by Nella Tyler
When we got outside and I looked for his car, I didn't see it. He pointed toward a sleek, long, black car near one end of the parking lot. A limo? I glanced up at him in question.
"My driver, Steve, is going to chauffeur us around tonight. You mind?"
I shook my head. "Not at all." I had never ridden in a limousine. Boy, another experience to add to my list. Once we were seated in the back of the limo, I sank into the comfortable leather seats, casting my fingers lightly over leather. A divider offered privacy between the rear of the limo driver. Two long seats ran the length of each side of the car, and in the bottom portion of the divider was a wet bar. It was already open and lit with the dull glow of tiny blue LED lights, displaying a number of bottles and glass of different sizes and shapes.
"Would you like a cocktail before we get to the restaurant?"
I looked over the liquor bottles and spied a white wine. "I'll have a glass of wine," I nodded. I watched as he deftly reached for the bottle of Riesling, carefully opened the cork, and poured the wine into a tall, fluted glass, but only halfway full. He looked at me and grinned.
"We're going to start with halvsies, okay?"
I laughed and agreed. He poured himself about a half-inch of Jack Daniels into a round shot glass. Tapping the glasses, he offered a brief toast.
"To the most beautiful girl in Atlantic City…my Queen of Hearts."
I smiled and then nodded graciously with the complement. We rode in comfortable silence for several minutes, and then the car slowed and pulled into a long driveway. I couldn't quite catch the name of the restaurant marquis, but it looked fancy, if the brick, the trailing ivy growing up its side, and the number of brilliantly lit windows gave any clue.
I was right. As we walked inside through a side door, I realized just by looking, that this was an expensive restaurant. The aromas floating through the air smelled delicious. The minute the maître d' saw Ben, and he approached and gestured for us to follow him. We were escorted to a private room where a table was gloriously set with shimmering crystal glasses, fine china, and heavy silver flatware.
Ben helped me into my chair and then sat down in his.
"I hope you don't mind, but I have already ordered dinner for the two of us. It should be ready in just a few minutes."
He then reached for the bottle of champagne on ice that had been left on a side table. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, and I nodded. "Okay, I'll have a glass, since we’ll be eating soon." I had to be careful not to drink too much, remembering what had happened the last time I had done that. I didn't really want a repeat…did I?
While I didn't know what kind of food been ordered, I was sure it wasn't going to be meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I just hoped it wasn't something like caviar or escargot or so-called delicacy like that. I also didn't like a lot of seafood. I could eat fish, but not shellfish. Come to think of it, shouldn't he have asked me if I was allergic to anything before he ordered?
"You're not allergic to any foods, are you?"
The question startled me. Sometimes I got the distinct feeling that Ben could read my mind. "No, but please don't tell me you ordered any shellfish."
"No," he said shaking his head. He offered a slight frown of distaste. "I don't like the rubbery texture of many types of shellfish."
I smiled. "Me, either."
Before long, two servers appeared in the private room carrying platters of food. A lovely garden salad was placed beside each of us, along with a small decanter of what looked like balsamic vinegar to dribble on top of it. Then, our plates were placed down in front of us. I looked at it and surprise, then up at Ben, who grinned.
"I got the impression that you were a meat and potatoes type of gal," he shrugged.
No, it wasn't meatloaf, but a thick slice of filet mignon and a baked potato, along with a side of French-cut almond green beans. The aroma of the steak and the potato wafted toward me, and for a moment I worried that my stomach would growl loudly in response.
"Medium rare okay for you?" he asked. "If you want it well done, they can take it back to the kitchen for another couple of minutes."
I glanced at him and then at the server, glancing down at me. "No, medium rare is just fine, just the way I like it." I turned to Ben. "Thank you."
"Would you like any sauce or condiments?" the server asked. “Steak sauce, mushroom sauce for the steak or potato?"
I looked up at her with a smile and shook my head. "No, thank you.” She asked the same of Ben and like me, he declined. Moments later, both servers left the room and we were once again left staring at one another.
"A woman after my own heart," he joked.
I didn't know what he meant and based on the expression on my face, he picked up on the question.
"I don't like to put anything on my meat," he commented with a shrug. "It drowns the taste."
For a moment, I wondered at his choice of words, and then I felt the heat of a blush rise into my cheeks. I glanced down, pretending to smooth the linen napkin I placed in my lap. Over the next half hour or so, we enjoyed our dinner, taking our time. It was delicious. The filet mignon practically melted in my mouth. Before I knew it, the bottle of champagne was empty, but with the meal, I didn't feel nearly as tipsy as I had the first time.
By the time the main course was finished, I felt pleasantly full. He asked me if I wanted any dessert and I shook my head. "Heavens no, I’ll pop!"
He laughed, and when the server appeared, he asked for the check. She returned moments later and he slipped a credit card onto the tray and immediately gave it back without even looking at the cost of the food. I wondered what it would be like to ever be able to do that.
While we waited for his bill to be processed, I saw him watching me. "What is it?" I finally asked. I had a feeling I knew what he wanted.
"Maggie, how about coming back to the house with me? Just for a little while. We don't have to drink any more if you don't want to. I just thought it might be a nice way to cap off the evening, give us a chance to get to know each other a little bit better. What do you say?"
Despite my brain telling me that I should decline, that I should thank him graciously for a wonderful dinner, I was tempted. As before, invitations like this didn't come along every day, and to a degree, Savannah was right. I should enjoy myself a little bit more. I didn't think there was anything wrong with a man buying me dinner. The fact that I had already been over to his house – mansion – made me feel a little self-conscious to decline. Finally, after thinking about it for about twenty seconds, I nodded.
"Okay, then, we can do that, but…"
He held up a hand and half-laughed. "I know, Maggie, no pressure. No strings."
The bill arrived and he signed his name. The servers left, thanking both of us and wishing us a nice evening. He slid the credit card back into his wallet and tucked it into his pants, and then pulled the cell phone from his pocket. He pressed a button on it and then spoke. "Can you pull around to the front, please?"
That was all there was. A brief request. Then the phone was back in his pocket and he stood from his chair and walked over to mine. He extended his hand down to me and I took it. Hand in hand, we walked out of the restaurant. The sounds of diners enjoying their food and families gathered together left me smiling. By the time we walked out the front door, evening had settled in. The city was aglow with lights. Seconds later, the shiny black limo pulled up to the front entrance, perfectly timed.
Ben waved a hand at the driver and opened the door himself, and allowed me to get inside and situated before he climbed in after me, sitting close on the soft, plush seat. In a matter of moments, we arrived back at his mansion. We didn't go out to the Jacuzzi this time, but instead walked into his formal living room, where I guess his servants, or someone, had set a large platter on the coffee table. The bottle of red wine and the two glasses beside it, along with a selection of crackers and cheeses looked inviting.
Before I knew it, I had downed yet another glass of red wi
ne. Once again, I lost count of what I had had to drink this evening. And again, I felt my barriers coming down. Before long, we were stepping hand in hand up the carpeted stairs to his bedroom. Ben carried the remainder of the bottle of wine and two wine glasses in one hand, the other wrapped around mine. To say I was a little tipsy would be an understatement, but I wasn't slurring or tripping over my feet. I felt sure that I had all my senses, and I wouldn't allow things to get too far out of hand this time.
To my surprise, we sat on the bed, side by side, while he situated the wine and the glasses on the bedside table. Then he looked at me, grinned, and reached for something along the headboard. Suddenly, I heard a low humming noise. The bed began to vibrate beneath me. My eyes widened and I giggled, looking at him and the mischievous grin he wore. I began to laugh.
"You have a vibrating bed?” I exclaimed. Now that was an experience. I sat on the bed, enjoying the sensations rushing through me. He poured me another glass of wine, and I drank it, probably much faster than I should have. My head began to swim, and I found myself leaning against Ben as we both continued to sit side-by-side on the vibrating bed. I began to giggle again and he laughed. I looked up at him, thinking to tell him that a vibrating bed was the last thing I expected from him, but the minute my eyes met his, I grew serious. Desire flamed inside me.
He kissed me. It was a gentle, non-demanding kiss. In a matter of seconds, I was returning it. I felt one of his hands cup my breast, his thumb rubbing over my nipple. The flame that had begun to burn deep in my belly grew. I knew I should stop now, back away, but the feelings running through me at this moment compelled me to continue. I placed my hand on his thigh, and then shifted my position a little bit. My fingers came in contact with his hard erection, extending down the inside leg of his left trouser leg. I heard a groan and realized it came from my own throat.
The kisses began gently at first, but then became more passionate, more insistent, and more desperate. Before I knew it, our tongues were wrestling with one another, and his hands were everywhere, as were mine. In a matter of seconds, I was divested of my top and bra, and his polo shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the side of the bed. I pressed against him, my breasts warm and squished up against his also warm yet hard chest. My nipples brushed against the hairs on his chest and instantly hardened. Oh my God.
His breath felt warm as he kissed my neck, leaving a trail of moistness behind as he trickled light kisses along its length. My hands wrapped around his shoulders, I leaned my head back to give him more access. He obliged. In the next moment or two, I felt his tongue trail down my neck, along the upper mound of my breast, and then lazily circled my nipple. I gasped when I felt him take the entire nipple into his mouth and began to suckle, his tongue lathing my nipple in slow, sensuous circles all the while. The fire in me grew hotter, more insistent. I wanted to feel his lips everywhere, and I pulled his head from my breast and then shamelessly prodded it toward the other.
Before I knew it, we were both naked, drunk, and the foreplay had turned into something quite a bit more serious. My pussy was on fire, my internal muscles clenching with desire, if as they themselves could compel him lower. His tongue left my breasts and worked its way down my belly, then my lower abdomen. I urged them between my legs, where his lips lathed, circled and suckled my most private of parts and then my clitoris in a passionate, slow, and exquisitely delicious massage with his more than gifted and magical tongue.
Then, just as I felt the waves of ecstasy building, casting me toward a crescendo of feeling, he briefly lifted himself away from me, long enough to lunge upward and reach into the bedside table, open a packet that contained a condom, and slide it on to his hard penis. Then, which another few seconds of focused attention on the center of my being, with my knees spread wide and my hand grasping his head, he lifted himself up again, balanced his weight on his forearms and then plunged deep inside me. He filled me in an instant and propelled me beyond control.
No awkwardness. After all, this is what I wanted, wasn't it? This is what he wanted, as well. We rocked in unison for several intense moments and then I relinquished myself to the most intense orgasm. He followed suit only seconds later. For the first time in my life, I made love to a man without any sense of hesitance, but with complete honesty.
*
When I opened my eyes, light was just skimming into the bedroom windows. Like before, I felt a surge of startled awareness when I realized I wasn't in my own bedroom. I was at Ben's house – again. My head pounded, much like it had the first time, but this time I didn't feel any sense of panic or embarrassment. I moved my head and immediately moaned, the movement sending a slash of pain across my temples. By my side, Ben opened his eyes, stared at me, and then hissed, grabbing his own head.
"Is your hangover as bad as mine?" he whispered.
I had to smile. "I think so," I whispered back.
"I'll have some coffee made pretty soon," he said. “That should make us both feel a little better."
I didn't say anything, trying to assess my feelings. I had definitely consumed too much alcohol again last night, a regular habit it seemed I was developing with Ben, but I wasn't in quite a bit of a state of anxiety as I had been the first time. Yes, I was a little upset with myself for letting go with such vigor, but then, when I recalled – and this time I did recall more, I realized that I had had a good time. I had given him just as much pleasure as he'd given me. I was a consenting adult, and so was he. There was nothing wrong with that.
So this time, instead of fleeing his house like I was guilty of something, I lay in bed next to him. I felt slightly nauseous, no doubt about that, but it was nothing that I couldn't deal with. We lay side by side, touching, our fingers entwined. I felt rather surprised and amazed by the fact that I didn't immediately feel the need to flee. This was the most intimate that I had ever been with a man in a very long time. Sex was one thing, but actually staying together after the sun was up was something entirely new and different since my divorce.
He rose from the bed, quickly wrapped a bathrobe around him, and tied the belt at his waist. He disappeared through the bedroom door, closing it softly behind him. I knew he was going downstairs to talk to his kitchen staff. He returned moments later, telling me that the cook was preparing some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, as well as good, strong, black coffee.
I didn't even feel embarrassed that someone else knew I was up here. He climbed back beneath the sheets, and we just spooned for a while until we heard the discreet knock on the door. Once again he climbed from between the sheets, still gloriously naked. I watched as he wrapped the bathrobe around his wonderfully tanned, strong, well-formed body a second time, and then he walked to the door and opened it. I sank down into the bed, pulling the sheets up close to my chin. I resisted the urge to throw the sheets up over my face. No, I had more dignity than that.
I might be prone to dive under diner tables when surprised, but I would be damned if I acted embarrassed in Ben's own house, in his own bed, in front of his house help. In a matter of seconds, he carried the tray into the room while the cook or whoever that had been, closed the door. He placed the tray at the foot of the bed. Carefully, I sat up, keeping the sheet pressed against my breasts. While my stomach did an uncertain somersault at the first smell of the scrambled eggs and coffee, I realized that I needed food.
Ben arranged the food while I sat back on the bed, plumping a pillow behind my back and the headboard. He placed a cup of coffee and a small glass of orange juice on the bedside table next to me, and did the same for himself. Then, he passed me a plate of scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast and sat down beside me with his own plate.
We ate in silence for several moments, and then, finished with his food, he turned to me. I didn't finish mine, but I'd had enough. My stomach felt little more settled now.
"Maggie, let's make a pact," he suggested.
A pact? "What do you mean?"
"Let's make a pact to not let on that we’re togethe
r while I’m at the casino."
By his words "together" did he mean that we were dating? Were we exclusive? I had no idea. Still, I felt it was a good idea. It seemed as if he understood as well as I now that it would be a good idea to keep our personal and professional lives separate. It certainly would take a lot of the worry off of me. With a smile, I agreed.
*
The following week passed without much incident. Things seemed to be going well. Ben acted supremely respectful of me when I was at work and didn't bother me anymore, or flirt with me, or in any way let on that we had a somewhat-relationship away from the casino. Before he left his mansion the other morning, he had simply asked me if he could see me on my days off. I hadn't answered right away, and he didn’t push it.
A couple of days ago on one of my days off, he'd taken me to the zoo. Yet again, he was showing me another side of himself. It turned out that we both enjoyed the outdoors and loved animals. I never would've expected it from someone who lived his luxurious lifestyle. It made me wonder what he must have been like growing up.
Our relationship blossomed, one day at a time. The zoo trip had been a unique change of pace from the restaurants and the casino, only two places that we had really spent any time together – out of his bedroom, at least. I felt extremely comfortable around him. He was so laid-back, so casual, and yet he was incredibly attentive to me and any of my needs.
The day had been wonderful, and I couldn't have asked for anything better. I was letting my guard down with him, accepting him for who he was. After our day at the zoo, pleasantly tired and stuffed with hot dogs, churros, and popcorn, we returned to his mansion.
I wasn't expecting anything other than to perhaps enjoy a glass of wine, but then I wanted to go home. I didn't want our relationship to move forward too fast. To my surprise, when we got into his house, he took me to a room that I had never been in before. It was a short distance down the hall from the foyer, with two double doors that had, before now, always been locked. He opened them and stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. I stepped into a room that made my eyes widen in surprise.