Chapter Six
“You asked her out, didn’t you?” is the first thing Emma says when he walks into their hotel room. There are two large bedrooms, each with ample facilities, and yet here Emma is, sitting on his bed with her laptop.
“Why are you in here?” he asks, flopping into the large and regal armchair by the door.
“Oh, my mini-bar’s empty,” she shrugs. “But you did, didn’t you?”
Richard swears his face doesn’t move at all, he hardly looks at Emma and keeps his hands fastened to the arms of the chair, but still, he must give something away, because she squeals, “You did!”
“It’s not a date,” he says quickly, trying to reassure himself of that fact. He wishes he’d never used the word at all, it just seemed to remind them both of college. “It’s just a – thing.”
“Yeah, right,” Emma tuts, rolling her eyes at him. “I knew you liked her!”
“What?!” Richard whines, “she’s pretty, okay? She was pretty then, and she’s still pretty now, and it just felt, I dunno – “
“Right?” Emma supplies unhelpfully, “perfect? Like all your dreams of a fairy tale romance had come true?”
“Shut up,” he snaps as she laughs. He’d fire her if he didn’t like her company so much. “I didn’t propose.”
“No, but you will,” Emma sings, practically bouncing up and down on the bed, “and you’re rich, so you can make it perfect! Take her to Paris, or, or, Venice, or that place where the sky goes all green and blue and stuff!”
“The North Pole?” Richard says skeptically, “romantic.”
“She’s from Chicago, she can handle her snow.”
“She’s from Wisconsin, actually,” Richard corrects.
This makes Emma positively scream. “You love her already!”
“Would you stop now, please,” Richard says flatly, running a hand through his hair. He’s already stressed enough about Tuesday, he doesn’t need Emma talking marriage.
“What are best friends for?” she smiles, and Richard almost retaliates, but remembers that sadly, his PA probably is his best friend right now. And he definitely doesn’t keep Emma around for her organizational skills. “So where are you gonna take her?”
Richard makes a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan. “I have no idea. I don’t know what she likes. I don’t know whether she’ll expect me to take her somewhere really high-end or, or if she’d hate that more than anything. I just don’t know!” he exclaims.
“Wait, wait,” Emma says slowly. “What did you mean, she was pretty then? When?”
Shit. Richard rather thought he’d got away with that one. He sighs – he can’t get out of it now, she’ll only pester him until he spills the beans. “I knew her in college.”
Emma gasps like she’s in some courtroom drama. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me this?!”
“Because I knew you’d read into it far too much and start screaming at me like you are now,” he says flatly, rolling his eyes.
“A college sweetheart,” Emma says dreamily, “how perfect is this?!”
Rather than merit her question with an answer, Richard gets to his feet and heads off towards the bathroom. He needs a shower before he meets up with some so-called friends at the hotel bar tonight, and he’s so ecstatic with excitement that he needs to douse himself in scalding hot water before he can possibly face them.
He steadfastly does not think about Lauren, or the fact that she might possibly be interested in him, and instead worries endlessly about where he might take her. Impressing her suddenly seems so much more important than licking the boots of business people.
***
“So, let me get this straight – you’ve hired a different chauffeur?” Lauren asks Richard over the phone whilst she hides in her office.
“Only for today!” he protests, and she can practically see him waving panicked hands around like he always used to when he thought he needed to defend himself. “You can’t chauffeur yourself to the restaurant.”
“I damn well can,” she snorts, “which of my competitors have you hired? I bet it’s one of the shitty ones.”
“Uh, Knightly?” Richard says uncertainly, “it was the first one that came up.”
Lauren groans. “They’re awful. One of their secretaries called me a bitch when I was starting up.”
“Really?” Richard says, and he actually sounds genuinely concerned.
“Well, only ‘cause I called her a jumped-up douchebag,” she reasons. That was an interesting day.
He laughs, which is a relief – at least he hasn’t changed so much that he no longer appreciates her argumentative side. A side which has served her very well over the years, she’ll have him know.
“So where are we going?” she asks, trying to keep the flirting out of her voice and failing spectacularly.
“Ah. Well,” Richard says cryptically. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
At that, she stifles a grin, peering through her blinds to check that James or Julia isn’t watching her smile like an idiot at her phone. They’d definitely talk. “Okay. I’ll wait and see,” she says, not even trying to squash the butterflies. It’s like college all over again.
“I can’t wait to see you,” he says quietly, once her stupid breathing has calmed down. “Like – not in a clingy way, I just – uh, can’t wait to see you outside of work, like – as a, uh, friend, rather than a driver,” he babbles, trying to save it.
“Hey, it’ll be good to see you too,” she tries to reassure him, “not in a clingy way,” she adds with a laugh, and he takes the mocking in good humor, thank god. She tries to remind herself that if this goes to hell, she could end up losing a client.
They talk for a few more moments, and Lauren is rather taken aback by just how much she likes talking to Richard – he’s become so much more confident over the last few days, over the last few years, even, and it looks good on him. And yet, he hasn’t quite lost that endearing shyness she’d liked so much when he crept up to her that night at the bar.
She’s unusually excited, unsettlingly eager to get out of work and get home. She hardly ever gets excited about dates anymore – the people she meets online are usually shifty-looking guys whose cars she is reluctant to get into and are the reason she carries pepper spray around in her purse everywhere she goes. She’ll take it tonight, too; Richard is probably not a psychopath, but you never can tell. Maybe the so-called banking is all a cover for the bodies of previous wives in his basement.
Still, she takes particular care in getting ready for the evening. It’s a balancing act – how to try without looking like she tried, how to look good but not too good, how to put on a show without putting on a mask. Picking an outfit is quite difficult, as she seems to only own business suits and they’re all boring as hell. If there’s one thing she doesn’t want Richard to think she is, it’s boring.
Having given Richard her home address over the phone, she takes one last look in the mirror and heads out of the door, deciding it’s too late to fix that unbalanced eyeshadow and lopsided lipstick. What she’s learned over the years is that in reality, no-one else notices that kind of thing. She just hopes to God Richard doesn’t have a background in makeup artistry.
She’s not the slightest bit late as she steps out of the door and into the cool night air, but there’s already a car waiting for her and her phone buzzes with what is undoubtedly an I’m here text from Richard. She’s rather relieved he’s in the car already – she swears she’s seen that Knightly driver before, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t a friendly encounter.
“You look nice,” is the first thing Richard says when she sits herself down next to him in the backseat.
“So do you,” she says nonchalantly, only realizing how true her statement is when she actually looks across and sees Richard; he’s wearing a black suit and shirt, plus a pair of immaculate shoes and some black-rimmed glasses which make his pale skin stand out rather beautifully. “Wow,” she blurts, unable to stop herself. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
He touches a finger to them and flashes a self-conscious smile. “Yeah. I usually wear contacts, but apparently these look okay too.”
“They look great,” she smiles as the car begins to move. She tries to find faults with the driving to distract herself from Richard; this guy is horrible at braking smoothly and he takes turns way too fast. She’s happier once she’s established that she’s definitely better than him.
But once she’s finished ripping apart Knightly’s below-par service in her head, there’s nothing else to do but face the rather crippling silence between her and her date – Richard keeps looking over at her like he might say something, then simply wringing his hands together and looking away. The whole night better not go like this, otherwise she might end up throwing herself on top of a carving fork.
They exchange awkward smiles and even more awkward small talk, but it seems like this is a Richard-trait that Lauren’s going to have to get used to – he closes up when he’s nervous, but fortunately, Lauren can talk to herself for hours on end, so she simply rambles about the weather until he starts to join in. He looks even better when he grins, his eyes crinkling up and his cheeks rounding. God, Lauren is so screwed.
She begins to get worried when Richard’s grin widens as they climb out of the car and walk along the street together. He looks unnaturally mischievous.
“Where are we going?” she asks warily, starting to rethink her classification of Richard as not-a-psychopath.
“I told you, wait and see,” he laughs, beckoning for her to follow him down a small yet thankfully brightly-lit street.
The tiny restaurant they step into is not one Lauren’s seen before, so she doesn’t get it right away. She looks from the little gold fairy lights littering the bar to Richard’s hundred-watt smile and can’t quite see what’s so funny, until Richard points to the shelf in the corner upon which is perched a good number of different colored boxes.
“It’s a board game café!” he announces triumphantly.
Of course, it is. She should have seen a stunt like this coming. He only smiles wider when she groans.
“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he asserts, guiding her further into this hellhole of an evening and sitting her down at one of the tiny tables.
It will not be fun, she thinks, memories of family fights springing solely from who gets to be the car and the correct spelling of zucchini springing to mind. The expensive wine Richard orders might make the night a little more bearable.
“Jenga? Or Monopoly?” Richard asks, rattling the two boxes in her face when he returns from his board-game quest. Lauren’s never said Jenga faster. There’s no way she’s playing Monopoly against a millionaire.
He looks like a child on Christmas Day when he sits down, placing the box in the middle of the table like it’s some kind of sacred artifact. She tries to keep up her frown, but it’s difficult when she’s watching Richard smile idiotically as he opens the box and sets up all the wooden blocks with the utmost concentration, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.
“So…why here?” she asks, looking around at the low beams and the rather scrappy furniture. Most of the other tables are full of people who don’t look like they earn anything near a six-figure salary, and in all honesty, she and Richard are both very overdressed. “I don’t see any caviar.”
“I hate caviar,” Richard says immediately, barely looking at her as he places the last few blocks in a neat row at the top of the tower. When he finally does look up, it’s with a face full of new nerves, his teeth mauling his lip to shreds. “I just…didn’t wanna keep up the whole rich asshole thing.”
“You’re not an asshole,” Lauren says with a wave of her hand. “Wait, did I call you an asshole?” That sounds like something she’d do, she just can’t remember if she said it out loud, or just in her head.
“Uh, you implied it several times,” he says, but a smile touches his eyes and he doesn’t look too offended. At least she might not get fired tonight.
“Sorry,” she says, a little sheepishly, “I’m just used to people trying to walk all over me. Especially assholes,” she adds, clicking her tongue and remembering all the grovelling she used to have to do when she was chauffeuring regularly.
“That’s okay,” he says warmly, “I kinda like it, anyway. Being pandered to isn’t that nice, either.”
“Is that why you brought me here? To let me thrash you at Jenga?” she laughs, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“We’ll see about that,” Richard smirks, “I am the Jenga master. My mother trained me.”
Lauren raises her eyebrows. She’d be lying if she said this was what she’d expected from a date with this new Richard, but then she’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t terrifyingly competitive and unwilling to take a challenge. She takes a large gulp of (smooth, fruity, gorgeous) wine, and squares her shoulders. “Alright, rich boy. Game on.”
Jenga turns out to be a rather precarious game when there are wine glasses on the table, and it’s lucky they both have reasonably quick reflexes, as between them, they prevent quite a few accidents. Best of three turns into best of five, then best of seven, and before they know it, they’re getting some rather strange looks from the other diners due to the panicked screeches they keep letting out. Lauren has to admit, Richard is rather skilled at Jenga – they manage to keep up the balancing act until the tower looks a little like a spinal column and climbs precariously towards the ceiling.
Richard manages to snag one from the middle somewhere, and the tower gives a worrying wobble, but remains upright. This is the tiebreaker round, Lauren has to make this if she wants to win, and by God does she want to win. But gravity, it seems, is not on her side, and as soon as she reaches for a particular block, the very movement of the air sends the tower crashing down around them, a block landing neatly in Richard’s wine glass as he cackles his stupid handsome face off.
Lauren folds her arms and scowls. “That’s not fair,” she protests, “I didn’t touch it! It was technically still your turn.”
“Bullshit,” Richard proclaims, picking blocks out of his lap and scooping them into a pile in the middle of the table. “You lost and you know it. That means you’ve gotta pay for the wine.”
At that, Lauren nearly explodes. “But you chose it! I can’t fucking afford that, you should have told –“
“I’m kidding,” Richard says, still smiling far too hard for Lauren’s liking. “Wine’s on me. Anyway, food?”
The very mention of the word makes Lauren’s stomach growl – she’d lost track of the time completely. She’d almost forgotten that they were supposed to be on a date. She’s not used to laughing so much.
The menu is pretty basic, but Richard doesn’t turn up his nose – he orders some kind of soup, while Lauren goes with a pizza and some mozzarella sticks because she doesn’t believe in salads, especially on dates.
They leave the board games while they eat, almost in silence apart from the odd compliment here and there, mostly directed towards the food.
“So, uh, what do you do for fun around here?” Richard asks through a mouthful of bread, just as Lauren’s decided to chew a whole mozzarella stick. “Like, when you’re not working?”
“Uh,” she says as she chews frantically, “I don’t really know.” Is she ever not working? “I like movies, I guess. Like, good movies. Hitchcock and Kubrick and stuff. You?”
He shrugs. “I used to sketch. Nothing good, really, just scribbles.”
“But you don’t anymore?” she asks, balancing another slice of pizza in her hand.
“No, not really. No time, you see. Or there is time, I just don’t use it properly,” he laughs, but there’s a rather wistful look in his eye that suggests he wasn’t meant to be a millionaire after all.
“That’s a shame. You should take it up again,” she nods, “I remember your little comics, they were great!”
Richard smiles, pink touching his cheeks. “Oh, yeah. I forgot I used to do them.”
“And you used to draw on the desks. Professor Mortimer hated you.”
He barks a laugh. “I forgot about him, too! With his big red nose and his creepy eyes.”
“And, do you remember Tom? The guy--”
“Who drank like a whole bucket of beer and fell in the river? I remember fishing him out,” Richard says amidst Lauren’s laughter. “That was a good year.”
“Are you glad you left?” Lauren asks once the giggles have died down. “Or do you think you should have stayed?”
Richard sighs, and Lauren rather regrets asking. He looks a little sad, now. “I don’t know. I don’t know what mom would have done if I’d have refused. She wanted someone to learn the ropes, and who better than her son? Plus, you know, I’m rich as fuck now.”
She smiles into her wine glass. “I guess so. You could buy your very own art studio,” she suggests, but Richard shakes his head.
“When I’m older, maybe,” he says. Lauren decides not to point out that he’s no spring chicken; she’s not getting any younger herself. “So, uh, do you go on lots of dates?”
Lauren chooses not to read into that question too much, and instead laughs, “None quite like this one. But yeah, I’ve been dating. It’s mostly been a bunch of dickheads who think that if they pay the bill, they’re entitled to sex.”
“Oh, when I said I’d pay for the wine, I didn’t mean –“
“No, I know,” Lauren laughs. “I wouldn’t actually mind having sex with you,” she says without thinking. Her smile drops and she recoils in her chair. “Or, you know, something less forward,” she mumbles at the place-mat.
He laughs, thank the heavens, but she can see the heavy blush on his cheeks quite clearly now, and he spends a few moments twirling the wine glass in his fingers. “Uh, okay,” he says awkwardly. “Well you know, I wouldn’t necessarily mind that either.”
The cute little sparkle in his eyes has Lauren smiling along with him, and she finds herself leaning forward in her chair. “We’ll see, I guess,” she says, her voice perhaps more sultry than she had intended. He’s looking at her, not just a glance but a gaze, and he must think he’s being so subtle when he flicks his eyes to her lips, but she knows exactly what he wants. She leans forward just slightly more and touches their mouths together, closing her eyes for a few seconds and wondering how she’s managed to end up kissing Richard Shepherd yet again.
It’s safe to say he’s improved since the saliva-coated tongue attacks she used to receive; he actually seems to have acquired some kind of technique, moving his mouth to match her rhythm and bringing a hand up to cup her jaw. It lasts just long enough to leave her wanting more.
Richard looks rather pleased with himself when he opens his eyes and sits back a little. Smug bastard, she thinks, he thinks he’s sexy as hell. To be fair to him, though, he sort of is sexy as hell, the way he licks his lips a little and the way his hair falls into his eyes in a perfect wave.
Lauren’s mouth flaps as she tries to think of something witty to say, but she settles upon just staring at Richard and flicking her hair over her shoulder in a show of look, I can be hot too.
“So… that was different,” he says after a few moments, a shy smile playing on his lips. “You used to slobber all over me.”
“Hey!” she snaps, all seductiveness discarded as she bristles irritably, “It was you that slobbered!”
“It takes two to slobber,” he says with a shrug, “but anyway. That was slobberless.”
Lauren snorts into her pizza before realizing that during the kiss, her necklace had decided to dip itself in tomato sauce, and hurriedly wipes at it with a napkin. She gives up on hiding the smear of sauce she’s got over the table – she’s not perfect, better for him to find that out now than at the altar.
“So, you’re definitely, y’know,” he says quietly, “okay with this? It’s not weird, is it?”
She surprises herself with her answer. “No, actually. Not really. And yes, I am okay with it. Are you… okay with it?”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. I mean, my mom would probably want me to be going on dates with, y’know, billionaire’s daughters and all that, but for me, y’know, you’ll do.”
She laughs at that, relieved that the nervy, ass-licking Richard is nowhere to be seen. When their plates are taken away and their wine glasses are refilled, Richard sits back in his seat and gestures to the shelves of games a few feet away from them. “Your turn to pick.”
Lauren takes this very seriously. She’s sure as hell not going to lose another game to this fucker, so she scans the boxes until she finds one that she knows she’ll wreck him at.
He looks at her like she’s just slaughtered a unicorn in front of him when she places the box on the table. “Chess?” he exclaims, palpable fear in his eyes. She smiles.
“Yup. You’re right to be scared.”
“But – this is supposed to be a fun evening,” he whines as she tips out the pieces and lines them up at either end of the board. “Chess isn’t fun!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, rich boy,” she states, sitting back an admiring her handiwork. “Chess is great fun. It’s like – enjoyment, but with intelligence.”
He groans. “That sounds shit. I don’t even know if I can remember how to play chess.”
“Perfect, then I’ll teach you!” she says cheerfully, just to piss him off a little more.
“Fine,” he growls, picking up his king, “what does this one do?”
Half an hour later, though, Richard’s seething over the loss of his rook, and merrily sending all his pawns out to their deaths. She beats him in six moves at first, before she decides to go easy on him for the sake of his blessed fun.
And it is quite fun by the end; Richard can actually sort of play chess, and Lauren has managed to make up for her Jenga defeat. They end up kissing a little more across the table, knocking over a few pieces with wandering hands and ill-placed elbows.
“Do you wanna go somewhere else,” Lauren whispers against his lips as she entwines their fingers loosely.
Richard’s nod almost knocks her out, but at least she didn’t get rejected. “Yeah,” he says, “where do you wanna go? My hotel is –”
“Yeah, definitely your hotel,” she says quickly. She has no desire to ever let him see her landfill-site of an apartment. She didn’t even do the dishes before she left.
The city seems more beautiful than it was when they step out of the restaurant and spill into the night air; the lights glitter around them and the wind whistles with the sound of passing cars as Lauren winds their arms together and leads Richard down the street, his eyes bright with laughter.
She tries to keep her mind from racing, but it’s rather difficult when Richard’s walking along beside her with windswept hair looking rather like some kind of Greek God in a suit. Kissing while walking proves difficult – they keep accidentally butting heads, and Lauren almost knocks Richard’s glasses clean off his face – but they do it anyway, getting annoyed looks from passersby when they stumble off course.
Sitting in the car and looking vaguely normal also proves difficult. Lauren is painfully aware of the driver’s stern gaze, so she tries her utmost to keep her hands to herself and her eyes away from Richard’s face. The driver must know, though; Richard told him to take them both to his hotel, that can only really mean one thing.
She tries to look professional – perhaps it’ll look like this was a business meeting, rather than a date, perhaps they’re going back to Richard’s hotel simply to discuss matters further and not at all to leap into bed together.
It becomes a challenge to keep a straight face when Richard begins to send her sneaky grins from the other side of the car. Every time she looks over, he’s got a slightly different expression on, sticking out his tongue or crossing his eyes or warping his face into generally disturbing shapes. That bastard, she thinks as she purses her lips and keeps her gaze carefully straight ahead. She won’t laugh. She won’t laugh.
She makes it most of the journey without breaking her façade – Richard, on the other hand, is nearly crying at his own stupid joke by the time the car pulls up to his hotel and the driver throws him a disgruntled look. He scrambles out of the car as quickly as possible after that, and Lauren follows, rolling her eyes when they finally join hands once more.
“You’re not funny,” she tells him as he wipes at his eyes under his glasses, “not one bit.”
Evidently, though, he’s struggling to deal with his own hilarity as he splutters, “My abs hurt, oh God.”
“You’re an idiot,” she scowls, pulling him along before he topples over.
“Hey, you agreed to go out with me. You brought the idiocy on yourself,” he reasons, but she really doesn’t care much for reason when there’s a big empty hotel bed calling out to them. As much as she loves what he’s wearing, she’d really like him to be not wearing it as soon as possible.
They get a rather disapproving look from the receptionist when they hurry past him and into the elevator. Richard aims his tongue at Lauren’s neck as the doors slide closed but instead manages to stick his tongue in her ear, causing her to yelp and him to pull a rather disgusted face.
“Try here, instead,” she says with a grin, tapping a finger to her lips.
His face lights in a smile and he nods, bringing his hands up to her cheeks and brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fall shut as he leans in and kisses her, first a gentle brush of his mouth, then a biting promise nipped into her bottom lip. Her hands fall tight on his hips as he opens his mouth and flicks his tongue lightly against hers, but she quickly turns it into something more, something dirtier, something searching and wanting and needing.
As the elevator rises, so does the heat, his hand sliding into her hair and pulling just hard enough to make her groan into his mouth. She drops her fingers to his waistband, dipping them under his belt and pulling his hips closer to hers, a hint of hardness pressing against her. It’s his turn to moan when she rubs her thumb over his crotch, feeling his body jerk and his breath hitch.
It shocks the life out of both of them when the elevator doors open with a sharp ping and they have to stop grinding against one another in case some unassuming guest wants to use it.
Fortunately, there’s no-one there, and Lauren pulls Richard back into a demanding kiss, attempting to look where she’s going at the same time. She hates that she can’t just have him right now, push him up against the crisp white of the corridor walls and drop to her knees for him.
It’s only when she looks around at the identical doors studding the place that she realizes she has no idea where Richard’s room is or whether she’s even headed in the right direction; she pulls her lips away from his to look around and make a vaguely questioning gesture at the doors around them. Richard seems to get what she’s saying and guides her towards the far end of the corridor, a hand draped over her hip.
It takes him far too long to fumble around in his wallet and fish out the key card, so Lauren passes the time by trying to distract him as much as possible, placing wet, sharp kisses to his neck and sliding her hand into the back of his suit pants.
Lauren’s so ready to throw him across any kind of surface when they finally tumble through the door, Richard struggling to shove the key card back in his wallet and get his hand on Lauren’s chest at the same time. It’s only when Lauren’s caught her breath and taken in her surroundings that she realizes there’s someone else in the room with them.
“Uh…hi,” Emma says from the armchair where she sits, cross-legged, laptop perched on her knees and a glass of wine balanced in her hand. “In my defense, I didn’t think Rich would be able to get you back here.”
“Emma, what the hell?” Richard exclaims, sounding frustrated in more ways than one, “get out!”
She holds her hands up in surrender, “alright! I’m going, I swear,” she says, snapping her laptop shut and floating from the armchair and into the hallway between their rooms. “Hey, Lauren,” she says breezily, and Lauren feels her cheeks heat.
“Hey,” she replies, without making eye-contact.
Emma just shakes her head at both of them. “Use condoms, don’t be loud, and always reciprocate,” she says matter-of-factly, pointing a menacing finger before sweeping out of the room, wine in hand, and shutting the door behind her.
Richard makes an exasperated face in her wake, then throws an apologetic glance in Lauren’s direction. “She always picks the worst time.”
Lauren knows she shouldn’t worry, knows that just because Emma’s nice and funny and a similar age to Richard doesn’t mean that there’s anything going on, but she just wants to check before she puts herself at the center of all this. “I’m not – getting in the middle of anything, am I?”
The look on Richard’s face is almost laughable, not to mention relieving. “Me and Emma?” he snorts, gesturing in her direction, “No. We irritate each other far too much. Plus, she’s gay as a feather boa, to use her phrasing.”
“Ah. Good,” Lauren breathes, “now, get over here.”
He doesn’t hesitate to obey, pulling her hips against his own and pushing their mouths back together, his erection firm against her thigh and his hands insistent on her ass. She starts work on his shirt, cursing the intricacy of buttons as her fingers slip against the fabric. She’d rip it right off him if she didn’t think it cost more than her apartment.
She guides them both over to the bed, still yanking at the buttons until she gives up and snaps a you do it at Richard. It’s rather difficult to keep kissing and take clothes off at the same time, but they manage it, and by the time Richard’s back hits the bed sheets, his shirt and jacket are gone and Lauren’s lost her shoes and her tights somewhere along the line.
She pulls away from his lips for a second to admire him, spread underneath her, his chest panting and speckled with light brown hair, a delicate trail of it disappearing into his pants. She traces it with her finger, finally getting his belt undone and his pants open and cupping him through his boxers. The gasp he lets out makes her grin with satisfaction, but she’s far from done teasing him just yet.
His skin tastes of salt and soap as she kisses down his chest, pausing only to nip at his hips and feel him tense under her. When she mouths at his underwear, his hips rise off the bed, and she feels a hand snake loosely into her hair.
“Do something,” he gasps, “just fucking do something.”
So, she does. She yanks down his boxers in one movement and watches his dick spring free, swollen and glistening at the tip. It’s a nice size -- thick, too, and she remembers how it used to fill her up perfectly and feels an ache between her legs. She lowers her head and laps at the tip, grinning at him when he makes an obscene sound and tightens his hand in her hair.
“Lauren, with the greatest respect, get the hell on with it,” he pleads, pushing her head down and groaning as she finally takes him into her mouth and begins to suck, rolling her tongue against him like she thinks she remembers he likes and working her hand around the base of his cock in time with her mouth.
She feels herself choke a little when his hips snap up a little too fast for her throat to cope with, but manages to avoid any spluttering sessions, pushing his pelvis down firmly and setting her own pace, dragging her tongue slow and steady over the sensitive underside. Each of his moans makes the throbbing between her legs more insistent, until she finally gives in and snakes a hand into her own underwear, teasing herself lightly with one finger. She knows he’s close when he starts babbling nonsense.
“God, Lauren, you’re – yes, keep – keep doing that, that’s so good, how are you so – just – oh, God, stop – stop, or I’ll come, Lauren – stop!”
She pulls off at the very last second, hearing him gasp in frustration and grinning at him wildly. Her hand stays at the base of his dick, jacking him slow enough to keep him from his climax yet just fast enough to keep him moaning like that. She’s not too far away herself, her pussy wet with the thought of him inside her and the thrill of seeing him so hard for her.
He pushes himself onto his elbows and draws her up his body and into a kiss, causing her to grind against him wantonly. When he sits up properly, he pushes a hand down her top and reaches inside her bra, groping her breast as she fumbles behind her for the clasp. He undoes her zipper and pulls her dress over her head at the same time she unhooks her bra, and soon she’s sitting in his lap in nothing but her underwear. His pants are still wrapped awkwardly around his knees, and they both wrestle them off, laughing when Richard’s left in just his shoes and socks. They quickly get hurled across the room in the same general direction of the rest of their clothes.
Lauren’s heart starts to race as Richard gently flips them over and lays her on her back, grinning at her in between soft kisses to her neck. “My turn,” he whispers into her skin, running his hands down her body and nipping at her collarbone.
She decides never to tease him again when he begins to get his own back, one of her breasts caught firm in his hand and the other under his tongue, her back arching as he grazes his mouth over a hard nipple. She spreads her legs and pushes up her hips as a form of invitation, but he doesn’t go any faster, taking his damn time as he licks and nips and sucks his way down her chest excruciatingly slowly.
It takes everything she has not to scream at him when he starts to stroke his fingers between her legs, the fabric of her underwear providing delicious yet agonizing friction against her clit. She lets out a moan when he finally drags the fabric to one side and massages her with two fingers, occasionally slipping them just inside her and making her hips twitch with want.
She can feel every throb of her own pulse, her hands fisting in the sheets when he finally dips his head down and licks over her, his lips closing around her clit whilst his fingers pump slowly in and out of her. He’s definitely gotten better at this.
His pace starts to quicken, his tongue finding all the best spots and coaxing moan after moan out of her. She threads a hand into his hair, pushing him down gently and throwing a leg over his shoulder to get him deeper. His fingers are moving faster now, counterpoint to his tongue, and she feels the pleasure building in between her thighs and in her chest and right at the back of her skull.
She gives his hair a tug, but he doesn’t stop. Her orgasm drives into her like a freight train and she swears she sees stars, white exploding behind her eyes and her hips snapping upwards as she writhes in the sheets. It tingles right to the tips of her toes and leaves her gasping, her whole body shimmering with sweat and fuzzy with pleasure.
“Fucking hell,” is all she manages to gasp when she’s finally caught her breath, and she hears Richard laugh.
When she sits up, he’s smiling at her, his fingers still sending little waves of satisfaction through her hips, and she wonders if she’s ever wanted him this much, his arms roped with muscle and his hair in a mess from her fingers. She grabs for him when she sees he’s still hard, his dick straining towards his stomach.
She gropes for it as they kiss deeply, feeling the vibrations of his moan through her lips and the tension of his muscles under her hand. “Can I?” she hears him stutter, a hand sliding between her legs. “I’ve got condoms.”
“Yes,” she breathes, “fuck me, rich boy.”
He nods against her neck, before she feels cool air wash over her as he pulls away, stumbling off the bed and towards his pile of open cases. She takes this opportunity to stare at his perfectly formed ass and the flex of muscles in his back, wondering how the hell she managed to get a guy like this in bed. He shoots her a shy smile as he hurries back to her, tearing open the condom and sweeping his gaze over her body with such awe on his face that she feels herself blush.
After a good deal of fumbling around and trying to maneuver his limbs into a suitable position, he’s ready for her, staring down at her and biting his lip. “Tell me if anything’s wrong, or if you want me to stop, or if I’m hurting you or – or –”
She cuts him off with a kiss, stroking her fingers through the soft hairs at the base of his neck. “I’m not nineteen anymore, you won’t hurt me. And I don’t want you to stop, I want you to start, you big idiot,” she smiles, then gives him an encouraging peck on the nose.
He breathes a laugh and nods, his hips inching forward and his length pressing inside of her, stretching her open and reaching places his fingers didn’t. Her back arches as he fills her up, their hips crushed tight against each other and their breaths rushing out of them rhythmically. He drops his face to her neck as he starts to thrust, slow and luxurious at first, dragging against her spot just so. Gasping, she pulls him tighter to her, urging his hips forward faster.
When she wraps her legs around his waist, he’s suddenly a whole lot deeper; she cries out at the wave of pleasure it sends crashing over her and drags her nails down his back. His yelp turns into a groan and he picks up his pace just slightly, still not enough to keep her from wanting more.
“Harder,” she breathes, “this is – ah – great but – harder, please, I won’t break.”
“You sure?” he asks, and she tells herself that slapping him would be wrong, but she can still imagine.
“Yes, you dick, fuck me!” she cries, and he finally seems to get the message, driving his hips forward and pressing hers into the mattress. Sweet love-making is for people in love – for now, she’s only in lust, and she wants it rough.
With a growl that fuels her brewing orgasm, he bites at her neck, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin under her ear and nipping along her jaw bone. “No hickeys,” she forces herself to gasp, “I’ve got work tomorrow.” She tells herself that next time, they’ll do this on a weekend, so they can leave as many marks all over each other as they want.
He responds only by quickening his pace further, finally getting to a speed that makes Lauren cry out on each thrust, and he must be getting close because he’s breathing hot and hard against her chest and letting out lustful little moans every so often. Lauren thinks he’ll come first, but then he moves a hand down between them and starts to stroke her clit, hard as his thrusts and double the speed. She gives up on competition at that point.
It doesn’t hit her quite as hard as the first one, but rather creeps up on her, and before she knows it, she’s arching her back and dragging her nails across his, her hips pushing to meet his and electricity running across her skin. She’s left loose-limbed and liquid-brained, barely registering when Richard finally tips over the edge and groans long and loud, his eyebrows pinching together and his spit-slick mouth hanging open as he rides out his orgasm.
For a few moments, they simply lay there, a mess of staggered breaths and tangled limbs, Lauren’s body still trembling with the remnants of her orgasm and Richard’s chest pushing into hers as he pants. Eventually, he lifts his head and pulls her into a lazy kiss, sloppy and sex-drunk but perfect all the same.
The world still seems a little fuzzy round the edges as he rolls off her and collapses into the sheets; her mind usually jumps straight back to work and stress and responsibilities but for now it’s quiet, empty except for the sound of her own breathing twining delicately with Richard’s.
A little while later and they’re under the covers, the cool sheets sliding blissfully over their burning skin as they curl around one another and kiss gently. Lauren secures her arms around Richard’s chest and he pulls her closer, puffing a wisp of her hair out of his face and curling a hand softly around her hip. She should be leaving by now - she should be shoving clothes on and grabbing belongings and hurrying out of the door before the regret shows on her face – but all of that just seems so far away now that’s she’s wrapped up warm in a cosy bed. She’s tired, too, it was a long day even before the sex, she could just rest her eyes for a few minutes, right?
She lets her mind go blank and snuggles closer to Richard, living in the peace of the moment and leaving her future self to deal with the prospect of tomorrow.