Sensational

by Janet Nissenson

  Whatever her intention in dressing this way had been, it was having some rather unwelcome effects on all the men in the room, and he was definitely no exception. Despite the air conditioning blasting through the room, Ben felt sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip each time Lauren stood or bent over, and the snug fitting denim shorts cupped the delectable curves of her ass enticingly. His gaze was drawn time and time again to the smooth, tanned length of her leanly muscled legs, and he knew that both the tan and the muscles had been acquired from long hours spent outdoors hiking, surfing, and mountain biking. Lauren would never have need of – or even think of using – a tanning bed or spray-on products. And the only time she exercised indoors was to take a martial arts class or to use a gym on those rare occasions when the weather prevented her from being outside.

  Ben bit down on his bottom lip to stifle the low moan that would have otherwise escaped as Lauren leaned over the table to hand George some papers. The soft, clingy fabric of her T-shirt gapped away slightly at the neckline, providing everyone in the room with a mouthwatering glimpse of her deep cleavage. Ben shifted in his chair uncomfortably, and forced himself not to reach down and rearrange the erection that was pressing insistently against his zipper. And as he noted that her lacy white bra was visible beneath the semi-transparent cotton top, he reached for a water bottle to ease his suddenly dry throat.

  He recalled how surprised he’d been to discover that Lauren often liked to wear silky, frothy lingerie beneath her jeans, T-shirts, and tank tops. She had blamed her extravagant collection of bras, panties, and thongs on her Aunt Madelyn, who made it a habit to send both Lauren and her twin sister regular shipments of samples, overstock, and end of season closeouts that she’d been given from various designers. He wondered now if Lauren was wearing matching white lace panties beneath those teeny shorts, or one of the miniscule thongs she had favored. Or had gone commando, as she’d often done back at the cabin. He was sorely tempted to peel those shorts off her saucy ass and find out for himself.

  Just like he was practically dying inside to strip that T-shirt off over her head, unclasp her bra, and let those perfect tits tumble free into his waiting hands. His tongue longed to flick over the nipple, just before his lips sucked the entire pale pink areola into his mouth. He could remember like it was yesterday the sounds she’d made – somewhere between a whimper and a groan – as he’d lingered for long minutes over those sensational tits. She’d been such a hungry, responsive lover, such a hedonistic, sensual woman, that he’d once brought her to orgasm simply by stimulating her breasts.

  “Ben, what do you think? I mean, even I admit this is something of an unorthodox approach, but I think it would really catch the readers’ attention.”

  “Huh?” Ben suddenly realized that Lauren had just asked him a question, and was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. She smirked knowingly as he hastily dragged his gaze away – again – from the impudent thrust of her breasts.

  “Uh, let me look it over again,” he mumbled, quickly scanning the page she’d set in front of him a few minutes ago. “What, uh, does everyone else think?”

  Ben exhaled in relief as he bought himself a few extra minutes, and was able to read enough of Lauren’s outline to realize it was as brilliant and innovative as everything she did. She had a natural gift for journalism, for telling a story and bringing it to life, even though she always claimed she hated to write and would much rather leave all of that stuff to Karl.

  The meeting wrapped up before one p.m., by which time he was in bad shape. Several hours of watching Lauren sashay around the room had given him a raging hard-on, and had brought back all sorts of erotic memories that were probably best left forgotten, especially given her mostly hostile attitude towards him these days.

  George left the room first, as he had a lunch date with Nadine - who didn’t like to be kept waiting. Chris, Karl, and Lauren went back and forth on where to grab lunch before finally agreeing on the Jewish deli two blocks away.

  “Want to join us, Ben?” asked Karl. “They make the best Reuben sandwich I’ve ever had.”

  He shook his head. “It sounds great but I’m meeting Elle for lunch. Maybe another time.”

  Ben didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he could have sworn Lauren’s back stiffened upon hearing Elle’s name. But she kept her face impassive, and he figured he was mistaken in thinking that the thought of Elle bothered her in any way.

  “Lauren. A moment please,” he requested as she would have left with the others. “This won’t take long.”

  She didn’t bother to disguise her impatience as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I hope not. I’m starving and there’s a roast beef sandwich calling my name.”

  Ben couldn’t help himself from chuckling. “How can you still be hungry after everything you just put away this morning?”

  He’d lost track of all the snacks she’d munched on, whether they had been her own or ones she’d poached from the guys. He forced himself not to gulp as he pictured the way she’d eaten a package of M&M peanuts – rolling each piece between her fingers before popping it into her mouth and chewing it with slow, deliberate enjoyment. He had envied every single candy coated peanut, wishing it had been his finger – or another part of his anatomy – that had slipped past her lips instead.

  Lauren shrugged. “I’ve got a super quick metabolism, burn up calories crazy fast. And I need some protein or I’m going to crash soon after all the sugar I ate. So what’s up?”

  He hesitated, stalling for time as he tried to figure out a way to not totally piss her off. ‘Screw it,’ he told him resignedly. ‘That’s going to be impossible, so just spit it out already.’

  “Look,” he began clumsily. “I get it that the weather’s stifling outside today, and that it’s not what you’re used to back in Big Sur. And we admittedly have a pretty lax dress code here. But what you’re wearing now – well, it’s just a little too much, I’m afraid. Or, more accurately, too little. In the future, you need to, uh, cover up more.”

  Lauren stared at him for long seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh, God, this is priceless! How long did it take you to work up the nerve to say something like that to me? And, look, you even broke a sweat over it!”

  She teasingly brushed her fingers across the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Ben took a step back, ducking his head in embarrassment.

  “I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation, but it had to be said,” he acknowledged. “There’s casual and then there’s – um, underdressed. This isn’t an amusement park or a beach party, Lauren. In future, please don’t show quite as much, er, skin. Okay?”

  Lauren was still grinning from ear to ear, clearing enjoying his discomfiture. “You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like my father. But, hey, okay if it’s that big a deal, I’ll cover up from now on. Think a burqa would look out of place here?”

  “Nothing that extreme,” he replied, smiling a little at her joke. “And I know it’s probably too hot for jeans right now. What about a skirt or a – a sundress, something like that?”

  She gave him an amused look. “This is really uncomfortable for you, isn’t it? You look like you’d rather be walking over hot coals or a bed of nails right now.”

  “I would,” he muttered. “But you get my point, don’t you? And I don’t mean any offense, just – well, frankly, you were pretty distracting during the meeting.”

  “Yeah?” She batted her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. “Did I distract you, Ben?” She moved in closer, deliberately letting her breasts brush up against his arm. Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “Did I turn you on?”

  “Lauren. Don’t.” His voice was rough, guttural. “This isn’t – appropriate.”

  She stepped back, all hint of humor immediately replaced by a look of scorn. “Yeah, right. Appropriate. Proper. Just like your perfect, ladylike girlfriend. So you think I ought to wear a skirt or a dress ever
y so often, huh? Maybe be more like Elle?”

  Ben shook his head, fighting with every ounce of self-control he possessed not to yank her back against him. “No. That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t think of two more opposite individuals than you and Elle. You’re nothing alike.”

  “Except for one thing.” She stepped in close again to murmur wickedly in his ear. “Apparently we both have the same taste in men.”

  She patted his cheek before giving him a little smile and then strolled leisurely out of the room. And in spite of himself, he couldn’t help staring at her ass in those ridiculously short shorts as she walked down the hallway.

  ***

  One Week Later

  “Here’s your wine. They didn’t have Sauvignon Blanc so I hope Chardonnay is okay.”

  Elle smiled as she accepted the glass. “It’s fine, thanks. I doubt anything they’ll serve is going to be of very good quality so I’m not sure the vintage matters.”

  Ben took a sip of his own glass of red wine. “Well, these office parties aren’t known for having top of the line food and drink.”

  Elle made a little moue of displeasure. “We actually have a very good caterer we use for these types of events at The New Yorker. I should give his name to whoever organizes these things here.”

  Ben chuckled. “Don’t forget that this is a very different sort of crowd. More like beer and nachos rather than wine and brie.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Still, everyone seems to have dressed a little nicer than usual. And you were wrong, Ben. You’re not the only one here wearing a suit.”

  Ben took another sip of his wine and refrained from pointing out that having two other men in the entire room wearing a suit hardly qualified it as a crowd.

  They were attending an after-work cocktail reception for a recent retiree from National Geographic Travel. Elle had prodded him until he’d reluctantly agreed to wear one of his suits, knowing full well that he’d get ribbed about it from his staff and peers. Fortunately, the weather had cooled off a lot over the past week, largely due to the rain that had swept through the city a couple of days ago. Even so, Ben still couldn’t help tugging at his shirt collar every few minutes.

  As they walked around the room greeting and chatting with other guests, Ben noted – not for the first time, of course – how at ease Elle was at events such as this one. She had been a great help to him in navigating through all of the social niceties expected at such occasions, and he knew if he’d been left to his own devices that right about now he would be standing in a corner somewhere alone, or sticking with the same small group of people he felt most comfortable with. Or counting the minutes until he could make a discrete exit.

  Unlike Elle. who lived for these types of events, who had been brought up attending parties and receptions from girlhood. She both looked and acted the part of the poised, sophisticated professional, knowing exactly what to say. She wore one of her seemingly endless supply of chic little black dresses, this one of a summer weight fabric that bared her Pilates-toned arms, and a pair of low-heeled black slingbacks. Her dark hair was sleeked back into its usual chignon, and pearls glistened discreetly in her ears and around her throat.

  She seemed happy and content this evening, which was a huge relief to Ben after the argument they’d had two nights ago. He had been tired and stressed out after another hectic day at the office, but had still consented to going out to dinner with Elle and her former roommate who was in town for a visit. He’d been nearly comatose from fatigue upon arriving home, and had been largely incoherent when she’d kissed him good night and told him she loved him.

  And when he’d merely smiled tiredly in response, Elle had grown teary-eyed and Ben had felt guilty yet again at not being able to say the words back to her. One thing had led to another, and soon she’d been weeping and telling him in her very best martyred tone that he didn’t have to feel obligated to stay with her if he didn’t want to. Ben had sighed, knowing this particular scene by heart, and had quietly offered to move out if that was what she really wanted. But Elle had flung her arms around his neck, begging him to stay, and assuring him that she didn’t mean it, and that she was sorry for being a nag.

  The next morning she had acted as though none of it had ever happened, and things had returned to normal. But Ben knew it didn’t take much to set Elle off, and that it was only a matter of time before another such incident occurred.

  He thought at times that it would just be kinder all around if he were to move out and allow Elle to get on with her life, to find someone who could truly love her and give her everything she deserved. He had told her just that on more than one occasion, but each time she’d pleaded almost desperately that she didn’t want to lose him, that she was perfectly content with the state of their present relationship, and that he didn’t need to worry about her feelings.

  And truthfully, their present relationship far more resembled that of the platonic roommates they had been at one time, or best friends, than it did of lovers. He worked late so often, and was so worn out when he was at home that he didn’t have the patience it took to be intimate with Elle. She found it almost impossible to be spontaneous, had to schedule or plan out sex as though it was an appointment on her day planner. And she was usually so prim and reticent in bed that it took awhile for him to become aroused. Then, too, her parents had been spending more time than usual in New York over the past few months, and Elle still stubbornly refused to share a room with him while they were in residence.

  He shouldn’t have minded, really, given the lengthy periods of celibacy he’d endured in the past. But it seemed that whenever a certain curvy, troublesome photographer was in town – and in his proximity – that all of a sudden he was constantly horny.

  He’d jacked off in the shower just this morning, in fact, with an image of a glistening wet Lauren washing her body more than enough stimulus to bring on an almost violent climax. She had been the most spontaneous lover he’d ever known, had always been eager and almost voracious for sex, and he’d kept his fingers crossed that he would be able to keep up with her.

  While Elle was deep in conversation with her father’s good friend the editor-in-chief, Ben excused himself to get another glass of wine. As he took a sip of what he considered a decent Merlot – though Elle had told him it was barely palatable – he almost choked when he spied the woman who stood in his direct line of vision.

  He recognized her – knew her – and yet she looked completely different from any previous image he had of her. She looked like a femme fatale, a sexy pin-up girl, and he had never wanted her more than he did at this exact moment.

  She had apparently taken his half-joking advice to wear a skirt and then ran with it. Though there was no possible way she could run a step in the snug fitting black skirt that clung to her hips and ass lovingly. And he wondered how she could even walk in those red stiletto heels. A sleeveless white silk tank top and a wide red patent leather belt that cinched her small waist completed her simple but screamingly sexy outfit.

  Lauren normally pulled her abundant hair back into a braid or ponytail, but this evening it fell in thick, glossy curls halfway down her back. And she was even wearing makeup – including bright crimson lipstick that made her mouth look like the most forbidden fruit ever created. He wanted that lush, red mouth wrapped around his cock, wanted to plunge his tongue deep inside of it, wanted to kiss her until they were both breathless and dizzy.

  She glanced up and saw the way he was looking at her, and for a few moments it was as if five years had never passed. She, too, was drinking red wine, and she smiled as she raised her glass in a mock toast before taking a sip.

  He started walking in her direction without conscious thought, not stopping until he was right in front of her. Up close, she looked even more delectable, her sumptuous breasts more than filling out her top, and the lavish lace of her bra was clearly visible beneath the fine, silky fabric.

  “You, ah, look – different,” he said haltingly. �
��You look – nice.”

  She snickered. “Nice? Is that the best you can do, Blue Eyes? Nice is how you describe what your grandma is wearing. But then, for a writer, you always were a man of a few words. Strange. So why don’t I tell you what I think of your outfit instead?”

  Ben took a fortifying sip of wine, grateful that he’d kept his suit jacket buttoned since it helped to hide his burgeoning erection. “Okay. Have at it.”

  Lauren ran a finger down the sleeve of his jacket. “Hmm. I’m not anywhere near as good at this as my sister or aunt, but I’m going to guess this is Armani.”

  He nodded, gritting his teeth as the scent of whatever perfume she was wearing – another first – teased his nostrils and made his cock feel like it was going to burst.

  “Fancy,” purred Lauren as she tugged playfully on his tie. “Silk. Very nice. In fact, dressed like this you might have had a chance with my sister. She’s got a real thing for a man who can wear a suit as well as you can. Which, for her, has resulted in a couple of really bad lapses in judgment where men are concerned.”

  “But I take it you’re not a fan of this look?” he observed.

  “Of the suit?” She shrugged. “It’s okay. But it’s nowhere near as sexy as a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt. In fact, this whole scene here – ” she waved an arm around the crowded hotel reception room – “isn’t you. I’m guessing you’re hating all this bullshit as much as I am, and would much rather be drinking a cold beer and chowing down a bacon cheeseburger.”

  His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Is it that obvious? And here I thought I was putting on a convincing act.”

  Lauren shook her head. “I mean, you might be fooling most of the others, but not me. There’s not a lot that gets past me, after all. Not to mention the fact that I know the real you. And this,” she gestured at his suit and loafers, “is definitely not the Ben I met in Big Sur.”