by Noelle Adams
She was laughing hysterically over a dry comment he’d made on the elevator ride up. Her head was spinning, and she was flying on a giddy high. All worries and anxiety from earlier in the day had completely vanished from her conscious thoughts. She'd barely thought about them all evening.
“I have something to announce,” she said, enunciating every syllable with what she believed to be impressive articulation. “It’s important.”
Paul had started to loosen his tie, even before they’d made it past the entry hall. He looked warm and relaxed and slightly flushed, but still yummy in his suit. At her words, he paused and gave her a questioning look. “What is it?”
She met his eyes soberly. “These tulips desperately need water.”
He laughed softly, evidently finding her words funnier than she did. She’d thought it was a serious subject, since the flowers were beautiful, beloved, and must be carefully preserved.
“Then we should find a vase for them.”
She followed him into the kitchen, since she assumed he knew where the vases might be stashed in the apartment. He pulled a simple crystal vase from a cabinet and then watched as she cut the stems, fill the vase with water, and arrange the tulips in it.
When the flowers were suitably arranged, she stepped back and admired them, darting her eyes over to Paul to make sure he was admiring them as well.
He was looking at her rather than the flowers, but his eyes were soft so she couldn’t bring herself to complain.
“I have something else to announce,” she declared, as the knowledge hit her like a wave. She'd realized why her mind was a little fuzzy.
“What’s that?” Paul's lips were tight again, like he was suppressing a smile.
“Those fancy places you took me to tonight should have their license…lincenses…their licenses revoked for serving so much alcohol to an eighteen-year-old.”
Paul chuckled. “You didn’t drink that much.”
She closed her eyes and tried to cast her mind back on how much she’d drunk. She’d had a glass of red wine with dinner. Then some champagne at the place they’d gone to dance and have dessert. She’d never finished her glass, but it had been topped off a few times by their attentive server.
“True.” She leaned forward to add in a stage whisper into his ear, “But I believe I might be a tiny bit buzzed.”
Paul laughed again and pulled her into a soft hug. “I think you might be right.”
She hugged him back eagerly, loving how hard and lean and masculine he felt against her. “I had fun tonight,” she told him, her voice muffled by his suit jacket.
“Good,” he murmured, holding her tightly against him. “I did too.”
When she pulled away, she fiddled with the tulips a little more until they looked appropriately gorgeous in the vase. Then she started to pick up the vase to bring it into the living area, but Paul took the vase out of her hands and carried it for her.
She suspected he (wrongly) believed she might drop it.
He placed the tulips on the coffee table, and then readjusted their placement on the polished surface three times at her instructions.
That duty accomplished, she went to the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were deeply flushed, and her hair and dress were a little rumpled, but she still liked how she looked. She looked pretty, elegant, somehow womanly. She took off her pearls, since they felt too tight around her neck.
She nodded in satisfaction at her reflection before she returned to Paul in the living area.
He’d turned on some music and was sitting on the sofa, reading something on his smartphone.
She frowned at him. “No work tonight.”
He smiled and put the phone down. “Just checking email.”
“That’s work.”
Then she noticed the music. It was just instrumental music, but it was very compelling—and it had a slow, sensual beat she loved. She sighed in pleasure.
“I loved dancing with you tonight,” she told him as she started dancing, mostly just swinging her hips, in the empty space between the furniture grouping and the doors to the terrace. The lights of the city were spread out beautifully from the vantage point of the apartment, and they seemed to be pulsing, dancing with her. “Thanks for taking me.”
“You’re welcome,” Paul said from the sofa behind her. She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t know what his expression was, but his voice was low and very nice.
She closed her eyes and let herself go, enjoying the music and the freedom of shedding some of her normal inhibitions. “You’re a good dancer.”
“So are you.” His voice seemed to be closer than it had been before, but she didn’t turn to investigate. The placement of his voice didn't seem particularly important.
So she was surprised when she suddenly felt Paul’s arms around her, turning her around so she faced him. He’d fallen into rhythm with her, and he gently pulled up her arms so they were wrapped around his neck.
She sighed in pleasure again and pressed up against him, moving with him instinctively in an unstructured slow dance.
They’d danced like this earlier in the evening, and Paul had made her feel like she was the only woman in the room, his warm eyes never straying from her, despite the gorgeous people all around them.
He really was a very good husband to have.
They danced for a long time in the living room without talking. Eventually, the dance became more intimate than anything they’d done in public. Emily’s body was completely relaxed, almost like she was melting. She rubbed herself against Paul’s lean body so she could better enjoy the sensations of being so close to him.
Paul’s hands had lowered to her bottom, which he was cupping possessively. He was also pressing her pelvis against his, and she gradually felt him grow hard against her middle. It all felt natural, sensual, instinctive. Nothing confusing or shocking or with hard edges.
When he started kissing her, that seemed instinctive too. She responded eagerly, letting the pleasure and the deep feeling pulse through her body with her blood. She raised her hands from his neck so she could stroke his hair, and when she heard him moan into the kiss, she moaned back.
Their mouths parted eventually, and she dropped her head backward, closing her eyes and releasing a sigh. “Feels so good,” she breathed, pressing herself against the bulge of his arousal as their hips moved together to the rhythm of the music.
“Mm hmm,” he murmured, leaning down to mouth her jaw and then her throat, which she’d exposed to him.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, as she felt the pressure of his lips on her neck. “Feels so good.”
“Mm,” he hummed against her skin. His hands had started to bunch up the fabric of her skirt at the back until he’d pulled her dress up far enough to caress the back of her thighs and her ass.
She suddenly realized arousal was throbbing between her thighs, and she wasn’t really very buzzed anymore. Her mind was a little blurry, but it was from desire rather than any significant effects of the champagne.
They weren’t really dancing anymore. Just embracing. She raised one leg to wrap around his thighs so she could rub her arousal against him. Since she was still wearing very high heels, her pelvis was better aligned with his than normal.
He grunted and lifted her slightly so her center could find the bulge in his trousers. Their grinding against each other was enthusiastic, if a little clumsy, and Emily huffed rhythmically in effort and pleasure as the friction developed into the beginnings of an orgasm.
Paul groaned and released her, taking a step back.
She whimpered in disappointment and reached out to grab him again.
“If we keep it up, I’m going to lose it,” he said thickly. When she gazed up at his face, she saw his eyes were hot and urgent, and his skin had broken out in a sheen of perspiration.
“That's okay. I wanted to come.”
“Come here, then,” he murmured, sitting down on a chai
r and drawing her onto his lap.
She came willingly, her body throbbing with arousal and her mind whirling with feeling and sensation. The music still sounded a slow, sensual backdrop, and Paul’s body was so hot he seemed to burn her.
But she loved it—she loved all of it. She let him adjust her in his lap until her legs were draped across his thighs, and she was leaning sideways against his chest. His hand slipped under her skirt and then under her panties until he was fondling her intimately.
“Yeah,” she gasped, as his touch triggered sharp ripples of pleasure. “Please, Paul!”
He slipped two fingers inside her and massaged her clit with his thumb. And after just a few moments, she let her head fall back as she groaned, a climax building quickly inside her.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Paul murmured hoarsely, his hand working between her legs, and his eyes never leaving her face. “So sweet, so beautiful.”
His words turned her on as much as his touch. She tried to ride his fingers with her hips. “Oh God,” she choked out. “Gonna come.”
“That’s right, baby. Come for me.” He bent his neck so he could kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids. He murmured between kisses, “So beautiful, so sweet.”
She came hard, shuddering on his lap and in his arms as the pleasure ripped through her. She gasped out her pleasure and then released a broken cry as his hand kept working, bringing her to a second orgasm on the heels of the first.
When the sensations had worked themselves through, she relaxed into a boneless, sated sprawl on top of him.
He held her tightly, almost tenderly, brushing kisses into her hair—even though his body was still tense and aroused.
In the dazed blur of orgasmic aftermath, she felt cherished. Couldn't begin to understand it.
“Oh God,” she moaned, when her mind started working again, “That was better than any buzz from champagne.”
“It better be.”
She pulled away from him so she could see his face. His eyes were blazing with something she barely recognized. It took her breath away.
When she felt the beginnings of those panicked pangs from the implications of the feeling conveyed in his gaze, she ruthlessly stifled them. She wasn't—just wasn't—going to worry about that tonight.
Partly as a means of distraction and partly because she noticed something in Paul's eyes she wanted to encourage, a teasing impulse took hold of her without warning. She summoned the will to pull herself out of his lap. “Thank you,” she said, desperately trying to hide a smile. “That was wonderful. I really appreciate your doing that for me. I’m kind of tired now, so I think I’ll go to bed, if that's all right.”
Paul just stared at her blankly and held himself perfectly still.
She burst into a ripple of delighted laughter at his expression and, since her knees felt a little shaky, dropped down to sit on a nearby ottoman.
Evidently realizing he was being teased, Paul narrowed his eyes at her with an impressive coolness, despite the way he was obviously overcome with desire.
She laughed again and gave him a playful look. “Were you thinking we would do something else?”
Something changed in his expression. It suddenly became almost predatory. Paul smiled slowly. “Are you trying to taunt me?” he drawled, a thrilling and almost dangerous note in his voice. “I assure you—it won’t go unanswered.”
She shivered, feeling a new clench of excitement between her legs, despite her previous orgasms. She’d never felt this way before—sexy and playful at the same time. She would never have believed she’d have the right to act this way with Paul.
For the moment, none of the anxiety and uncertainty surrounding their situation mattered. All that mattered was he was her husband, and she was his wife, and he needed this tonight. As much as she did.
He was about to chase her, to carry her to bed, to take her the way he wanted. She could see it in his eyes, in his coiled stance.
It was exactly what she wanted.
She adjusted her legs so she’d be ready to flee, since it wouldn’t do to give in too easily, since she somehow sensed Paul needed the chase as much as the sex. Her position on the ottoman wasn’t exactly elegant, but she couldn’t seem to care. “If you’re just going to talk,” she teased, “then I really am going to go to bed.”
Paul made his first stalking move toward her.
Emily jumped up and ran.
It didn’t take him long to catch her, since she was hampered by her high heels.
She squealed when Paul grabbed her around the waist and swung her up so she was draped over his shoulder in an undignified way. She squirmed wildly and tried to denounce him as a Neanderthal, but she was laughing too hard and too turned on to do either very effectively.
She felt his shoulder beneath her middle shaking with amusement, even though he managed to maintain a mostly militant composure.
He carried her into the master bedroom, and Emily started to shudder with anticipation. It wasn’t particularly comfortable to be slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, but she’d be lying if she claimed it didn't excite her.
Determined to not submit too easily, however, she pounded him with her fists on his back—the only part of his body she could easily reach—and tried to wriggle out of his hard grip, calling down creative maledictions on his cruel, caveman ways.
Paul responded with a crisp pop on her ass.
“Oh!” she cried, absolutely astonished by a sharp clench of desire at the feel of his swatting her ass. Or maybe it was just the friction from the way she was writhing in his grip.
When Paul reached the bedside, he swung her down off his shoulder and deposited her on the bed. His eyes were hot and excited, and he gave her a predatory smile “Did you like that?”
Emily couldn’t help by squirm as her body rippled with pleasure. “Of course not,” she managed to say. “I don’t respond to caveman tactics. But I'm very generous and I forgive you. So get down here.” She grabbed his tie and pulled him down on top of her.
They kissed, hard and urgent, with Paul pressing his hot weight on top of her. She was so aroused she rubbed her hips against his, shamelessly loving the tight bulge she felt in his trousers.
She loved that he was so turned on. Just as turned on as she was.
They kissed and rocked together with increasing eagerness. Then Paul turned Emily over so she was lying on her stomach, and he raised her hips so her bottom was higher than the rest of her body.
She panted frantically against the pillow, her whole body shaking in anticipation. She looked over her shoulder to see Paul fumbling with the zipper of his trousers. They both were still mostly dressed. She even still had her shoes on. But the clothes just made the whole thing sexier and somehow naughtier.
They’d only had sex a few times, and those times had always been missionary.
Emily blood raced at the thought of his taking her from behind.
“Is this all right, baby?” he asked, as he lifted her skirt, moved aside her panties, and lined up his erection at her very wet entrance. His expression was hot and intense and fierce somehow. She’d never seen him look quite like that before.
She smothered a giggle at how sweet he was—still concerned about her even when he was supposed to be a caveman. “Oh, God, yeah. Please.” She wriggled her butt a little, dying to feel him inside her.
He closed his eyes as he pitched his hips forward. The penetration felt different—deeper, more intense—than it had in the previous position they’d used. She choked on a whimper of deep pleasure as the pressure intensified.
It didn’t hurt. It just felt like so much. And she desperately wanted it.
Paul gripped the soft flesh of her hips as he began to thrust in a fast rhythm, pushing her body forward on every thrust. He was already more out of control than she was used to seeing him, but she loved it, wanted it, needed it.
It seemed to match the way she was feeling too.
She fisted her hands i
n the bedding and tried to push her bottom back toward his thrusts, but she didn’t have much leverage in this position. Her cheek was pressed against the pillow, and she panted hotly as the sensations intensified implausibly fast.
Paul was grunting rhythmically, primitive and animalistic. She knew he needed this, needed to let himself go. And that knowledge gave her as much pleasure as the physical stimulation. The feelings spiraled up, blurring her vision and tightening her chest.
Their sex wasn’t really rough—at least, not by regular standards—but Paul was being less gentle than he’d been with her before. They were shaking the bed now with their motion, and their skin was slapping together. The carnal sounds made the whole thing even hotter.
She heard herself making little sobbing sounds as the sensations got more and more intense. Paul’s grunting was getting louder too, and his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips.
He was about to come. She knew it, and she didn’t want his pleasure to be dampened by the knowledge that he’d come before she did. So she squeezed one of her hands beneath her body so she could rub her clit.
She cried out loudly as she massaged herself, causing her body and the pleasure to tighten down.
“Come, baby,” Paul choked out. “Come now.” He was visibly trying to hold himself back.
Her body rocked with a hard orgasm. She smothered a cry with the pillow.
Paul came too with a loud roar, his hips jerking clumsily against her ass as he rode out his climax.
They were both still shaking in the aftermath when he kind of collapsed on top of her, his weight suddenly descending on her back.
She grunted in surprise, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She liked how overwhelmed and replete and boneless he felt on top of her.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up enough to turn her over onto her back, and then more gently easing his weight down on top of her.
She gathered him into her arms, spreading her legs so he could settle more comfortably between them. He was hot and sweating beneath his evening suit, and he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, pressing a few clumsy kisses against her skin.