by Kate Messick
“You probably want to see me covered in your own jizz,” I say skeptically, ruining his romantic words. It’s what I’m good at.
“I do.” Dillon ignores my skepticism and replaces it with bold honesty. “But only if you want it to. And not tonight. Tonight, we just enjoy each other.”
This time he bends down as he pulls off my pants and under garments. I use his head to stabilize myself and pull my feet free. Dillon stays on his knees as he traces a line of kisses up one of my thighs and down the other.
I look at the top of his head and then glance around at the mirrors. I’m standing, my legs slightly apart, my small breasts swollen with foreplay. He kisses his way up my legs and then buries his face in my black carpet. I still have my hands buried in his hair and I trace them down the back of his neck as his tongue explores my opening.
He doesn’t go for my clit right away, and his slow build is maddening. That long tongue prods my opening, and swirls. I feel my legs tremble and bend as his head bobs up and down, his hands kneading my thighs and knees, whatever they can reach. I bend to increase the pressure and he grips the inside of my thighs, pushing up before relaxing his grip and removing his long tongue.
He wipes the moisture off his face before guiding me backward toward the bed. Kisses are peppered over my stomach, my nipples, and then trail back down. I arch up as he blows on my clit and licks. I find myself staring up at a mirror. Blonde hair pulses in time with the pleasure that he continues to gift me. My hands press my own breasts and I bite my lower lip.
Dillon mouth slows and then stops, his voice husky with passion. “Enjoying the one on the ceiling?”
“I was until you said something,” I hate that lustful waver that comes into my voice during sex.
“Then it’s my turn.” With more assertiveness then I knew Dillon was capable of, he lies on his back and pulls me astride him. My core slides across his length and I can’t stop my hips as I grind my clit into his erection, my body falling forward to give myself a better angle. He cups my breasts and his thumbs gently flick my nipples. I moan and sit up straight as I position his throbbing cock underneath me. Slowly, I sheath myself, flexing my muscles as I go down.
When I’m sheathed, I look down at Dillon just to see him looking past me, at the mirror. I don’t move for a moment and look up myself. As I do, Dillon’s hands move to my hips, encouraging. I’m slow at first; one of my hands dangles behind me and I brush Dillon’s balls with it. His low moan encourages me and I do it again as his hips move faster. I match his rhythm for a time, but this is not doing much for me. I let my body rock forward again and claim his lips, and slow us down.
I roll myself forward so my sensitive nub meets his base with each stroke. Involuntary moans escape me as a double sensations take over my mind. Dillon’s hands wander along my sides, my chest, anything he can reach, and I speed us up. His body underneath me matches my movements. The bed begins to shake as my speed becomes desperate chasing that final hill. My orgasm takes me in a rush and I open my eyes, and watch my own body shudder, my honeypot pulsing around Dillon’s unsated erection.
His blue eyes don’t seem to blink as he watches me shudder. As I start to relax, without removing himself, he rolls me onto my back and presses as deeply into me as he can once, twice … faster and faster, and then with a grunt and a shudder he releases inside of me.
We stay like that, just us and our many reflections, before Dillon pulls out and wraps me in his arms. The assertive, kinky man I was just riding, turned pussy cat once again.
“Dillon, your comforter.” I can feel juices leaking onto his bedding.
“It’s a top sheet,” he says easily. “It’s actually a top sheet with a plastic bottom, made just for sex.”
“That’s a thing?” I ask, surprised.
“So many things are a thing.” Dillon cuddles into me even further. “I can’t wait to share them all with you.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Reality, Commander’s Formal Dance, Aurora
The event room of most chain hotels looks similar. The walls are lined with fancy trim and subtly patterned wallpaper, the carpets are neutral, short and easy to clean. A temporary dance surface has been tacked to half the room and a raised platform has space for a speaker and live music.
Sandy Yuhi
I stand awkwardly in Joe’s bedroom as he looks me over. He makes a twirling motion with his hand and I slowly spin, my skirt swirling just behind my motion.
“You look incredible, Sandy.” His voice is warm as he strolls over and envelops me in a hug.
I feel pretty incredible. I turn to the big mirrors Joe’s friend's house has. Color comes to my cheeks as a vivid memory of Dillon and mirrors comes to mind; I push it away.
I took a half day off to get my hair and make-up done professionally. My black locks are curled in ways I couldn’t even imagine and piled on top of my head. My skin if flawless and my eyes look big, outlined in black and various shadows. They even waxed my eyebrows and shaped them. The dress has been tailored to fit me perfectly and for once my ability to not wear a bra swings to my advantage. A low V is cut into both the front and the back of the dress The top is fitted down the waist but then has layers of skirt, almost like a tail, starting at the top of my butt and curling around, getting thicker until my feet are lost in the layers. I have never worn anything like this in my life. I hate to say it, but I do look incredible.
“It needs one more thing,” Joe says.
I brought a selection of my jewelry and I start to fetch it, but Joe brings out a box first, stopping my movement. “You’ve already bought me too much.” Guilt burns my stomach. I still haven’t talked to Joe about sleeping with Dillon. This is something you would buy for a serious partner, not me. Joe must be able to see it on my face, he shakes his head.
“You slept with Dillon,” he says. “I know. You have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m a bachelor making six figures. I literally spend my money on role-playing manuals, gym memberships, and toys. I know you have them memorized so you don’t need them, but a new copy of the Dungeon Masters Guide costs more than your dress!”
“You have to be exaggerating.” I laugh.
“A little,” he nods. “Now, open that box.”
“Yes sir!” The box has a bow tied around it, but I open it slowly anyway, just to watch Joe squirm. And then I gasp. Inside is a set of jewelry, and not just any set – a set of glass butterflies and hearts.
Joe takes the necklace and connects it behind my neck. The delicate silver chain is almost invisible; the little silver heart has an askew butterfly on the front of it, blue with flecks of silver, and it hangs just above my breasts. The earrings are asymmetrical, one of them the butterfly from the necklace, the other the heart. They also dangle off delicate chains.
“Now, you are perfect,” he affirms.
I wrap my arms around his neck and Joe lifts me up like I weigh nothing, and plants a light kiss on my lips. I press for more, but Joe laughs and sets me down. “Later, when smudging your make-up won’t matter.”
I wrinkle my nose but acquiesce. His phone rings and he has a brief conversation while I check myself over in the mirror one more time, and then eye Joe. He is wearing his formal military uniform. He looks sharp, though nothing like the mussed slightly disheveled Joe I’m used to. His hair is slicked back, his hat tucked under one arm, and shoes polished to a shine. He has a collection of bits on his chest that he explained to me, in part so I can be on the lookout for his superiors.
I had no idea the military still had such a rigid class structure. His one night to show off and he picked me to help him. I just hope I don’t stick my foot in my mouth.
I now know I hate networking. I hate it.
I might look amazing, but I lost track of names and faces an hour ago. Joe has had to step on my feet a few times to keep me from insulting someone I didn’t agree with. And there are a lot of those. Joe, on the other hand, is a beast. He knows everyone, is polite, and his mem
ory for personal details is mind-boggling. Even subjects I know he feels passionately about are danced around and politely commented on.
My wine glass has been out for what feels like forever when finally Joe notices it’s empty and steers us toward a bar in the corner.
“We have to buy our own drinks?” I say, surprised.
“The military is on a budget too,” he chuckles. “But I think the finger food is circulating. We must just be in the wrong area.”
I don’t respond, I would love some finger food, but I’m terrified to get anything on this dress.
“Joe?” A new voice asks.
I take a deep, calming breath.
“Paul,” Joe answers warmly. “Just the person I wanted to see. Sandy, this is Paul. Paul is the person who passed your name up to Lido’s for an interview.”
“Paul,” I say brightly, honestly pleased for the first time. “It’s so wonderful to meet you.”
I shake his hand firmly and with much more confidence than I was displaying as Joe’s arm candy.
“Likewise,” he responds. “Mind if I join you in line?”
We make room and, to my joy, Joe brings up the topic of technological advancement through the eyes of the military, a topic I had just been reading about. The line moves too fast compared to my enjoyment of the conversation. Paul seems to specialize in new tech and has a lot to say. I feel like I have made a good first impression as he leaves us with his own drinks to return to his wife.
“And that’s how It’s done,” Joe says. “We need to work on your arm-candy skills.”
“I’m doing great, right?”
“You look great,” he replies.
“Hey.” I take a polite sip of white wine. Damn my worry about getting anything on the dress.
“I know this is a new situation for you,” he explains. “But when I introduce you to people, instead of spacing-out, listen in. If the man has a date with him, engage her separately, unless she seems interested in the topic at hand. And if I’m speaking with a woman in uniform and it’s her husband in a suit, stay glued to my side and pretend everything that’s coming out of my mouth is liquid gold.”
“Why?” I snort.
“Because,” he says seriously. “The last thing I want is to be remembered by a superior as the guy whose date spent the evening flirting with her husband. So just be extra safe.”
“Right. This is real, isn’t it?”
Joe pinches my behind and I yelp, drawing the attention of a few people around us.
“I’m going to be blunt here,” he says. “Your people skills are bad. That job we’ve talked about? It’s going to be with the people in this room. I don’t want you to be nervous, but that chat you had with Paul is your first interview. I know it looks like everyone is having fun, and they are, but networking is essential in this field.”
“I thought my mom made all that stuff up,” I say quietly. Had she really gotten Dad his promotions? I just assumed she’d made herself sound more important than she really was.
Joe gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I suddenly feel very nervous, like panic-attack nervous. I hadn’t even decided if I wanted Joe’s job offer yet and I’ve already had my first interview. It’s not just a job, it’s a career, a future … but what if it doesn’t make me happy? Forgetting the dress, I take a very large gulp of wine. I need to stay calm.
“Finish your wine,” he tells me. I hold up the empty glass; my hand shakes a little. He takes it from me and leaves it on an empty table.
“You did great, relax. I’m here for you.” He reassures me as we walk to the dance floor. His arm slides around my waist as a waltz starts.
I feel my panic subside as Joe leads me around the room. I focus on the here and now. The future scares me, but right now, I love dancing in Joe’s arms.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Reality, Lynda’s and Steven’s house
One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. The saying works for everything! Items, books, pets, food; anything can be a treasure if just one person sees value in it.
Lynda Byrd
“The five of you stand and watch the trebuchet burn. The magically imbued inferno that engulfs it prevents any view of the Kaatses’ mobile portal. The bodies of the Kaatse demons you vanquished lay scattered around it,” Joe describes.
“I use prestidigitation to create a marshmallow roasting stick,” Steven interrupts.
“Fine, you have a marshmallow stick, but no marshmallows,” Joe adds to his description and continues. “Damion stands just off to the side, his shit-eating grin wide. Raphael gives Nozomi another brief hug. ‘Watch the vampire’ Raphael orders as he launches his body into the air, off to take care of this PR nightmare.”
“That man knows how to make an exit.” Steven whistles in Trixy’s voice.
“I nod appreciatively. He has brothers; they can’t all be into undead morally questionable women,” I say. I don’t have a voice for Ruby, but it’s assumed.
“Morally questionable?” Sandy says with a laugh. We all start to gather our D&D stuff, the game over for today.
“You already have Strider,” I state playfully. “You don’t need any more imaginary hot men in your life. Leave me some!”
“Ugh, D&D is not a love story,” Steven complains.
“Why not?” I smile slyly. “Stories are stories. And there are three ladies in this one. Even if one of them is fake. Ladies love romance. You literally just commented on Raphael’s hotness. Maybe Trixy can get some vampire action from her new savior. Damion did dive in and save you.”
“Lynda,” Steven says my name without humor. “It’s called role-playing. I’m not actually into Raphael. And I’m pretty sure Damion did that because we didn’t pick his side and he just wants us to owe him something. We’re losing track of the story!”
I ignore my husband’s blatant attempt to refocus us onto the campaign and continue my argument. “It worked for Richelle Mead,” I point out. My playful mood is quickly vanishing as my husband’s stick returns up his butt. For every positive step forward we take, two steps go back. I finish my glass of wine.
“Who’s Richelle Mead?” Sandy asks, bemused.
“She writes supernatural romance novels,” Steven answers for me. “Lynda has recently gotten really into them.”
“They match the theme of our D&D game,” I smile.
“I agree, stories are stories,” Sandy remarks. “I think the only issues with romance in D&D games is emotionally separating characters from their players. We can’t all do that. And also focusing too much on one person. Zack didn’t really do squat today because Goliath was stone and look at him now.”
I turn to Zack’s spot at the table and see nothing. We all hear the sounds of one of my kid’s games accompanied by Zack and my six-year-old whispering on the floor. I giggle. I would have never thought to ask Zack to babysit, but I haven’t felt a tug on my pants in the last hour. He’s doing great. Though, Sandy’s point, that he got bored and wandered off, is a good one.
“D&D is about fighting, and monsters, and rolling dice,” Steven insists.
“D&D is about people, communication, and rolling dice,” Dillon interjects. “I also worry about the dynamics when heavier emotions are invested in the game. But I don’t think it needs to be left out if the people are cool with it.”
“Like Nozomi dating Strider, while Sandy is dating Joe,” I ask. Drama!
“Actually I’m dating both of them,” Sandy admits. The statement is very anticlimactic.
“What … is … this?” I’m disappointed at the sudden lack of drama.
“Joe, Sandy, and I have all talked and found something that works for us,” Dillon explains simply.
“And that’s what’s fun about D&D – you can pretend to be anything,” Sandy says flippantly, the attempt to steer the conversation away from her personal life obvious.
“I think Nozomi is more of an extension of you, based on your fear. Don’t you think your statemen
t is a little hypocritical?” Steven asks.
Sandy’s mouth turns into a tight white line on her face. But before she can respond, Dillon wraps his arm around her waist and whispers in her ear. She wrinkles her nose and takes a calming breath. “In this case, it might be,” she relents, each word sounding forced. “I did use Nozomi to help me work through some stuff.”
“Your creativity still comes from inside of you,” Dillon adds. “Although you can play anything you want, there will always be a piece of you in it.”
“I feel like you’re proving my point.” Steven’s laugh isn’t nice.
“I’m proving both.” Sandy insists. “And showing that real adults can handle emotional situations. Joe, Dillon, and I are all good friends. If Nozomi flirts with Raphael, that stays in the game and has no bearing on my relationship with Dillon or Joe.”
“I would be bothered if Ruby flirted with Raphael,” Steven cautioned.
“Because you’re an overbearing ass, Steven,” Sandy responds much too lightly.
“I was hoping to flirt with one of his brothers,” I exclaim.
“I would be bothered if you flirted with anyone in the game.” Steven shoots a look at Joe. “Flirting with any of the brothers is really flirting with Joe.”
“Trixy kissed Nozomi and I was fine with that,” I say pointedly to my husband.
“I was using my succubus powers to deflate a situation,” he reasons and turns to me. “I was certainly not flirting with Sandy. Would it bother you if Trixy started kissing Goliath?”
“Leave me out of this. I still haven’t decided if Goliath is even anatomically correct yet,” Zack says from under the table. “They didn’t really go over that in the kids’ show.” His small attempt at humor is not helping the mounting tension between Steven and me. I’m not sure when my grilling of Sandy turned into an argument with Steven, but it did. Everything had lately.