by Liv Morris
Finally she looks my way and our eyes immediately connect, and at this moment I’m perfectly still. I can’t break the intensity I feel in this first interaction between us. Her blue eyes are surrounded by creamy skin and framed with her long, black hair. She is a fucking masterpiece. An artist’s beauty.
The next thing I see on her lovely face is a knowing smile. She doesn’t appear to be mocking me, at least that’s my hope. And I decide right then that I need to know who this mystery woman is and where she came from.
I have an unspoken rule of never introducing myself at these shitty functions, but this woman I’ve got to meet. Now. I walk toward her, blocking her path to the bar and making it impossible for her to ignore me. She places her hands on her hips and looks up at me expectantly.
Feeling a bit on edge, I revert back to full-on business mode. What is it about this woman’s beauty and expressions that make me feel uneasy? I stretch out my hand to her, but her hands remain solidly on her hips.
Well damn, this is interesting. There isn’t a single wrinkle or line on her face, but the way she looks at me is intriguing, a confidence only acquired with time and experience. Everything about her fascinates me, and her sudden appearance on the social scene bewilders me. But most importantly right now, her body has totally aroused mine. This combination almost never happens with the women I meet at these things, so I start to speak.
“I’d like to introduce myself, I’m Adam Kings—”
She laughs before I can finish my name.
“Oh, I know who you are, pretty billionaire boy. Everyone in the room knows your name. Likely even the bartender I was on my way to visit knows you.” She holds up an empty wine glass. “Do you know who I am, though?”
“I’m afraid you have me at a loss.” Smirking, I draw my hand to my chest to feign feeling hurt and rejected. “And calling me ‘pretty’ and ‘boy.’ That stings.”
“Please don’t be offended. They’re really meant as a terms of endearment.”
She moves closer to me, so close I see the full swell of her breasts as they disappear beneath the silk of her dark green dress. My cock responds to my perfect vantage point as I watch her mostly exposed chest move slowly and evenly. This intriguing yet nameless woman is an enticing tease, and I have to say I’m thoroughly enjoying myself for the first time tonight.
“Let me introduce myself. In polite company I go by Kathryn.” I watch as she winks and runs her little tongue across her bottom lip. I swallow, hard.
“We have a name. That’s a start.” I find myself smiling at her. A full-blown grin, which contradicts my usual behavior. “And what do you do, Kathryn?”
“You want to know what I do?” She keeps her eyes trained on mine, and I swear I see a mischievous twinkle in them. “In my case that’s a loaded question.”
“Loaded question or not, I would still like to know,” I say, hoping she’ll reveal more of herself to me. “I’ve seen you before at other functions. It’s like you just appeared out of thin air.”
“Not quite thin air, but close. And it’s funny; I’ve noticed you, as well.” She moves even closer, and now we are nearly touching one another. “I wondered if we’d ever meet. You know I’ve been warned about you.”
“Warned?” My question sounds hollow, unconvincing: I know what she’s likely been told. Adam Kingsley is a player. A skirt-chaser. And I can’t deny it, either.
“Yes, warned to keep my distance.” I see a touch of amusement in her eyes, and now I’m sure she’s mocking me. “I know we’ve just meet, but I’m curious about something. Can I ask you a really personal question, Mr. Kingsley?”
“Sure, but you have to call me Adam.” Honestly, I just want to hear her say my name. Watch her full lips mouth the sound.
“Let’s stick to formalities, Mr. Kingsley. My question is actually a semi-professional one.”
“A professional one?” I’m still left in the dark about her occupation, even her last name, yet she wants to ask me personal questions. Who is this ballsy woman?
“Yes, professional. I have a doctorate in psychology and coach couples in the intimacy department.” The intimacy department? What the fuck does that mean?
“Well, Dr. Kathryn, I’m not sure how I can help with that subject. But okay, shoot away.” I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.
“When I look around this room, I see women watching you and our exchange. Some looking sad, others looking envious. I’m curious to know how many of them you’ve slept with?” She stares at me with a serious look on her face. She doesn’t blink or look away. It’s then I realize she really wants me to answer her. Throw out a number. Fuck. I’m not sure how to respond or even count up the tally, so I decide to try a little humor.
“Somewhere between one and all of them?” She rolls her eyes to the side, not satisfied with my answer, but I’m not finished yet either.
“Honestly, I’d like to say you, just you.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “That you’re the only one I’ve fucked in this room.” Kathryn appears a little surprised by my answer but then laughs, and I join her. I think she realizes I’m teasing her. But what I said might be partially true because no other woman in this room appeals to me like she does.
“They were right to warn me.” Her mood shifts. Gone are her smiles. “Men like you will never understand what a woman really needs.”
“Is that right? So you’re an expert on me now. My judge and jury.” I cross my arms over my chest as my temper starts to rise.
“Oh dear. I think I’ve touched a nerve,” she says while throwing her head back and laughing at me. Quite frankly, I’m not amused. “Yes, Mr. Kingsley, I’m an expert of sorts.”
“Care to explain?” My tone’s short with her as I’m still a bit pissed.
“It would be my pleasure.” She winks at me and I’m feeling conflicted. Do I really want to know what she’s an expert at? Who am I kidding? Of course I do.
“I’m a specialist at taking boys like yourself and turning them into real men. I’ve never failed. Not once. At least that’s what their wives and girlfriends say.”
“So, what have you never failed at, in more specific terms?” I’m hoping she takes the bait and gives me the details of her exploits, as this woman confounds and frustrates me.
She brings her free hand up to my chest and runs her delicate fingers under the lapel of my Armani tux. My arms fall to my side as I feel her grasping my jacket and gently pulling my upper body down toward her, bringing our faces cheek to cheek. Her soft lips brush lightly against my ear.
“I take cocky, rich boys like you and teach them how to make love to women until they’re barely able to mutter a word. Completely and utterly blissed. That’s really what separates the men from the boys, Mr. Kingsley. Sex as an art form versus fucking for a release.”
I find myself unable to respond, completely tongue-tied. Something I’m not used to experiencing. I always have a slick comeback. Always. I see fire in her eyes and notice her lips starting to move again, and good God, I realize she’s not done with me yet.
“You see, Mr. Kingsley, when I said you were a pretty billionaire boy I meant every damn word. You’re very pretty indeed, striking really, but still just a boy.”
Find the rest of ADAM’S APPLE here: http://goo.gl/eKo9EF