by Emma Quinn
On our lunch, he regaled me with stories about a musician who everybody believed was such a jerk. He was a newcomer to the scene and young, to boot. His reputation preceded him everywhere—the guy was a jerk and was just as likely to insult you and walk away as to give you an autograph. It didn’t matter to him that you’d just dropped a hundred dollars or more to come see his show. He actually lost a lot of fans for a while. But his music was good, and within the year, his fanbase was bigger than before.
“But the guy’s a real softie, I swear it. He’s shy as hell around girls, too. He told me the bad attitude was only an act. Since his music is heavy and sometimes dark, he thought he should act that way to make it all seem more like a way of life for him. Record sales reflect his correctness in that assumption, too.”
“That explains a lot about men, actually. Thank you for that wonderfully enlightening story.” I waggled my eyebrows at him, grinning.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, have you forgotten our first few meetings?” I laughed but waited for his reply.
Dropping his head, he scoffed. “Nope, not yet, I haven’t. But that’s not what I was doing.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed hard at his backpedaling.
“No! I don’t have a band or a dark on-stage persona to advertise and build up.” He smirked.
“So, you’re telling me that you were just being a jerk to be a jerk. Because you wanted to be a jerk? Am I right?” I could barely hold back the laughter and my eyes watered from it.
“No!” He groaned and threw his hands up, laughing. “Whatever. I’m not arguing with you. You win too often.”
We both cackled laughter, drawing my father’s attention from the hallway. He stuck his head in the doorway. “Everything all right in here?” His smile was wary as he eyed us.
Giving him a thumbs up sign, I nodded. “Yep. I was just in the process of winning another argument.”
Daddy grinned at Dylan. “She’s good at those, son. I’d choose my battles very wisely with her, if I were you.” He ducked back out of the room and disappeared around a corner.
We laughed even harder.
“He probably thinks we’re nuts.” Dylan straightened up and tried to stifle his laughter.
“No, he knows it by now. He hasn’t heard me laughing like that since Mama got sick, I guess. It probably just shocked him.”
Without warning, Dylan leaned farther onto his elbows, put his hand over my forearm on the table and looked deep into my eyes. His expression had gone totally sober.
“Would you like to come over to the house tonight? Or, maybe another night? We could watch a movie, you could teach me to cook something, I don’t know, whatever you want.” He looked hopeful.
Put on the spot, I stammered. Recalling the morning ritual of wrapping up my feelings for him, I sputtered and looked anywhere but at him.
He chuckled and let go of my arm. “Should I take that as a yes?”
With my entire defense system down from all the laughter, I nodded before I realized I meant to do anything at all. Then I heard myself say, “That would be great,” in a breathy voice.
But would it be great? Had I just sounded like a teenage girl whose crush just noticed her for the first time? Ugh! I was slightly disgusted with myself and cleared my throat as I looked away and heat rose to my face. Part of me was, of course, elated. The other part of me, the sensible part, was shocked at my own reaction to his invitation.
If he had any doubt about how you felt before, I thought, he definitely doesn’t now.
“So, it’s a go for tonight? After work? You could follow me there,” he stammered a moment and then rushed on, “or I could take you and bring you back for your car. I mean, eleven is a little late to be driving roads you might not be familiar with.”
I shook my head, which was still spinning. “No, no. I’ll follow you. It’ll be fine.”
“All right.” He breathed deeply and let out a long breath, chuckling nervously.
I was glad I wasn’t the only one feeling a bit anxious about what had just transpired between us. Relaxing a bit, I smiled up at him, admiring his handsome face that seemed chiseled to perfection. The best part about his looks was that he was mostly unaware of his good looks. If he was aware of them, and their effect on me, he was good at keeping it hidden. He could be a little vain sometimes, but it was when he was being funny, making a joke, not while he was being serious. After hanging with celebs and models, I found that amazing.
We went back to work, and I tried to avoid his eye contact until quitting time. I didn’t want my father to pick up on the fact that I was going to follow the boss’ son home after work. He would worry and would likely give me a fatherly lecture that I really didn’t think was necessary.
Had Dylan asked me over to his place weeks prior, I would have flat-out refused. I would have worried about his intentions at that time, but not after getting to know him. We had made some sort of weird connection. It was especially pronounced when we talked about our mothers.
It was an odd night at his house. I was nervous and so was he. Admittedly, he handled the situation with a bit more sophistication than I did, but I had little experience with guys, and zero experience with super-sexy, hot, rich guys like Dylan.
Surprisingly, he didn’t push me to have sex. That had been my biggest cause for anxiety—I mean, really ladies, you all know the stress of working a shift and meeting your man right after without having a chance to shower and change clothes. Yeah. Not fun. Especially if you think he’s going to want to jump in the sack, right?
We finally calmed down when he suggested a movie. It was an old movie, black-and-white, a true chick-flick kind of thing that I cannot recall the name of. Truthfully, I wasn’t interested in the movie, it simply gave me something to focus on other than how nice the house was, how close Dylan was sitting to me—I could feel the heat off his thigh burning through my jeans; it was almost as effective as if his hand had been caressing me—and how far from my place I was. Not to mention the back-of-my-mind worries like getting my next project done and how much sleep I was going to lose.
9
Dylan
W
as I nervous about inviting Emily to the house? Hell, yes! Honestly, though, it was getting lonely at the house. Remember, I was accustomed to having people around me all the time, and someone in my bed most nights. Not that I missed those exact people, but I did miss having people around to talk to, I guess.
The only person I had found in my new lifestyle that I really enjoyed talking to and being near was Emily. I thought I was developing some stronger feelings for her than mere friendship, too. So, it was natural to want to ask her over and just sort of see how things went from there.
After that first really, super-awkward night, we became more at ease around each other. We laughed easier at work, and we flirted a lot. That was great. Ladies and gentlemen, I urge you to keep in mind the power of flirting. From the strictly innocent flirting that holds no real promise of sexual fulfillment to the extreme flirting where each party knows there will definitely, at some point in the near future, be a sexual fulfillment, flirting makes the world go ’round. It boosts your self-image and self-awareness, and it definitely makes the days, or nights go by faster. It also adds a bit of intrigue to an otherwise dull situation—such as at work. And it must be done appropriately for the situation with both parties consenting to it, or it’s called harassment. That’s something no one needs or wants.
In our case, Emily and I were definitely on the same page. We both loved to flirt. I would have never guessed that about her from our first encounter until it began happening. It was a natural progression in our relationship.
She came to my place much more often than I went to hers. That was fine with me. She seemed to enjoy our time together. Sometimes we cooked together—well, being honest, she cooked, and I helped. She called me the sexiest sous chef in California. Other times, we went for coffee or a meal before w
ork, a walk in the park, or watched a movie together after work. It was turning into a great time in my life.
Happier than I could ever remember being, I never missed a chance to be with her. We weren’t having sex, even though I wanted her so badly that it made me crazy, but we were happy. I tried not to impinge on her study-time. Becoming a surgeon was something I was in awe about, and that she actually took the time to be with me was amazing. I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the newfound and ever-deepening connection between us. I had been around the block enough times to know that sex will come naturally in a relationship. There was no need to push her or make her uncomfortable just to get laid.
One Saturday we spent the entire day together. We had gone to the beach for a while and then went to a park where there were fewer people. That evening, I took her to dinner. Not at a fancy restaurant, as per her request, it was a nice, quiet, romantic little restaurant where the food was delicious, service was excellent, and the price was quite low. I would never have gone there on my own. With the food being so cheap, I would have expected much lower quality. It was a real eye-opening experience for me, and Emily loved it.
That evening, as we sat watching an Avengers movie, I found out what a total geek she was about the superhero universe. And she found out what a sap I was for old black and white movies. As she laughed, her beauty tripled, and my heart clutched. That wasn’t the only thing that was moved by her sexiness, let me tell you.
I could take it no longer; I had to have my hands on her and hers on me. The wine we had shared had heated my blood as surely as it had relaxed her. I leaned close and kissed her. She returned the kiss with equal fervor. That only fanned the flames of desire. Not wanting to scare her off, but still wanting to completely ravage her, I held myself in check. I let my hands roam slowly, giving her time to stop me, if she wanted to.
Thankfully, it seemed that she was okay with it, and I continued. Kneading her pliant, warm flesh through her clothes was nothing compared to the moment my hand slipped under her blouse to the skin of her stomach. Everything in me seemed to come to a halt. It had been forever since I had felt a woman’s skin under my bare palm, it seemed.
We didn’t go all the way that night. I could feel that she was still nervous about it, but I did my best to give her a hint of all I would do for her if she ever had the urge to let me.
With the make-out session at an end, I was uncomfortably hard and tried to shift so it wasn’t so noticeable, but there’s no hiding that, I guess.
As she was getting ready to call it a night, she tiptoed and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Soon, Dylan.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her body against mine, kissing me again.
My arms slipped around her waist and I pulled her tighter against me, relishing the feel of her. She wriggled sexily against my erection, causing me to moan. Then she stepped back, cheeks flushed, eyes clear, lips moist. The picture of perfection. The low lighting gave her an almost ethereal glow.
She smiled and bit her full lower lip between her teeth as she let her gaze rove over me, slowing just below my waist. My body reacted as if she had physically touched me, and goose bumps washed over me causing my fine hairs to stand up.
“I don’t want to rush it, Dylan; it’ll happen soon, though.” She grinned and nibbled at her lower lip again.
Nodding, I shoved a hand into my pocket and reached for the door with the other. “That’s fine, Em. Really, I’m in no hurry,” I lied.
She laughed and looked down at my hand shoved into my pocket. “No, I can see that. It’s very…obvious that you’re in no hurry whatsoever.”
“Ha! You are so funny. You laugh at my pain.” I faked a hurt look.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be over around noon. Okay?” She grinned with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes.
“I’ll be right here. I might even have Chinese takeout ready when you get here.”
Laughing, she bounced down the sidewalk to her car, and I shut the door, groaning loudly at my predicament. No woman had left me hanging like that in years. Hell, most of the women in my life had been just as eager to jump in bed with me as I was with them. Honestly, though…I didn’t mind. My body made it known that it did not like the new experience, but there was always the next day.
If I didn’t read her wrong, the next day would put an end to my physical misery.
Emily
I
knew the day had been coming for some time. The sexual tension between us had been building steadily over the last couple weeks. When we made out on his couch, I was so ready to strip and beg him to take me that I was ashamed afterward. I didn’t realize what a wanton little thing I had become. But I had also had a few glasses of wine beforehand.
And that’s what stopped me.
Never did I want to ever have that old cliché to fall back on. Oh, but I was drunk, and I didn’t know what I was doing. Nope. When Dylan and I finally had sex, I wanted both of us to be perfectly sober. I wanted to be able to recall any and all details afterward.
I had heard so many girls who talked about having wild sex and not being able to remember any of it—only the soreness the next day let them know they must have had a good time and enjoyed it. I thought that was super idiotic, and a bit disturbing, for guys and girls. I mean, who wouldn’t want to remember it later?
True to his word, Dylan had Chinese takeout ready when I arrived the following day. I had hardly slept at all. Throughout the previous night, I had dwelled on how excited he had been before I left his house.
From what I could feel through his jeans, and that was a lot, he was very well endowed. Not that it’s a bad thing, but it does give a girl pause sometimes. I imagine a lot more women have anxiety over the possibility of pain than admit it. Hey, I don’t care a bit to admit I was worried about it.
I wasn’t just thinking about the physical pain it might cause me, I was thinking about the possibility that if I let it show, it might ruin the whole thing for both of us.
Even while we were eating, well, he was eating, I was nibbling, every possible embarrassing scenario in the universe played out in my head.
I needn’t have worried, though.
After lunch, Dylan kissed me. He pulled me close so I could feel his erection against my lower belly. I moaned against his lips, unable to stop myself. My fingers were in his hair, pulling his mouth tighter against mine. His tongue slipped between my lips, and I was instantly wet with desire.
His hands were large, strong, and warm against my flesh as he found my bra and expertly unhooked it. With one hand, he squeezed my breast, with the other, my ass. His kiss deepened.
I wanted him inside me; I wanted him to ravage me. It was a side of myself I was just being introduced to. Hello, wanton harlot, I’m Emily. How are you?
Apparently, she had no time for small talk. I pushed his shirt up. Reluctantly, and swiftly, he leaned back and yanked it over his head with one hand. Hooking a finger into the waistband of his jeans, I guided him toward the bedroom behind me, anxious to unleash what I had been feeling hot and hard against me.
At the foot of the bed, he held me at arms’ length, staring into my soul with those jade eyes. After a second, I leaned back toward him, wanting more of his kisses, wanting his hands back on my skin, but he stepped back. I started to protest.
He shook his head at me and snagged the bottom of my shirt. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he pulled it up over my head and off my fingertips finally. Then he hooked his thumbs under my bra straps and pulled them off my shoulders in the same fashion. Gooseflesh covered me and my nipples stood out hard and erect. I know the effect was caused by his intense stare, the way his gaze moved over me, appreciating every curve, that sent the chill over my skin.
He undid my jeans and then gently pushed me back to the bed. Soon, I was naked in his sight.
Hovering over me, one hand on either side of my head, his broad, muscled shoulders blocking the light, he kissed me gentler than I had ever
imagined he would. The tenderness aroused me more, and instinctively, my legs spread, welcoming him.
He stood, admiring my body as he took off his own pants. Did he ache with longing as I did, I wondered? He stood straight again. His body was superb. His muscles were ripped into shape as if he worked out a lot. His stomach was taut, and I could see his six-pack abs. He didn’t look like Mr. Olympia, but that was good, I didn’t like the over-bulging muscles of workout freaks. I much preferred a nice, toned, healthy body just like the one I was looking at.
My eyes bulged, and there was a moment of fear as I saw just how large his penis was. Then, he was lying between my legs, his erection throbbing against my crotch as he kissed and nibbled his way from my navel to my breast. All thought, all worry, all anxiety immediately vanished.
He nibbled at my earlobe, and I moaned and writhed under him. I whispered, “Take me, Dylan. Take me.”
He pulled back, looking down at me, the desire in his eyes setting my insides to quivering. He crushed my mouth under his next kiss and slid a hand under my hips to lift me toward him. “There’s no turning back from this point. Are you absolutely—”
I rocked my hips up and forward, feeling him spread me and stopped. His moan was sexy and enticing.
Nodding once, I said, “I’m sure.”
Afterward, we lay on our backs completely spent. We both panted to catch our breath. His body, covered in sweat, gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the beige sheers on the window. It made it seem as if his skin glowed, as if it were illuminated from within. I could imagine that I had just made love to a god straight out of old Greek mythology.
When we had both floated back to the bed, letting reality sink in, we cuddled, and he flipped a sheet over us. Fully satisfied—mentally and physically, I was unable to stop smiling. With my head against his chest, his steady, strong heartbeat lulled me to sleep within a few minutes.