week.”
I smile. He does make a good point.
The server comes to take our drink orders. Weston orders a bottle of red for the both of us—‘maison-something’ or other. He orders in French. Of course, the man speaks French…and a little Italian, and Spanish too apparently. I order a cranberry soda.
“What I mean is…” I venture. “Let’s talk like friends. How are Ashton and Elizabeth? What are they up to?”
He smiles, the ever proud parent. “Ashton is obsessed with his robotics club which is great, but he’s also crazy about video games. We’re working on self-control right now. Quelling that addiction a little.”
I almost laugh. He makes everything sound so serious. The kid sounds normal to me. It’s not like he’s on crack. Geez.
“And Elizabeth rides a lot still, even in the cold weather.”
“Rides what?” I ask before I can catch myself. “Uh…horses right?”
“Horses. Yes,” he says with that all-too familiar smile. He seems amused by my imbecility again.
Rich people.
“She has her own horse, I assume,” I add, trying to redeem myself. “Does she compete?”
“Yes, she does. Her horse’s name is Beetlejuice.”
“Funny name.”
“I think Bridget had something to do with the name. She’s the one who takes her. She rides as well. Rode competitively when she was young.”
Like I said, a walking Ralph Lauren ad.
“Do you ever take her?”
“Not really,” he confesses, looking mildly embarrassed. “It’s seems so chaotic and messy to me. Horses are so unpredictable.”
“Let me guess, they make you feel out of control.”
“Exactly. You know me well.”
“I do,” I say with a throaty laugh.
“Can I let you in on a secret,” he starts but pauses.
I’m sitting at the edge of my ultra-cool curvy leather seat. “Yes.”
“I tell everyone I’m allergic to horses,” he confesses. “But I’m not.”
“Oh, you are bad. You are so naughty.”
The server stands there, ill at ease, having caught us in a possible compromising discussion.
“Uh…” she stammers, “are we ready to order? I can come back if you wish?”
Weston laughs. “We are. Thank you.”
He orders th
e brie and toasted bread, the seafood platter for him and the salade nicoise for me. He probably thinks I’m one of those dieting types because I always seem to order salads around him. He just robs me of my appetite. When I’m with him, it seems I don’t need to eat, I don’t need to sleep. All I need is to quench my thirst of him. My body becomes almost inhuman.
“How about Claire and Chloe? How are they?”
I smile, not really wanting to talk about them. “They’re great.”
“That’s all you have? Tell me more. Tell me about them. I want to know.”
I hesitate a little, not knowing where to start.
“You know me, Mirella. I don’t do pretense. If I’m not interested, I don’t ask.”
I smile. He’s being so sweet. “Well, Claire is all about princesses these days. She loves to dress up and she loves to play-act. She’s very outgoing. She’s very girly-girly.”
“Yes. I remember. She’s quite charming,” he says, a huge smile on his face.
“And she’s really into dolls these days,” I go on. “She wants one of those American Girl dolls.”
He smiles. “Yes, I’m quite familiar with those. Lizzie has a few.”
“And Chloe is all about Disney movies these days. She watches them over and over again. Her favorite one is The Lion King.”
He smiles, evidently still interested. “Has she ever seen the musical?”
“Nope,” I tell him, sad at the thought. “I know she would love it.”
“That’s a shame,” he says as the server sets down the platter of brie and toasted bread.
“But enough about my kids,” I say, trying to change the subject. “I don’t want to bore you to death.”
He eyes me with a serious expression. “Stop doing that, Mirella. You are not boring me. Like I said, I want to hear about your girls. I want to hear about everything about you.”
I bite my lip. God damn him. He’s doing it again.
“Stop being so nice,” I scoff, biting into a brie covered toasted wedge of bread. It is fantastic.
“We’re friends right?” he asks, using my own words against me. “That’s what friends do, listen to each other.”
“Yes, but you’re being too sweet.”
He smiles, a delicious impish smile. “Would you rather I were a jerk?”
“Yes. I don’t want to get emotionally involved with you again…or attached. And you’re making it damn hard right now. So try not to be so nice all the time, all right? Jerk it up a little.”
A huge smile splits his face in two. I am obviously amusing him again. “Jerk it up a little?”
“Yes. You can be a bit of an asshole sometimes,” I tell him with a smile.
“I can do that,” he says, biting his bottom lip, mulling something over in his head. He looks so intense. It’s kind of sexy.
His gaze sweeps over me, from head to toe. “You’re not having dessert,” he finally says, after a beat or two.
“What?” I’m not sure about this. “But I’ve been eyeing the crème brûlée. You know how much I like it.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not happening.”
I can’t help but smile. He’s being so funny. “Why?” I ask, curiosity filling me.
“Because I need to have you sooner than later. And dessert will only slow us down.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re adorable when you’re pretending to be a jerk.”
“I’m not pretending. I want you now.”
I laugh again and I almost choke on my brie.
“And by the way…” he adds, his face free of the slightest hint of humor, “I will be expecting a blow job. It’s the least you can do to repay me for this nice meal.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a sly smile. “I can certainly oblige.”
“I love it when you’re being a jerk,” I whisper against his ear.
He pulls down my thigh-high, his hand trailing softly against my skin.
I trail kisses along the edge of his jaw. “You didn’t even let me have dessert.”
He sits on the edge of the bed and I’m all over him. I stand, tucked in between his legs, one heel on the floor.
He bites my bottom lip, keeping it hostage between his for a beat before setting it free.
I quickly undo his buttons and strip his jacket off. He’s wearing sexy suspenders; polka-dot-patterned, brass and brown leather details—very posh.
I pull at the left one. “I love these. Very ‘sexy professor.’”
He laughs as he peels off my other stocking. “Is it now?” His hand grips the underside of my thigh as he takes off my shoe.
“Yes it is, Professor…Scarlet.” It’s the first word that comes to mind. Maybe it’s the blood-red shirt he’s wearing.
“Professor Scarlet?” he says with a light laugh. “And you are?”
I smile. “Why, I’m Mandy. Your top grad student. Don’t you remember Professor Scarlett?” I ask as I slowly unbutton his shirt.
“Of course, I remember, Mandy,” he whispers, a delicious smile on his face. “Tell me, Mandy, are we well acquainted?”
“One could say that, sir.” I try to say it with a straight face, but find it hard to do so. “You had me on your desk last week. Don’t you remember?” I add in a sticky-sweet voice, freeing him of his shirt and suspenders.
“Oh yes. That was terrific,” he almost growls. He drags his hand aggressively along my side and grabs my thigh under the tight skirt of my blue dress. “And where are we now, Mandy?”
“Uh…we’re on a trip. At a conference, sir,” I finally manage, making up a story as I go along. This is fun. “You’re presenting a paper. You asked me to tag along. You thought it might help with my thesis. I was very flattered.”
“I bet,” he says, a huge smile on his face. He’s enjoying this too. “I’m very important and powerful.”
I pull his undershirt over his head. “Yes, you are.” His hair is mussed up and his delectable body is finally bare. I want him now, but I can play a little longer.
He tears off my panties with an unexpected fierceness. Apparently, Professor Scarlet likes it rough. “I have many students, refresh my memory, Mandy. What is your thesis about?”
I toss it around in my mind a little, and a playful smile stretches across my face as I climb on top of him. “Well, as you know, I’m a psychology major. And you, sir, are the best sexologist in the country.”
He laughs. “Of course I am. Just wait until you see what I can do to you.”
I laugh, relishing the thought. “My thesis is about the effects of physical infatuation on the brain.”
He hikes up the skirt of my dress. “Sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”
“Well…” I start, but find it hard to focus as he pulls my dress up, slides down low under me, and trails soft kisses just below my belly button. I bury my head into the crisp linens of the bed, just about to let myself fall into him. “It’s about how infatuation, being in love with someone for the first time, affects the brain in the same way cocaine might. It robs you of your appetite and your need to sleep.”
He presses his hot mouth against my sex. It feels amazing. I’m draped all over him like a cheap tablecloth. I pull my hips over his face. I can’t believe how uninhibited I feel. I’m practically a porn star when I’m with him. My hips press against him as his tongue sweeps against my sex. The feel of him under me is so arousing, I’m not sure I can’t take much more of this little game we’re playing.
“Infatuation…is like…an addiction,” I breathe, the words caught between ragged breaths. “You feel like you can’t live without the person…can’t breathe, can’t…” I struggle to continue, almost completely lost in the feel of him.
He grabs my hips hard and flips me over, knocking the wind out of me. I wonder what has gotten into him, so suddenly. He slides up against me and I find myself buried under him, eye to eye. The smell of my sex lingers on his mouth.
“Is that how it is for you, Mirella?” he asks, his expression eager.
“When you’re with me?”
“Uh…you mean Mandy, sir,” I correct him. “My name is Mandy remember?”
His gaze lingers on my face. “Let’s not play this game anymore. I asked you a question.”
I’m taken aback. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to tell him the truth.
But I do anyway.
“Yes, Weston, that’s exactly what it feels like.”
Relief washes over his face, and a sweet smile softens his expression.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t the case, Weston. I wouldn’t be putting my marriage on the line. I wouldn’t be leaving my daughters with the next door neighbor. I wouldn’t be wrapped around you, half-naked right now if I wasn’t completely infatuated with you,” I tell him, on the verge of tears.
What a stupid question.
“I feel the same way about you, Mirella,” he says as he tucks a strand of hair off my face. “You know that, right?”
“I do.” The way he’s looking at me—all puppy-dog eyes—is very unsettling. I don’t want to go there again, believe he loves me, and give him the power to hurt me again.
I smile and push him away.
“You know how Mandy likes it, Professor Scarlet?” I ask, my voice playful.
He smiles. And I know he’s letting this go. Back to playtime. With a wicked grin, he asks me, “How does she like it?”
I turn from him and kneel on all fours. “She likes it doggie-style, sir.”
He laughs. “Oh, that Mandy is a kinky girl.”
“Yes she is.”
I can do kinky right now. I just can’t do “falling in love” again.
I smile up at the coffered ceiling, wrapped up in the bed with Weston. The room is chilly and my nipples are hard against the cool crisp white sheets, so cold against my body. “It’s freezing.”
He cozies up to me. “I think there’s something wrong with the heat. I’ll have to call.”
He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me hard. “I’ll keep you warm,” he says and kisses my cheek. His body is so hot; my own personal heating blanket. “I’m surprised you’re not all sweaty after the workout we just had,” he adds with a sly smile.