by Antoinette
“I was at my construction site. I own a contracting business, and I met my crew at the job so we could secure the cranes and other equipment before the storm. We were running late and just got caught up in it.”
She hit the button and the gates swung open. She felt a sigh of relief to be home safely, and she was not alone. She unlocked the door and headed straight for the laundry room. He followed behind.
“We’ll fix up that gash in just a minute. First, let’s get out of these clothes.” She peeled off her soaking-wet jacket and suit as he looked on. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said as he flashed a complimentary grin. He caught himself and felt a tad bit guilty for thinking this way at this moment. He stripped away his wet garments too. He was built like a lumberjack, with broad shoulders and abs of steel, humbled only by his tousled, wavy blond hair that hung just above his piercing blue eyes. Even though he wasn’t her usual delicacy, just the sight of him had her steamy already. Her flame was rekindled—just that quickly—and she recalled just what it was she had seen in him so many years ago. She tossed their clothes into the dryer and threw on a robe, handing one to him with his wallet and keys, and ordering him toward the bathroom with a smile.
She sat him down in the chair at the dressing table in the bathroom and retrieved her first-aid kit. She pulled up a chair in front of him and nursed his wound. He groaned and winced a bit. She giggled and teased him as he flinched, but she took her time, gently stroking as she cleansed the skin around his cut. He wriggled around at her touch, their robes sliding back and their bare legs brushing against each other’s. His breathing became a little quicker, and his eyes sparkled at her. She applied the bandage with a little pressure and sealed the moment with a small peck of a kiss on his cheek. He smiled and she knew he was captivated all over again. So was she.
“Now that you’re all patched up, how about some coffee?” she asked.
“Thank you, and yes, that sounds great.”
They headed down to the basement to the soda bar. She giggled as she pointed to the reproduction rotary dial pay phone that hung from the wall.
“You can call from there while I make our drinks. You don’t need coins for it. It only looks like a pay phone.”
“Thanks.” He chuckled back. He pulled up a stool and took out his wallet. He dialed each number and waited as the dial rotated, eyeing her with one eyebrow cocked and a smile. She fired up the espresso machine and began whipping up two hot caramel mocha lattés. As Max sat on hold with roadside assistance, he checked out the surroundings. The room had a 1950s theme, with red shiny seats on the stools that lined the old-fashioned soda shop counter. Three gooseneck chrome-plated handles for the soda bar shimmered, accenting the historical Coca-Cola signs and matching metal chairs adorned with the logo at four small round tables positioned around the center of the room. The floor was black-and-white checkered tile to complement the tiled backsplash on the wall behind the counter that outlined a huge mirror.
The entire room reflected in the mirror, and he could see numerous photos of classic cars hanging from the walls, and Betty Boop smiling down above him. Beside him was a vintage jukebox loaded with 45 rpm records offering a trip down memory lane with an assortment of melancholy music to choose from, mostly from Grams’s musical archives. He leaned against the machine, making arrangements to have his truck towed.
“It’s all set. They will get to it as soon as they can, but the driver said it could be a while as they’ve had a lot of calls tonight,” he explained as he made his way over to the counter, watching her putting the finishing touches on their lattés. “They’ll take my truck to a nearby garage about three miles away, and I can just get a cab home soon.”
“Or you could stay, and call one in the morning after the storm clears,” London said as she handed him his coffee.
He smiled. “Sure, that would be great. I just don’t want to impose on you any more.”
“Max, you’re not imposing. It’s great to have your company tonight.”
They sat down to sip their coffee and chat at one of the small round tables. The conversation flowed as they caught up on the past nine years. They talked about the upcoming ten-year reunion and contemplated how much things had changed in such a short time. London got up and strolled over to the jukebox.
“Do you remember the contest we had our senior year to select the best nostalgic songs for our graduating class?” she inquired.
“I do. And I remember your song was one that was chosen.” He hummed a few notes.
“I’ll Be Seeing You,” a song written by Sammy Fain and sung by Billie Holiday. The vinyl 45 slipped into the slot and filled the room with sound. Max grinned as he rose from the table, taking her by the hand and leading her out past the tables to an open area of the tiled floor to dance. He was an excellent ballroom dancer, something that was hard to find these days.
Her body relaxed as his breath brushed by her neck, sending chills up her spine. His breath was shortly replaced by his warm lips, on her neck, her ear, and the side of her face. Then he cupped her face, looked deep into her eyes, and kissed her wanting lips. His lips were soft and tender, surprising for such a rugged, brawny man.
After the song, she led him upstairs. She lit the fire and they curled up on the bamboo love seat, cuddling into the warmth and comfort, enjoying the port in a storm that they offered each other. She sipped at her coffee, feeling his eyes on her lips as they brushed the rim of the cup. Their words fell away as his eyes told her everything. She put their cups on the coffee table and leaned in, kissing him fully on the mouth. He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her onto his lap in one swift motion. She was right: he was all man. She was sitting on his lap, kissing him softly as he untied her robe, revealing her perky breasts. He breathed in her intoxicating fragrance.
“My God, you smell delicious,” he said as he kissed her neck. His hands slid up to her shoulders and pushed her robe off, sliding it down her back. She tipped her head back as he worked his way down to her breasts, kissing and sucking until her nipples stood at attention. He was so gentle, and that familiar ache was burning deep within her. She had been so lonely for weeks and distraught over missing Deacon. The attention she had been longing for had finally arrived, and she savored the moment.
Suddenly, the wind outside whipped and howled, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed, followed by the long groaning sound of a transformer surging electricity through the wires, then everything fell silent as the power flickered and the room went dark. Except for the warm flickering of the fire, the house was eerily pitch-black.
“Oh, that was a horrible sound. The backup generator should have kicked on immediately,” London said, wondering why it hadn’t.
“Well, let me first take care of you, and then I’ll be happy to check on your generator for you,” he said in a husky voice, pulling her tighter to him.
“Sounds good to me,” she replied with hunger lingering in her tone.
She could feel his growing lust. She sent her tongue searching for his and found it. Their tongues played tag as he massaged her back. He held her close and she felt their feelings beginning to merge, feelings that had been locked away long ago.
Once burned, she learned—but did she? Here she was, her passions flaring up again, thinking I like this man, as she studied him. Something about his look . . . his deep-set crystal blue eyes, shimmering blond hair, and mustache that made his soft lips even more inviting. He had captured her, and her heart surrendered, a bit anyway. She still belonged to Deacon. Max smiled as he studied her face, seemingly aware of the deep thoughts consuming her.
“Is something wrong?”
She shook her head and gave him a tiny smile, feeling almost shy for a moment as he seemed to peer into her mind. She kissed him again and again, on his face, his neck, his lips—those wonderful soft lips. He pulled her to him and cuddled her in his arms.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, okay?” he said, kissing her on the forehead.
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He held her in his strong arms, kissing her, rubbing her, overwhelming her, physically and emotionally. She shooed away the voice in her head reminding her that Max was not a date. He was simply here by circumstance as a result of the storm. She didn’t care. He had captured her heart for a moment, and this moment was all she needed right now.
He laid her down and kissed her more passionately than before. His arms around her, pulling her into his center, she felt all of him . . . his chest and the wonder that was being born between his legs. She wanted him. He explored her, touching her places she hadn’t thought about for quite a while. The neglect had taken its toll, and she was ravenous for him.
He kissed her tummy and worked his way down, carefully observing her reactions as he proceeded. She was comfortable, and he was gentle with her as he kissed her down there. She opened up her legs to him. He smiled as he kissed her tenderly, inciting so much emotion within her that she almost cried. He touched a part of her that needed attention, and she was aflame. He was skilled and she relaxed, enjoying every moment of his tongue, playing with her, taunting her, her body moving toward that mouth and the tongue that was holding her captive.
“Yes,” she moaned as she felt passions flare up, her life juices flowing—opening up and allowing her to feel again. “Please. I need you so badly . . . take me please.” She felt slightly embarrassed as she heard the words coming out of her mouth. But she was hot and needed him now. In this moment, she didn’t care about anything else but the feelings between her legs and that he had something she wanted. It was close to her mouth and she took her tongue and licked the end of it. He moaned. She moved closer, sliding her lips over the end. He moaned louder and took it out of her mouth. He came up and kissed her gently.
“Not this time, baby—you’re going to come for me,” he whispered as he slid her to the edge of the couch and she felt him enter her. She had almost forgotten how good having someone inside her could feel. He slid into her with one push and stayed right there, collecting himself as he was overwhelmed by the intensity. She wiggled her body for some action, but he was very much in control. She adjusted her body around him, moving herself into a comfortable position for the act.
He waited for her and kissed every inch of her that his lips could reach while holding his hardness in position. Then slowly, he withdrew and pushed back into her. She felt all of him, and he took her breath away. He was so hard and wonderful as he reached behind her, placing his hands on her buttocks to pull her even closer and tighter to him. She gasped as he entered, more deeply with each thrust. He took her slowly, holding on to her the whole time, penetrating deeper and deeper, pausing as she reveled in his manhood. His pace was so sensuous, his manliness so luscious and gratifying. She wrapped her arms around him as their pace quickened and she moaned, hugging him tightly as they came together, a long and wet climax that seemed to go on forever.
He reached over and pulled the comforter from the sofa. He covered her as he held her securely in his arms, and they rested together in the silence. The storm had passed, in all its fury, and so had her internal whirlwind of emotion. She closed her eyes and recounted the moments of the evening. He was so wonderful. She snuggled deeper into the masculine spirit who now possessed her, and the world she knew changed again.
She awoke the next morning to the smell of breakfast and coffee. She found Max in the kitchen, cooking up French toast and bacon. He was a tangy dish of masculinity with a side of softness that warmed her heart. The aroma was intoxicating, and the food was delectable as she licked the syrup from her hand while eating the wonderful toast.
He let her know that he had fixed the generator, and reports on the news said that power should be restored to the area in just a few hours. His cab arrived and she walked him to the door. He kissed her long and passionately before they parted ways. He said he would call her soon. She wasn’t so sure, and her heart ached as soon as the taxi drove out of sight.
A few weeks later, she still hadn’t heard from Max or Deacon. She went to the computer to see if Deacon was logged on. He wasn’t. She had not talked with him in such a long time, and she was getting worried. As she dressed for work, she thought about the trip to England that she had planned, but only in her mind. She wasn’t sure that he would welcome a surprise visit. She was concerned that he might actually feel invaded by her unexpected presence. She slipped into a long, slim-fitting black pencil skirt with a tight-fitting black cashmere sweater, belted at the waist. She complemented the ensemble with a cottony plaid scarf and high-heeled black boots. She slipped into her long, black double-breasted trench coat and headed out for work, feeling sexy, cozy, and shielded from the elements of the pending wintry weather.
When she arrived at the office, the meeting room was ready and waiting. The silver refreshment cart was stocked with chilled bottled waters and various refreshments, along with a lavish display of scrumptious fresh fruits, luscious Danish pastries, and assorted delights. The conference table was set with tablet computers, along with notepads and pens for those who still preferred to write notes during the meetings. The agenda indicated that this was a special meeting to introduce a new partner to the law firm, and his identity had not yet been revealed. London snacked on mouthwatering berries and raspberry Danish as she selected a bold brew from the numerous flavored beverages in the carousel tower. She poured her daily cup of java and mixed it sweet and creamy, inhaling the heavenly aroma.
The door swung open and the suits marched in. She eyed them all. They looked like clones . . . all but one, that is. Oh my God, what is he doing here? she thought as Deacon sauntered into the room, looking stylish as ever in a black tailored suit with a thin white shirt and a gray and black hexagon-patterned tie. Mr. Jackson, senior law partner, stood proudly in front of his seat at the head of the table as he introduced Mr. Deacon Wayne and shared the news that he would now be assuming a role as partner handling international matters, a new branch of the firm.
The lawyers buzzed about, reaching over to extend congratulations and handshakes. Others stood and shuffled over to chat and get to know Deacon. Some of the gestures of support were sincere, others masked their annoyance with being introduced to a new partner as they were awaiting their own promotions. London went unnoticed, and none of them were aware that she was already acquainted with the new hire. The only new thing about Deacon to her was the absence of a ring on his finger. She wondered what the deal was. What had happened to his wife? And when had he moved back to the States? She discarded her remaining morsels, poured another cup of coffee, and headed for the table.
The massive oblong walnut table held twenty-four chairs. A rare few paralegals had earned a seat at this discriminating table, but London was well-respected for her litigation experience and proficiency. She claimed the seat she had earned with dignity, and she now had to make an effort to maintain that dignity when she really wanted to run over to him and flood him with questions and kisses. She casually glanced at him and he glanced back, suppressing a smile.
The flurry of excitement in the room faded, deferring to the business agenda and the partner who now had the floor. Deacon sat, pretending to be fully attentive to the speaker, but really had his mind on London, who was trying not to appear flustered. He toyed with his pen, holding it straight up on the table and slowly sliding his fingers down, flipping it over, and repeating the motion. She got the message, and fortunately others in the meeting didn’t notice. She watched, but attempted not to do so in an obvious way. When she squirmed in her seat a bit, he took it as a reply signal and then put the pen up to his mouth, gripping the tip in his teeth.
She began to tingle between her legs. She hungered for him. She was hypnotized by his seductive charm. His every move was sensual, his features magnificent—his eyes, his fingers, even his pen. That darn pen! She remembered his hands on her that same way and she wanted them on her now. She wanted to be that pen, and she envied it. She wanted his hands to be on her, touching her hotness like he did that pen,
touching her wetness, fondling her, feeling her. She was overcome by her extraordinary appetite as it took on a mind of its own. She wanted to escape, finding it difficult to remain calm in his presence, here among the rigid suits.
The meeting drew to a close. As the attorneys funneled out of the room, Deacon stayed behind. London strolled over to the refreshment cart, lingering, as he did, mixing up another cup of coffee. A few stragglers remained, but London and Deacon patiently waited them out. She snatched a big, juicy strawberry from the fruit platter and sucked and nibbled on the end of it as he looked on. She wrapped her lips around it, slipped the entire thing in her mouth, then pulled it back out. Who’s squirming now? she snickered to herself.
The last of the clones found their way out and they were finally alone. She strutted over to the door, turned her back to it, and twisted the lock into place. She eyed Deacon with a menacing stare as she walked over to him, her eyes never leaving his. She eased herself up onto the table, adjusting her skirt and hiking it up a bit so that the side slit fell open, revealing her silky black thigh-high stockings. He caught his breath as he rolled back slightly in his chair, making room for her to slide directly in front of him. He moved back up toward her, almost touching her, but not quite. She knew his mouth was watering for a taste just as much as hers was. Her cashmere sweater plunged perfectly at her cleavage and the shoulder was beginning to slide down, revealing even more luscious skin. She tilted her head inquisitively and flipped her dark, beautiful locks to one side.
“Deacon, are you still married?” she inquired in her sweetest voice.
“When I was here with you for the merger, she found my laptop. Well, I had forgotten to erase our conversations. When I returned she had left me a note that she was filing for divorce. Just like that, it happened. I was neither disappointed nor upset. But I rather wish I’d been brave enough to tell her the truth. I was shaken up and needed time to cope. I was overcome with guilt for breaking her heart and not taking care of our conversations, and for being with you. And even though our marriage had fallen apart, I did love her once.” London felt a bit ashamed of herself. She should’ve waited and invited him over for dinner to have this talk, but her impatience got the best of her.