by Lara Hunter
At first gentle and coaxing, our kiss grew deeper and more intense as our breaths intermingled; now my passion matched his as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and leaned into his kiss, my tongue lapping hungrily as his full, moist lips continued to devour me.
As one strong arm wrapped around my waist and drew me to him, Oliver’s free hand massaged my shoulder before venturing lower still. Soon his agile fingertips rubbed and soothed my chest as his touch ventured dangerously close to the top of my breasts.
Giving him a short nod that offered my assent, I took in my breath as Oliver lowered his hand to stroke my breasts; those same magic fingertips flicking my nipples through the surface of my sweater, as his nurturing palms caressed my upper chest.
“Baby,” he rasped out, his chest flexing and his entire body tightening as he moved closer to me. “What are you doing to me?”
“What are you doing to me?” I echoed his sentiments, my breath catching as my nipples hardened and the heart beneath began to pound. His intimate ministrations made my pulse quicken as he continued to caress me; and race outright as his hand lowered to tease my tummy.
Breaking our kiss, Oliver shifted his perfect lips to my flushed cheek and nestled my face, kissing and licking as he whispered in my ear, “Lily, I know this is impulsive,” he growled, his smooth, deep tone massaging the word ‘impulsive’ to most delicious effect. “But I just have to say it. Since the moment I arrived here this evening, I’ve wanted to do nothing but touch and kiss you… I want you, Lily. I want to make love to you, here and now.”
My eyes flew wide as I considered these words; breaking our gaze and pulling away from him, I sat upright on my blanket and folded my arms before me.
“Lily?”
Himself flying upward beside me, Oliver planted a concerned hand on my arm as he plead, “Please say something, honey. Have I hurt you? Offended you?”
I shook my head.
“You’ve tempted me, that’s all,” I assured him, bringing my knees up to my chin and wrapping my arms around my legs. “I must admit, Oliver, I’ve been thinking about it myself. As close as we’ve been getting, as much as we’ve been sharing, how could I not? We both know, though, that it would complicate things.”
Oliver grinned.
“Complicate me, baby,” he whispered in my ear, that long, silky tongue lapping ever so slightly at my earlobe. “Hard.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Seriously, Clark,” I released through gritted teeth. “Don’t you ever stop?”
“When it comes to you, Lily? Never.”
I gasped as an impassioned Oliver swept me up in his strong embrace, once again claiming my lips in a hot, passionate kiss.
Once again sinking into his all-encompassing arms, I sighed contented as he lowered his head to my neck; smattering sweet baby kisses at my nape as his hands massaged my back.
“Still tempted, Ms. Ashton?” he growled against my skin. “Would there, per chance, be anything I could do to make you even more so?”
I answered him with a tight clasp that brought his flawless, muscled body closer to mine; sliding my hands up his planed back before entwining my fingers in his soft, dark hair.
“There’s nothing more that I want to do than make love to you, here and now,” I whispered, adding with a sigh, “But it’s just too soon, and I’m afraid it would take our partnership—or faux mance, if you will—to a whole new level; one that we might not at all be prepared to face.”
Oliver thought for a moment, then nodded.
“So would you like me to go?” he asked me, drawing back to stare deep into my eyes.
His soft, sad tone touching my heart, I shook my head and opened my arms to him.
“Nonsense,” I told him with a smile. “We still have more great movies to watch, more jokes to tell, and more cuddling to do. And even though our pizza supply is running dangerously low, I’d be more than pleased to make some popcorn with melted cheese on top along with some hot cocoa to chase all that sparkly champagne.”
A newly smiling Oliver offered me a handshake that seemed oddly redundant at that point; chasing it with a kiss.
“You got a deal, babe,” he smiled against my lips.
Chapter Nine
~
The next few months passed in a dreamy haze for me; as I spent my days working in an efficient, highly productive office that became a model for our entire corporation, and my nights reveling in a fantasy romance that seemed like something out of my wildest dreams.
Every weekend, and sometimes during the week, Oliver would whisk me off to see a theater performance, a ballet (though none of these performances, I noted, featured Vladimir Scotto or Deanna Morgan—funny, that), an upscale sporting event like a dog or horse show, or perhaps a tennis match. The show experience always included front row seats and backstage passes; thus allowing me the opportunity to meet renowned Broadway stars, operatic icons, household name athletes, and—the piece de resistance—a show dog cocker spaniel that boasted better hair and more bling than I could ever dream of possessing. Woof!
We would dine at the finest restaurants and shop at the best boutiques, coming away with exotic leftovers I couldn’t begin to pronounce and clothes by top designers. What I enjoyed just as much, however, were the quiet evenings that would find us ordering in, watching favorite movies and TV shows as we snacked on soda and popcorn; also sharing examples of our respective art forms.
Oliver read with interest the short stories I’d written during high school and college, declaring my writing style fresh, humorous, and intriguingly romantic and praising the plush Victorian settings of many of my stories.
“Nice to know you have a romantic side,” he told me one evening, emphasizing his words with a playful wink. “Perhaps I could inspire you with some ideas for a future story; one we just might act out ourselves, immediately upon its completion.”
“Oh be-have,” I teased him, adding with my own teasing wink, “Or don’t.”
And I marveled openly at his beautiful watercolors; many of which portrayed everything from city scenes to wildlife subjects. He brought towering skyscrapers (Many of which, come to think of it, he probably owned) and delicate, dew-glistened roses and magnolia trees to life with equal beauty and exquisite detail; imbuing his work with an exquisite blend of whimsical imagination and multi-dimensional realism.
About five months into what I had affectionately come to know as our faux mance, Oliver announced that—in honor of my upcoming birthday—he planned to treat me to a special evening at a Victorian village in our community; a place that featured a gourmet restaurant and an old-fashioned dance hall, along with streets lined with classically designed shops that sold clothing, jewels and wares characteristic of that era.
I arrived home the evening of my birthday to find a bright beribboned package on my front doorstep; a mysterious parcel that turned out to contain a stunning gown of pure red velvet with a lovely lace collar and cuffs; as well as some tender reams of ebullient lace that lined its embroidered front.
After bathing with the bar of pure lavender soap also found in the package, I slipped into the fine fabrics of this exquisite, foot length frock and gathered the strands of my newly brushed hair into a sharp upsweep; also donning the pearl earrings and matching bracelet that Oliver had bought me during a recent shopping trip.
Finally I stood before my full-length mirror, admiring the results of my Victorian makeover. I gaped at the way the hue of my scarlet gown enhanced the tones of my creamy complexion, and at the manner in which its impeccable fit flattered my feminine curves.
My giddy, girlish smile faded somewhat as I heard a bizarre, high pitched sound emanate from just in front of my house; a sound that bore a highly suspicious likeness to a horse’s whinny.
Running to my front door, I threw it open to reveal a gleaming ebony carriage lead by a pair of scarlet-bridled ivory stallions that continued to whinny and shuffle their hooves.
Driving the carriage was th
e same distinguished, grey-haired gentleman that had escorted me to my first date with Oliver; though this time he was dressed in a long black velvet coat and smart top hat.
Walking through my front door in something of a trance, I crossed the street with slow steps and approached the carriage; flinging open its polished black door to reveal a real life Victorian gentleman.
Seated on a cushion of lavender velvet, Oliver was adorned for the evening in a sleek black suit, its silken textures perfectly tailored to enhance and highlight his muscular frame, and a ruffled white shirt; a handsome ensemble topped off most literally with a smart black top hat and a pair of shiny black leather boots; as well as a shiny gold pocket watch that hung on a chain from his embroidered pocket.
“Good evening, m’lady.” Oliver greeted me in a flawless British accent, adding as he gestured toward an empty passenger seat adjoining his own, “Care to join me for a little ride?”
We said little during our carriage ride to the Victorian village. We held hands and tried to take in our mutual transformation; one that had morphed us from sensible co-workers to a lord and lady from another time. I only managed to tear my gaze away from Oliver when we arrived at the village; a collection of buildings that shone in the moonlight in brilliant hues of lavender, taupe, pink, gold, and classic ivory—resplendent also in their presentation of stained glass windows and broad front windows.
An hour later I found myself dining in a restaurant that, with its rich aura of homey elegance, likened a setting from an Austen novel, or even one of my own, slightly lessor known (OK, totally unpublished) works.
With a broad smile Oliver held open the door of The Victorian Dream; allowing me access to a classically designed eatery adorned with sparkling chandeliers, lavish floral arrangements that brimmed with ruby red roses, and walls that were lined with gold brocade wallpaper and samples of hand painted Victorian artwork.
A server clad in a sleek black tuxedo lead us to a central table; pulling my chair out and motioning for me to take my seat on a pink cushioned chair; one that sidled a table lined with polished rose print china, shining silverware, lace-bordered placemats, and a table covering of ivory lace that caught the light of a bank of candles glowing from its centerpiece.
This light also cast my date in a most appealing glow; illuminating his carved, bronzed features, wide, cocoa-hued eyes and wavy, shoulder-length chestnut hair.
“You look so beautiful this evening,” he told me, tone low and admiring as his gaze raked me from head to toe. “Thanks,” I grinned, adding as my own gaze took a long, admiring walk down the length of his muscled form, “So do you!”
I listened with admiration as he proceeded to order them a classic feast of coq au vin, spiced potatoes, steamed vegetables and creamy chocolate mousse; then Oliver turned to me with a dazzling smile as he covered my hand with his.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight, darling?” He leaned across the table, pressing his full, moist lips against my flushed cheek.
“Yes,” I replied, pressing my lips against his forehead. “But do feel free to tell me again, Boss.”
Oliver laughed.
“Tonight I’m not the boss,” he told me, running affectionate fingers through my soft, feathery hair. “I want to be your Victorian gentleman, Lily… I’d love to be your fantasy.”
I froze.
“Well isn’t this a situation?” I snorted, shifting in my seat. “You want to pause our faux romance to have a fantasy romance instead. I tell ya Folks, ya need a program to keep up…”
The laughter that I expected was replaced by a long, intense look; followed by a soft, sweet kiss, delivered to my lips.
“Lily, I know this started out as a –what would you call it?—faux mance. In the months that we’ve been seeing each other, though, I can’t tell you just how much fun I’ve had with you and how much I’ve come to treasure our time together. You make me laugh, you make me think. I’ve really come to care about you, Lily.”
He paused here, cradling my face in his hand as he stared deep into my eyes.
“For your birthday, darling, I wanted to fulfill your fantasy… along with one of my own,” he whispered, adding in a sultry purr, “Come home with me tonight, Lily. Let me make love to you.”
I made no verbal response to Oliver’s sweet invitation; just fought to regain control of my senses as they threatened to spin out of control. His gorgeous image, his provocative words, our romantic setting made my heart race and my pulse pound. Also pounding and pulsating, incidentally, were certain lady parts that I’d nearly forgotten were attached to my body.
“Oliver,” I said finally, sitting back hard in my seat. “Of course I’m tempted, what woman wouldn’t be? How do I know, though, that I just won’t end up as one of your gal pals; one of those casual lovers that you have a little fun with before the two of you go your separate ways?”
Oliver sighed.
“Lily, the conversations that we’ve had over the past few months have been anything but casual,” he reminded me. “I swear I’ve told you things I’ve never told any other woman. I’ve never been so comfortable with a woman.”
Again he paused, erasing all distance between us as he whispered in my ear, “Now just how do I go about making you comfortable with me? Perhaps, bella, it would help you to think of me as your Victorian count—a man that has come through time to romance and seduce you. Who longs to make those romantic fantasies that have been in your head all these years come beautifully, magically alive.”
Even as his sinful suggestions managed to peak my desire as a line of sweat formed unbidden on my brow, I still managed a nervous chuckle in the face of his blatant seduction.
“Well just so you know, in the literary version of Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy never as much as kissed Elizabeth Bennet.”
Oliver chuckled, nestling my neck as he whispered in my ear, “Just think of me as the sensual, much more biddable count that all the ladies turn to when Mr. Darcy won’t put out.”
I laughed.
“You certainly do have a way with words, Oliver,” I winked, adding as I turned my attention to a newly delivered plate of food, “Let’s have our dinner now and just see how things go.”
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“Once a personal assistant, always a personal assistant,” he snorted. “Everything—and I mean absolutely everything—has to be done in an organized and totally compartmentalized manner.”
“That’s right!” I barked, adding as I pointed an authoritative fork in Oliver’s direction, “Now let’s hear less talking and see more eating—chop chop!”
Between courses Oliver drank a toast to, “The best friend, personal assistant and faux girlfriend a man could ever ask for,” following the clash of our crystalline goblets with a passionate, full bodied kiss that didn’t feel fake at all.
Seizing my lips in this passionate kiss, he devoured my mouth as our tongues entangled and our breaths mingled in the air above us.
For just a moment I leaned into his kiss, smacking my lips against his as our hands joined between us.
“Lily,” he whispered finally against my lips. “I want you. And you can’t deny that you want me too; I can feel it in your kiss. Why won’t you give in to me?”
I rather savored his frustrated groan as I suddenly broke our kiss; pulling back from the table to fold my arms before me and fix him with a steely gaze.
“I swear, what some males won’t do to avoid any and all public displays of dancing,” I sniffed, adding as I rose from the table, “You promised me that you’d show me around and, more importantly, swing me around the Victorian ballroom they have here. Now finish up your dinner and take me dancing.”