by Roya Carmen
“Do you want a drink?” he asks.
“No, thank you,” I answer. All I want is him, his hands on me, all over me.
Thinking about it is arousing me. And I wonder what he’s thinking.
“Ten minutes has never seemed like such an eternity,” he says, with a slight curve of his lip.
God…yes.
He looks at me but doesn’t say a word.
We sit in silence for a while. My heart is beating so fast, and I wonder if his is too. I want Edward to speed up, but I know he’s helpless against the traffic.
I’m throbbing with anticipation—the sensation is both delicious and painful. Weston’s intense stare is not helping. I close my eyes and imagine us together—his lips on mine, his skin on mine.
“I want this so much,” I say, feeling that desire in every part of my body—my heart, my stomach, my sex.
“Me too. You can’t imagine.”
I close my eyes and imagine us together.
I nervously cross and uncross my legs, trying to remember what underwear I’m wearing—I hadn’t planned for this. My mind wanders back to this morning. Yes…I’m wearing something decent—a black set covered in cream lace, one of the few luxurious underwear sets I own. Maybe my subconscious knew this would happen—knew what a little tramp I really am.
I smile and pull my hand away from his. “I think…” I whisper, reaching under my skirt, “we should get things started.” I’m surprised by my own boldness, but then again, I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on. Ever.
He looks at me with a strange mix of desire and curiosity. “What are you doing, Mirella?”
I don’t answer him. I stare at him as I slowly pull my black panties over my knees and over my sensible black shoes, not breaking eye contact.
I see the desire in his eyes. The way he looks at me…I can’t get enough of it.
“You wicked girl,” he whispers.
I scrunch my panties in a ball in my hand and lie back on the sleek leather seat, my lids heavy. He might as well pounce on me right now, because I’d let him.
He’s fidgeting again—that bouncing knee is going crazy. He bites his lip. “Give them to me.”
I smile. I wonder what he wants to do with them—he probably wants to get a better look. I hand them over, trying to be subtle. Edward doesn’t seem to be paying us much mind, but I’m not taking any chances.
Weston takes them. He holds them in his hands, traces his long fingers along the lace, and he studies them for the longest time. He seems so intense.
What is going through his mind?
Then he brings them up to his face and closes his eyes as he hides his nose in them.
I’m shocked.
His face is still buried in my underwear when he says, “I can’t wait to get you alone.”
His behavior is so unexpected. God…he’s turning me on.
I bite my lip and I look over at the driver. “Weston…”
He smiles and shoves my panties in his pocket. He looks outside the window, his body edgy and full of nervous energy.
He takes my hand again—I wonder if he can feel it tremble. “We’re almost there.”
I look out, and there it is—it’s so grand, a modern day castle nestled between the skyscrapers of Chicago.
We coast along the drive, and I notice it’s busy today—limos, town cars and luxury SUVs. We maneuver slowly between the vehicles.
Finally, Edward leaves us at the entrance. Weston opens the door and pulls me out of the car as fast as I’ve ever seen a man handle a woman.
He takes my hand and leads me with gusto. He knows exactly where he’s going.
I try to take in the grand entrance, but I barely have a chance.
Weston’s strides are so long, I can barely keep up with him, and find myself sprinting—the man is in a hurry.
And I know we’ve passed the point of no return.
I almost want to stop and take in the lobby, with its white walls and cascading silvers, a bursting snowflake light fixture lights up the space—it’s stunning—it seems like a mirage.
We reach the elevators, and Weston presses the button. There’s no one around. We wait, and though it’s probably just a few seconds, it seems like forever.
Finally the doors open, and it’s just us two. As soon as we’re inside, Weston quickly pushes a button and presses me again the mahogany wall. His lips are on mine. He slides his hand between my legs, and I just want to melt into him.
In no time at all, we hear the ding, and we’re at his floor. He takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his suite. He pulls a card out of his jacket and shoots me a mischievous smile as he slides the key card in.
We are finally doing this.
And I can’t think of anything else. Suddenly, the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this don’t matter. Not Gabe or the girls. Not Bridget, Lizzie, Ashton—they don’t exist anymore. It’s just us two.
He motions me to go in.
I barely have time to see where I am before his hands are on my waist. There’s a sense of urgency about him I like—he’s so uninhibited, out of control—it doesn’t seem like him.
He presses me against the wall. My briefcase falls to the floor. He reaches for my hair, and he manages to undo my bun, very slowly. The movements of his hands are languid, and his eyes are fixed on mine. There’s a moment of hesitation in me. I want him so much. But part of me is terrified. Once I fall, I’ll never be able to recover. I’ll only want him more. And I haven’t quite fallen completely…yet. Almost. There’s still time for me to stop this and go back to my life.
My simple, uncomplicated life.
My hair tumbles over my shoulder. I’m almost motionless. I’ve wanted to touch him so badly, but now I find myself still, anticipating what he will do to me.
I’ve never been so scared. “Weston…” I whisper.
He presses his finger to my lips—like he knows I’m teetering on the edge and if he lets me speak, we might never do this. He reaches for my glasses, gently pulls them off, and sets them on the console table. And still, his eyes don’t leave mine. I smile up at him and reach for his adorable hipster glasses. I mimic his actions. There’s something incredibly erotic about this moment. My mind wants me to stop and run, but I consciously disobey it.
He leans in to kiss me, and my breath catches.
But he doesn’t kiss me. He trails his nose over my cheek, down my neck, taunting me. He buries his face in my hair, his familiar woodsy smell filling my nostrils. My hand glides along the edge of his jaw, feeling his five o-clock shadow on the tips of my fingers.
He brings his hand to my cheek—the warmth of it sends shivers through me. I suck in a breath and work up the resolve I need to not go ahead with this.
“I’m…I’m not sure…” I whisper. I can barely find the words—I feel like such a tease. I’ve let things get too far. “I’m not sure we should do this.”
He seems to not have heard me at all. Maybe he doesn’t want to hear me. His lips sweep over mine, but are gone in a flash, down to my neck. The warmth of his mouth spreads a heat deep through my whole body, a pulsing pounds deep in my sex. I close my eyes. This is the moment…the moment I let go. I let go of all my worries, my reservations and decide to just enjoy him. My hands travel to his stomach, and I pull his shirt, sweeping my palm against his hot skin. I want his skin on mine.
He’s taking things slowly, I realize.
He likes to tease. And I like to be teased.
“Taking…your time,” I whisper, my breathing shallow.
“I want this to last forever,” he breathes.
And I think I’m going to die if he doesn’t speed things up soon—he’s killing me.
But I do hold a certain power—he’s a man, after all. I bring my lips to his neck and bite him gently—I’m suddenly feeling a little feisty. He laughs, and the sound vibrates into my ear. I pull his satchel over his head and throw it on the floor. He smiles, a slow, delicious grin. I reach f
or his belt and undo him as fast as I can. I manage to undo his pants button and fly with one hand—my other one refuses to leave his warm skin.
I hear his muffled moan, and I smile—I love arousing him.
I reach into his silky briefs and slowly wrap my fingers around him. He’s big and hard…and hot. I’ve never touched another man in this way before, and fear overtakes me again.
“Mirella…” he moans softly. My name is barely audible on his lips.
His lips sweep over mine, and I open my mouth for him. My whole body warms. This is the kiss I’ve been waiting for. Ever since the one in that little Italian hole-in-the-wall, I’ve been waiting for this kiss—uninhibited, passionate. I could do this all night. Just this…might be enough. If we just kissed, I might not jeopardize my marriage, I might not fall so hard. If we just kissed…
His tongue plays with mine softly, and I’m completely lost in him. The length of him is still pressed against my palm. His kiss becomes needy…wild, and I realize it’s inevitable—we can’t go back now—we want each other too badly.
I’ve never wanted a man more.
His finger traces a line up my thigh over my thigh-highs, and when he reaches my skin, he makes me shiver. I know when he gets there, he’ll find me wet…drenched for him. His finger slowly glides between my legs.
I ache for him to touch me.
He pulls away to look at me, his eyes fixed on mine with an expression I’ve never seen—a strange mix of desire, playfulness, and domination.
He owns me…and he knows it.
His fingers draw circles up to the edge of my thighs, sweeping my curls lightly, but not quite touching. I catch an impish expression on his face. I cannot stand this anymore…he’s driving me insane. He keeps playing with me, and he smiles, just slightly.
He’s enjoying this.
“You want this?” he asks, with a sly expression.
I throw my head back and nod a big yes, not finding the courage to utter the words.
His finger sweeps between my lips, but only for a fraction of a second. And he goes back to trailing circles. I can tell he plans to make me suffer.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have made me wait.” His words are playful. “My ego is fragile,” he whispers in my ear, his breath warming my neck. “You need to learn to know what you want.”
I moan out loud, stunned by the sound echoing off the walls. “I know what I want.”
“You need to ask for what you want.”
Damn, I wish I still had my panties on—maybe I wouldn’t be so out of control, so vulnerable, so pliable.
He wants me to ask. He wants me to beg.
“I want you,” I whisper. “I want you to touch me.”
His fingers trails back to my sex, and he toys with me a little, that obnoxious grin still plastered on his face.
And then he slides his finger inside.
Finally…
I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensation. He’s so wonderful at this. I can feel myself responding to his touch, so strongly, so quickly. I don’t want to climax like this, but I let him tease me a little more, enjoying the building pressure.
And finally when I’m nearing the edge, I force myself to pull his hand away. I want to be with him. “Weston,” I whisper. “I want you.”
His kiss trails down my neck to my shoulder, and he grabs my rear. He pulls me up against him, and I wrap my legs around his hips.
He carries me across the room, and everything’s a blur—the living room, the dining room, the entire space. I feel light in his arms—my body fits perfectly against his—like it belongs there. He throws me on the bed and leans down on me, his body heavy. My legs are still in tangles around him, and I don’t want to let go.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and looks at me, his gaze soft. I stare at his beautiful eyes, his sensual mouth. His touch is suddenly gentle as a feather as he undoes the pearl buttons on my blouse, not taking his eyes off me. We’re in slow motion—time seems to stand still. Finally, he leans in to kiss my collarbone. I pull his face to mine, and kiss him…completely caught up in him.
Desperately wanting him inside me, I tear my mouth away from his. “Do you have…” I ask him, my words breathless, my hands buried in his boxers, the warm smooth skin of his rear on my palms.
He doesn’t say a word and reaches into his pocket.
I realize I’ve never used a condom. I’ve always been on the pill, and I’ve only been with Gabe. I struggle and Weston helps me—he seems to sense my lack of experience. Finally, I gently slide the condom on, my heart pounding.
He buries his face into my neck, and touches me again, sliding his fingers in and out. I don’t want to come just yet. I don’t know how long I’m going to last. I want to make love.
“Please,” I plead. “Now…”
He pulls his hand away from my sex and wipes his wet fingers along my thigh. He trails kisses along the lacy edge of my bra and pulls my breast out of its cup and kisses it with such gentleness, I almost melt.
His kiss travels softly to my neck as he sinks into me. His heat fills me. And it seems my whole body sparks. But as wonderful as it is, it does feel somewhat foreign—another man inside me.
He buries his face in my hair. “You are beautiful.”
He’s slow and gentle at first. We kiss softly, hands tangled in each other’s hair.
But before long, his grasp pulls at my hair, his lips tear away from mine, and he pushes into me harder, driving deeper and deeper into me—I love every thrust. I moan so loudly, I am practically screaming. I want him to hear how amazing he makes me feel. He breathes hard into my ear, and I think he whispers my name—his voice is so soft, I’m not sure.
I’m coming closer and closer to the edge. The louder I moan, the harder he pushes, my climax building.
He owns it. My pleasure is in his hands.
Finally, the tension in me releases in waves of pure ecstasy. I cry out and dig my nails into his back, the cashmere soft against my fingers. He pushes hard into me and stills as his climax follows mine. His moans are slow and soft, his breath is warm against my ear.
I feel slightly numb.
And wonderful.
His face is still buried in my neck. I don’t dare look at him. I realize we are both still fully dressed. I hadn’t imagined our first time like this—in my fantasies, we were both completely naked, exploring every single inch of each other’s bodies. But reality is never quite like fantasy. Reality, in this case, was still pretty amazing, I tell myself, still recovering from one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.
His weight suffocates me.
I push him off me. “Weston…”
He slides out of me slowly and pulls away. I almost reach for him. But he moves swiftly to the edge of the bed. He stands and turns from me. I catch a glimpse of his ass as he pulls his pants back up—he has a great ass. He leaves for the washroom without looking back.
I sit up, pop my breast back into my bra, and smooth down my skirt. My heart sinks. I don’t know what to think.
What was I expecting? Cuddles?
I should have expected this—he warned me.
This is about sex. Plain and simple.
I hear the running water.
No words. No kiss. I still can’t believe it.
He comes back and his pants are done up, his hair is smooth, and he’s wearing his glasses.
He smiles at me and grabs his satchel off the floor. “You were wonderful.”
Well, there’s something.
He kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry, but I do have to run. I’m running late. My date with the kids…”
I button up my blouse and stare down at my sensible black ballet flats—sex with my shoes on—how wild. “I understand.”
My heart sinks even deeper. I want to cry. But I can’t let him see me crumble. He has warned me about this. And I promised him I could handle it.
He reaches into his satchel. “Feel free to stay.” He pull
s out his wallet, and for a brief moment, I have this horrible vision of him giving me money.
“Here’s a card for my car service. Call them when you’re ready to leave,” he hands me the card, “You can order room service if you wish. You barely ate a thing at lunch.”
“I might.” I try to act normal, even though I’m dying inside.
“Good, I was starting to wonder how you keep your curves,” he teases. “I’ve barely ever seen you eat a thing.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask, a little self-conscious.
He laughs. “You’re beautiful,” he assures me. “You’re perfect. Please don’t ever lose an inch.”
“You’ve never seen me naked.”
He scratches his chin. “Yes…” he says, “we’ll have to rectify that, won’t we?” he adds as he walks away.
“Next time, I want to see you,” he says as he reaches the door, “every inch of you.”
And just like that, he’s out the door, and I’m left with a business card in my hands and no panties.
I feel like such a whore.
When I get home, I kick off my shoes and practically sprint to see the girls. They’re lying on the sofa downstairs in the rec room, eating potato chips and watching a movie they’ve seen a million times before. I hug Chloe tightly and guilt washes over me. How could I have done this? To her…to Claire? This kind of thing never ends well. And they’re the ones who will probably suffer for it…I feel the familiar lump in my throat.
Claire pops a potato chip in her tiny mouth. “What have you been up to, little lady?” she asks, her voice as sweet as ever. It’s the same question she’s asked me a hundred times before, parroting her father, saying it just the way he does.
Sweet heavenly days…I have been up to no good.
I bite my lip and slump on the sofa, not quite looking at her. “Nothing.” I have officially starting lying now. To my own daughter.
“Well, it must have been something, Mom…you were gone for hours,” Chloe pipes in, not taking her eyes off the TV. I’m glad she’s not looking at me. If she were, she’d probably know I’m lying through my teeth.