by Fields, MJ
“The chair that’s going to have your sweet, round ass on it.”
She laughs again, and I step in, further closing the distance. She immediately stops laughing as I press my body against hers.
“Lucky fucking chair.”
My cock’s been hardening since I saw those eyes, and now with it growing against her waist, she’s aware.
“I’m not a hit it and go kind of girl.”
“I’m gonna treat your G-spot like a speed ball, Autumn. I’m gonna hit it so hard and so often that you’re gonna come again, and again, and again. Then you’re gonna let me have it again the next day.”
Her voice is deeper, thicker when she says, “Pretentious and presumptuous.”
I slowly shake my head. “Confident that I’m reading you correctly.”
“Reading me?”
“I know women.”
“I bet you do.” She snickers then looks back at the barstool and nibbles on her lower lip.
I grip her chin lightly and turn her to face me. Before I can say a word, though, she blurts out, “I don’t have sex on the first night I know a man. So, if you can’t just kiss me, then we don’t—”
I give the lady exactly what she’s asked for.
I kiss her.
She tastes like champagne and fresh water, of sweet treats and fresh fruits, of celebration and new beginnings.
I know some would argue celebration and new beginnings don’t have a taste. Not one that you can describe anyway, but they do now, and they happen to taste like Autumn’s mouth.
Argument solved.
Her lips are soft like pillows covered in silk, her mouth warm and inviting like a down comforter on a cold winter night, her face and hair soft and fragrant.
She lets me explore then pushes her tongue against mine gently, like one tips a toe in the water to make sure its temperature is inviting. When she slowly begins stroking it, I feel it in my balls. Before I lose my shit all over my shorts and her dress, however, I pull back, sucking on her tongue as I do.
My mouth no longer against hers, I watch through her still slightly parted lips as her tongue quivers ever so slightly.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, gripping her hips tighter, and she opens her eyes.
“Wha…? Wha…? What?” She seems to be in a daze, her eyes glassed over with desire and need.
“I need to see if your clit does that after I pull my tongue out of your soaked cunt.”
When her eyes pop open and she’s no longer still in a fog from the tongue-gasm, she stammers for words again.
“Your tongue quivered.”
“Did not,” she says before closing her mouth, nibbles on her bottom lip, blushes, and looks up at me again, this time further embarrassed.
“I don’t know why you’d deny it. I have no problem telling you that I nearly came in my pants from kissing you, Autumn, which is the only reason I pulled away.”
Two
Autumn
Holy. Shit, I think as I try to make sense of the last few minutes, but words evade me. So do logic and sensibility.
Obviously.
He ticks boxes, though. So many of my boxes, I think as I look him over.
- Taller than me.
Check.
Much taller than me. At least six foot compared to my five-foot-five.
- Fit, bulging, bitable arms.
Check.
I’m aware that’s odd, but I don’t care.
- Six pack abs.
I’m sure under that black V-neck tee that hugs those fit and bulging arms there is a feast of hard, lickable flesh. And if not his abs … his erection, which is currently pressed against my belly, is … impressive to say the least. It would more than make up for the lack of abs.
- Suit and tie.
Well, he’s in shorts and a V-neck, but this man could rock a suit and tie.
- Chiseled features.
I don’t even know how to describe his features, but he has those brilliant blue eyes and his smile that is blinding … in a good way, if there is a good way.
Jesus, Autumn, get it together.
- Tattoos.
Don’t know. Don’t care.
- Gentleman on the streets, freak between the sheets.
So far so good, and there is no way he wouldn’t rock in bed. He looks like a man who could break it. For the love of all things holy … or unholy rather … he gave me a … what did he call it? Oh, right, a tongue-gasm.
- Oral AF.
Check.
If the kiss was telling—which I throw up a silent prayer that it is, knowing such prayers are all kinds of wrong—I’m going to love my first weekend of sex without strings, expectations, regrets, or a care in the world. After all, it’s a holiday weekend.
This man, this Prince Eric, has me believing that maybe it won’t be a bust. With a sea of over-cologned, underwhelming pick-up lines, wallets bigger than personalities, and incapacities to understand the word no, without the woman—me—being a bitch, has me adding to my list.
- Smells delicious.
Check.
Whatever he’s wearing, it smells of the woods and the ocean, and that scent has awoken my spirit ho.
Just for the weekend.
Weekend, I remind myself as I try to mentally gather logic, sense, and sensibility together, all of which are bouncing around in my head like a pinball game gone wrong.
“I wanna kiss you again.” His calm, husky voice is like Xanax, quieting the crazy in my mind. “However, I am not going to deny the fact that, as much as I give zero shits about the raging hard-on in my shorts, coming in them may be a bit out of my comfort zone.”
I clear my throat and nod once. “I should warn you that I have rules.”
He smiles that blinding smile again, making me want to throw the rules straight into the Atlantic Ocean and watch them slowly sink into its abyss. “I can’t wait to break them with you.”
I suppress my smile, because I am in fact serious about my rules, but … Jesus. “As hot as you are—”
He raises an eyebrow as he shakes his head slowly from side to side, stopping me with a sexy half-smile. “We. As hot as we are.”
My smile slips from its leash and, with it, a laugh. I quickly cover my mouth as I close my eyes and shake my head. When I open them again, I look up into smiling, amused, and shockingly beautiful blue eyes.
“I will not make love on a first date.”
As fast as the words fell out of my mouth, I want to Hoover them back in.
Make Love?
MAKE. LOVE?!
Redirect, reword … run! I scream at myself.
No, not today, Autumn. It’s time to get back on the saddle, and oh, what a beautiful ride he promises to be.
Mentally, I redline my error and correct it. “Or have sex.”
“Is fucking out, too?” he jokes.
The embarrassment of my slip of the tongue is erased by the calmness his presence brings, one I have truly never felt before but have always longed to have.
I smile. “It is.”
Ten minutes into a conversation with the most stunning man I’ve ever seen, and I am losing my reserves.
He grips my hips tighter with his strong hands. “So, we need to establish a few things.”
I nod and giggle … freaking giggle like a teenage girl … at thirty-three years old.
Get it together, Autumn, I scold myself. Then another part of me, the part that, as Angela says, should practice what I preach, reminds me to just let it happen.
“Scratch the word choice. It was a mistake.”
“I’ll itch whatever scratch you’d like me to. But to reassure you that your word choice wasn’t lost on me, I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m aware of the difference between making love, having sex, and fucking.”
“The difference is in the relationship between the two bodies getting it on.”
“I feel differently,” he states.
“Care to explain?”
“I’d rather
demonstrate.” As his pupils seemingly dilate, he lets go of my hip, steps back, and adjusts his hard-on while telling me, “Finish your drink first.”
Holding the champagne flute to my mouth, I watch as his pools of ocean-blue eyes drink in my lips. The truth in his confession—his desire to kiss them again—is as abundantly clear as my yearning for his kiss.
I lick my lips and watch his sexy, plump ones tighten, his strong jaw line clenches, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. Then I sip on my mediocre glass of champagne, knowing I need some liquid courage to quell the voices threatening to mess this up—whatever this is.
Yes, the voices. Voices in my head telling me to be a good girl, don’t do something you’ll regret, don’t disappoint yourself and, more importantly, don’t disappoint anyone else.
Voices are memories that come from past journeys and experiences. I respect the journey, for it hasn’t been an easy one, yet I’m still here. If I didn’t respect that, it would all be for naught.
I will not overthink this.
I will not overanalyze this.
I will not sabotage this.
I will practice what I preach.
It was not all for naught.
I.
Will.
Move.
On.
Mentally hitting the reset, I allow myself the freedom that comes from starting over. And I do so a year after a horrific divorce and six months of dating app bullshit behind me.
I’m not looking into the eyes of a man who I will allow to destroy that girl who grew up believing that you meet a man, fall in love, work hard, love harder, and everything will be fine.
No one could ever do that to me again.
Eric takes the glass from my hand and sets it on the bar. “Enough of that poison.” He captures my hand again and spins me like a ballerina then leads me forward, my back to his chest, his arm crossed over my body, one hand on my hip, still holding my hand with his other one.
“Where are we going?”
“Away from whatever was poisoning the moment and had you overthinking.”
I look back at him from over my shoulder, shocked at his intuition.
“When you spent half your life tiptoeing around your father’s bullshit, siblings, and ex-wives.” He smirks and adds, “Plural—”
“Plural?”
He nods. “You learn really quick how to read a person.”
He twirls me around so that I am facing him. “Do we want to talk about pasts, or should we enjoy one another’s company?”
“The latter.” I laugh lightly at myself, just now realizing that we’re amongst couples dancing and I was so lost in his eyes, his proximity, his scent and smile that I hadn’t realized he had moved us outside.
The voice from the song is recognizably Meghan Trainor’s, and I make a mental note to look it up.
He rests his hands easily on my hips, as he had at the bar, and I rest mine on his shoulders. Delicious shoulders, I bet.
“I forgot my manners at the bar. Thank you for the drink.”
He lifts his chin, and then I remember what else I had forgotten. I’m here with Angela, my boss, my best friend, my wing woman.
I scan the room and see her talking to a man who appears to be a few years older than her. I hope maybe they have a connection. Then I realize Ang has her office smile on. The smile that says: I’m being polite and tolerating you but would rather be on my couch, with a glass of wine, watching a movie with my daughter.
God, I miss her. Sweet little Natasha, who has just recently left for college in England, was part of our little crew.
“You still with me?”
I look back at him and nod. “The band is good.”
I’m making small talk.
Why? Because the appendage poking me in the belly, the one I want badly yet try to convince myself otherwise, is anything but small. And not just the appendage, but the man. They are both every woman’s fantasy. And having just come from years of tricking myself into believing I was living said fantasy, I know myself all too well and must be cautious about how this plays out.
“What are you thinking about?” His grip on my hips tightens.
I chew on my lip, contemplating how to answer. If I’m honest, I’ll tell him that I am a big dating fraud. Or worse, I could end up telling him that I’m an orally fixated woman who has already licked his abs, bit his arms, his shoulders, and now I am thinking of how much I would like to get my mouth on his dick.
Both scenarios would make me all sorts of wrong, but “right” just seems the opposite direction I’d like to go at the present moment. Still—
“Autumn, I want to know what’s making your pupils dilate, your nipples harden, your face flush, and your eyes twinkle.”
It’s hard to look at him and not get swept up. His eyes are hypnotic, and so is everything about him. “You.”
He narrows his eyes. “I know you have rules—I’ve already told you how I feel about them—but I promise that nothing between us tonight will go any further than you want.”
“Which is where the problem lays,” I admit.
His blue eyes shine, the heat in them undeniable. They are dancing like blue, sensuous flames. “You don’t trust yourself with me?”
He’s not wrong, so I shake my head slowly back and forth.
“I bought you a drink, we’re dancing under a thousand stars, listening to”—he pauses and smiles—“a decent band currently slaughtering Adele.”
I grin. “Always a wrong move to try to cover her music, if you ask me.”
He smirks and bites his lower lip, which is distracting as hell, as he looks me over before stating, “She’s the queen.”
“She is.”
His response is fast, his voice deep. “Let me make you feel like one.”
Dear God, I think as I moan inwardly.
I nod and whisper, “Okay.”
His eyes widen, and he steps back. “You sure about this?”
“No expectations,” I state.
He counters, “No regrets.” Then he leans in, and I close my eyes, expecting a kiss, What I get is a firm kiss to my forehead as he exhales slowly and whispers. However, the loud music, paired with my heart beating so hard that I’m sure he can hear it—I can sure as hell feel its pulse … everywhere—I’m sure I must have heard him wrong, because what I thought I heard him say is, “I’m so glad I came back.”
He removes his hands from my hips and cups the sides of my face gently, angling it up as he traces my jawline with his thumb then across my lower lip. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
Any other time a man has said that to me, I knew it was pretty words tossed at me to get laid. But the fact is, I know how damn good I look right now—it was a lot of work. And as it turns out, I am ecstatic to have put in the effort. Although, with him, it’s not just the words; it’s the way he looks at me with resounding need. That’s something I have never experienced.
“We.” I smile. “We are so fucking gorgeo—”
He crashes his lips against mine, and I open to him, allowing him to quell his hunger that’s as ravenous as a lion’s.
As he pushes his tongue inside my mouth, I open wider to him, wanting him deeper inside of me. As his tongue caresses mine, I can’t help wrapping my lips around it and sucking on it. As he groans and fists my hair with one hand, the other still holds my cheek gently.
I allow my hands to leave his shoulder, run up his neck, and over his dark blond, almost brown, thick hair until my fingers reach the wavy locks at the top of his head and tangle in them.
Pulling back, he chuckles deeply then sucks in his lower lip while his beautiful blue eyes search mine. I hope they give the answer, the acceptance he seems to be seeking.
He nods once, just once … before sliding his hand down my face, my neck, my shoulder, down my arm, until he reaches my hand. When he links our fingers together, he releases my hair.
“Do you need to say goodbye to your friend, Ang? If yes, I’d
appreciate you doing me a solid and walking directly in front of me.”
“I’ll wave. We’re staying together, so I’ll see her later,” I lie. We actually have separate arrangements, but one can never be too careful.
He nods. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
I turn my back to him and am the one to take his hands this time, crossing them over my waist as we make our way to the door.
“I forgot my purse and my sweater at the bar. Give me a minute and—”
“I got it.” He kisses the back of my head then walks back inside through the open doors and toward the bar. Apparently, he’s no longer worried about his bulge.
I look toward Angela and hold up my phone, letting her know I will be sharing my location with her, and then I point to Eric.
She smiles and gives me an approving look. And then I take the few steps it takes to get to … Prince Eric.
As we walk out the door, him behind me, hands around my waist, I look back at him. “You want me to take my purse?”
“The good thing about wearing black ninety-nine percent of the time”—he winks—“is everything matches. This red bag looks good on me.”
I can’t help laughing, and he kisses the back of my head as he chuckles.
Letting go of one of my hands, he steps to my side as he reaches in his pocket, grabs his keys from it, and slows down as he hits a button on the key fob while leading me around the passenger side of his vehicle.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“I thought we were going to grab a bottle of Dom and—”
“It’s beautiful here.” I look up at the stars because, while looking at him, his eyes, his sexy smile, and the way he looks at me, and the way I feel more admired from that look than I have from those I’ve been on third dates with, I’m not sure I wouldn’t allow him to lead me wherever he wanted to take me.
He chuckles and loosens his hold on me. “I promised a lady a decent glass of champagne.”
“I think I’ve had enough.” I turn and look at him now.
His eyes are reading me again. When they narrow, I brace myself for something, but I don’t get what I was expecting.
“I can tell you’re apprehensive about getting into my vehicle, but a promise is a promise.” He hits another button, and the back gate opens. Then he kisses the back of my head, drops my hand, and walks around the back of his Land Rover.