I couldn't find the words to respond to the direction this conversation was going. I hadn't talked to my mom since the previous Sunday's BBQ, but to say the crux of it wasn't at all what I had expected was an understatement. It was early Tuesday afternoon, a couple of days after Karen and I had enjoyed the BBQ at my parent’s house. I hadn't spoken to either of my parents since then, busy with work, plus knowing that Monday nights were Bridge night for them, so I hadn't touched base with them sooner. Nothing unusual.

I had just asked my mom's opinion of Karen and her answer just about floored me.

"I didn't know who she was until Bethany mentioned it to me last night when we were playing Bridge," she said. "She told me that Karen comes from a super-rich and politically powerful family. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it would matter," I finally replied, startled by the initial question.

"I heard about what happened at the church where her ex-fiancé married another woman…"

How was I supposed to respond to that? I couldn't exactly tell her that I had followed Karen to the bar after that wedding ceremony, could I? That we'd spent a drunken night together, having drunken sex, and that just a few days later, Karen had come up with this plan to keep her parents from arranging another marriage for her?

I said nothing.

"You need to be careful, honey," she continued. "I don't mean to offend you, but you know that we don't keep things from each other. I haven't heard good things about her… her behavior and the way she treats people."

I had to wonder where she had heard these things, other than from Bethany, whom I knew little about. Did this Bethany woman run in the same social circles as Karen's family? Doubtful. Then again, Connecticut wasn't all that far from the glitz of the rich and famous in New York City.

"I thought you always told me not to listen to gossip and rumors," I said softly.

"I did," Mom agreed. "But at the same time, we both know that most rumors are founded in some truth, don't we?"

Her voice was soft and gentle as always, but I could hear the concern in it. Concern for me, which I understood after my last relationship had ended so badly. "I know all about her reputation, Mom," I admitted. "But there's also a side of her that very few people see. She's built a wall around herself, and I've seen glimpses of the person behind it." I paused, searching for the right words. Not necessarily to convince my mom of anything regarding Karen, but more as a way to let her know that I wasn't walking into anything blind. "She didn't have a very good upbringing—"

"They're billionaires, Ben," she interrupted. "She's accustomed to a certain way of life. She's used to having … things. You understand or I'm going with this?"

"You're telling me that I'm not anywhere close to her league," I said.

"Not at all," she replied. "It's just that… I don't know quite how to say it, honey."

"Then let me say it for you. You're wondering what a woman like her sees in someone like me?"

"When you say it out loud, it sounds worse than I mean to imply." She protested. "No, honey, you're good enough for anyone. Anyone. It's just that you two come from two different worlds. I don't want you to get hurt again."

I was frustrated over her concern. I couldn't explain or define my belief that the Karen that I had seen in the church that day was only a glimpse of the total person. The hurt part. The betrayed part. The embarrassed part. I know that everybody deals with those emotions differently. Me? I had nursed my pain in silence, then moved away. One thousand, five hundred miles away to be more precise. To start over, to rebuild, to forget. Karen dealt with her pain and betrayal differently. Verbally. Sometimes crassly and arrogantly. But pain was pain, wasn't it?

"I know you don't, Mom, and I appreciate that. And I don't think I can convince you that the Karen I've gotten to know, albeit slowly, is more than the public persona you've been informed about." They could never find out that my relationship with Karen had been based on a lie. I knew that if they ever found out the truth, that if they learned that I had kept it from them, they would be the ones that were hurt. We'd always been close, sharing everything, to a point. Since my brother had died when I was a teenager, my parents had sought to keep me from harm, not only physically but emotionally. I could understand that. To a point.

"I've been hurt before, and I'm sure that I'll be hurt again. You can't protect me from everything, you know."

"I know, honey, but I can try, can't I? I'm your mother. I know that pain is a part of life, but you can't blame me for trying to buffer it, can you?"

I didn't know what it was like to be a mother. I never would. Maybe sometimes I didn't understand where she was coming from, but I had to let her at least voice her opinion. "You've expressed your concerns, and I appreciate it. Just do me one favor, will you?"

"What's that?"

"Don't judge Karen just based on what others have to say about her. Judge her on your personal interactions, okay? I think she really enjoyed herself Sunday evening. In fact, I would venture to say that it was a first for her."

"I'll try," she said. "And I know you're old enough to make your own decisions, and your own mistakes. Just don't be pressed into doing anything that you don't want to do. I'm concerned about the financial part, and I would hate to see you get into hardship trying to keep her happy."

Her words made me feel bad about all the deceit. That Karen had offered to pay me ten grand just to pretend to be her boyfriend. That things were turning out a little differently… well, at the moment, I felt guilty, more than a little perturbed, and once again asked myself what the hell I thought I was doing. She was right. Karen and I came from two different worlds. How important was the sex? How could we - how could I even consider a serious relationship with the disparities between us and our backgrounds? Karen came from generations of wealth. I came from a line of ranchers in the Midwest. She had money. I didn't. She was a socialite. I was a simple man.

What could I offer Karen Queen that she couldn't get with a snap of her finger?

"You just be careful, Ben, all right?"

"I will, Mom. Promise."

We disconnected the call and I moved to stand in front of the window overlooking the dingy view out of my apartment. I turned my back to it and looked around. It was a comfortable place, nothing fancy, but how would Karen see it? Compared to hers, it was a dump. On a whim, I lifted the phone and dialed her number. It rang several times before she answered.

"Hello?"

Was that cool distance I heard in her voice? "It's Ben."

"I know, I have caller ID."

"Would you like to have dinner tonight?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Okay, where?"

"My place. A home-cooked meal." I waited through another lengthy pause. Maybe it was time for her to get to know me a little bit better. On my turf, in my tiny apartment, my third-floor view. If she saw my world, would she cut and run? Would she decide that marrying into a well-to-do, wealthy, and snobby family might be better than this? I needed to know. Tonight, I would lay it all on the line. Maybe. I would tell her that I was growing attracted to her. I hadn't planned on it, but there it was. Now what did she want to do about it?

"All right, what time?"

I glanced at my watch. "Six o'clock?" She agreed and I gave her my address. She said a soft goodbye and then disconnected the call.

It hadn't taken me long to make a store run, buy a couple of pounds of hamburger meat, a couple of baked potatoes, and a bag of frozen, mixed vegetables. If Karen was going to see the real me, she was going to see the real me. I was a traditional guy from Oklahoma. A meat and potatoes guy. No sushi, no gourmet, no frilly presentations on my dinner plates, no way.

My dinner plan consisted of good old-fashioned meat loaf, baked potatoes with butter or sour cream, or if one was daring and not concerned about calories, both. I had bought a cheesecake for dessert. I had a bottle of Merlot chilling in the fridge, or if she preferred, some Bud. By the time my doorbell rang, the house smelled cozily familiar and comforting.

I opened the door and invited Karen in. She wore a pair of dress slacks and a long-sleeved simply-cut linen blouse.

"Welcome to my humble abode," I said, gesturing her further inside, past the linoleum entryway and directly into my living room. The small living area was furnished with a manly, overstuffed leather sofa, a wooden coffee table, and of course, a huge flat screen mounted on the opposite wall. A door in the east wall led to the ridiculously small bathroom, an even tinier closet on the opposite wall, and tucked into one corner, my bed.

To the right of the entryway stood my kitchen, separated from the living room by a chest-high counter that extended about seven feet from the wall. I had already set two places at the counter. I watched her expression as she quickly glanced around.

"Whatever you're cooking, it smells delicious!" she said, turning toward the kitchen. "I didn't know you cooked."

"Hope you like meatloaf and baked potatoes," I said, waving a hand toward the couch. "Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?"

She placed her oversized handbag on the floor next to the couch and then sat down, sinking into the cushions with a squeak of leather. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise as she sank into the cushions and then looked at me, a curious expression on her face.

"This couch is really comfortable."

"You sound surprised."

She grinned. "Actually, I am." She glanced around again. "You've got a nice little place here."

I listened for any tinge of sarcasm or snootiness in her tone of voice, but it was distinctly lacking. I don't want to say that I sounded relieved, but at least a part of my defenses came down. "Thanks. All I really need is a bed, a couch, and a TV, as you can see."

"There's something to be said for simplicity," she murmured.

"Dinner will be ready in about ten more minutes. Drink?"

"I'll have a glass of wine, thanks."

Before she was half finished with her glass of wine, I served dinner. We sat side by side at the kitchen counter and enjoyed the food, our low murmuring and pleasant though vague chatter about dining in New York City dominating the conversation. More than once she complimented me on the meatloaf, and even - although with a little bit of embarrassment, asked for seconds.

Finished eating, I slid off of the bar stool and reached for her plate. She looked at me, her gaze lingering on my face as she placed a hand over mine. "Let's worry about the dishes later."

Before I knew it, her hands stroked my back and then ventured downward to cup my ass. She pressed herself against me. Startled yet pleased by her sudden display of… I'll call it affection, I placed my hands on her shoulders, waiting for another cue. That blouse she wore was soft as butter, falling from the tips of her breasts like nobody's business. I was tempted – oh so tempted – to take the lead and lower my hands to cup one of those weighty breasts of her but I waited. My patience was rewarded when she reached up to clasp one of my hands and covered her breast with it. I gently squeezed, found the nipple with my thumb, and swirled. In seconds her breath grew harsh and erratic. My own cock surged to attention, trapped within my pants, throbbing with instant desire. I squeezed and kneaded her breast, pleased when I felt her nipple, even through the bra, plumping into a hard nub. She leaned closer against me, her groin rubbing against my erection. I lowered my head and kissed her, delicately at first, but she lifted herself onto her toes and deepened the kiss, her tongue dancing with mine. I gave as well as I got.

"I'm not going to let you go until you do what I want you to do to me," she murmured.

I felt her warm breath against my lips, smelling slightly of wine. I grinned. "I am at your mercy, my lady."

She chucked, her tone sexy and inviting. Captivating. What was this all about? Because she'd enjoyed the dinner I'd made? Because she was letting go of her boundaries? Of her of-so-regimented self-control? Or was it merely that she was horny and wanted sex?

I pushed such thoughts from my mind, focusing only on what she made me feel. My cock grew harder by the second, pulsing with desire, the blood rushing through my veins. I kissed her again, with abandon this time, and she rose to the occasion. Her hand stroked the crotch of my jeans, squeezed gently and then chuckled again.

"You're so hot," she whispered.

She squeezed again, then trailed a fingernail down the length of my shaft. I barely squelched a hiss of pleasure. My hand slid under her blouse and pushed the bra above that delicious mound of flesh. I found her nipple and rubbed my palm against it. It was a hard nub that seemed to reach out for more. I gently tweaked it between my thumb and index finger, eliciting a deep moan from her throat.

She leaned closer still, lips meeting mine. I couldn’t resist. My passion, once ignited, flared and then some. I traced the contour of her lips with my tongue and then, when I received my opening, plunged in. My hands cupped both breasts, heavy and perfect and warm…I felt her fingers fumbling with my zipper, and then she was reaching inside. I heard her gasp and I grinned. She had just discovered something new. I didn't wear underwear. Almost immediately, she wrapped her hand around my cock and my erection sprang outward, freed from the constraints of my pants. My own breath came faster as she began to stroke. I felt myself harden even more, the throbbing now steady, sending blood pulsing not only through my dick but my entire body. Our tongues tangled and my hands skirted along her sides, clutching her hips, pressing her closer. She brazenly began to shove my pants down along my hips. I didn't care that we stood next to the kitchen counter. I knew no one could see into my windows, not where we stood.

I unbuttoned her blouse and freed her from her bra, her breasts now exposed to my view, the air causing those delightful nipples to harden even more. Goosebumps covered her flesh. I slipped off my shoes and quickly divested myself of my pants, chuckling softly as we tried to maintain the kiss. She slid out of her slacks, kicking her own shoes away, and I slid my hand down her smooth hip, then cupped between her legs, feeling her pussy beneath her silky lace hip-hugger panties. My erection pressed against her pubis and then, I don't know how, she had divested herself of her own panties. She stood naked before me while I stood in front of her wearing only my T-shirt. We both looked our fill. She was gorgeous. I glanced down as saw my dick pressing against her abdomen, pulsing of its own accord, veins thickly tracing their way along my shaft. I lowered my head, wrapped an arm around her waist and suckled first one nipple, then the other. I had her back nearly up against the kitchen counter now, but she didn't seem to mind. Her grip on my cock tightened and then I tried to pull away, muttering about protection but she would have none of it.

"No… no, it's okay. I trust you…"

That's all it took. I lifted her into my arms and she wrapped her legs around my waist. The next instant, I was pushing inside her, filling her with my hard length, my breath – and hers – coming in harsh, excited gasps. I held her tightly, my hips thrusting upward, slowly, relishing the sensations, her wet pussy, her lips on mine, her tongue diving deep into my mouth every time I surged upward inside her. I thrust evenly deep inside her wetness, listening to her soft, mewling noises, her clitoris pressing against my pubis. Her mouth was everywhere, on my lips, then my earlobes, then at the crook of my neck. And then I felt her shifting, pulling me closer with her legs, her pussy clenching as she reached her climax. She groaned out her orgasm and I reveled in the way her muscles clenched themselves around my dick, tight and pulsing.

Gasping, her legs slid from around my waist and we stood there, hot flesh to hot flesh as she rested her forehead on my chest, her legs barely holding her up. I turned her around and she did so willingly, bracing herself on the counter.

"Spread your legs for me," I whispered.

She did. Every nerve in my body thrummed with waves of pleasure as I entered her from behind, my hands cradling the weight of her breasts in my hands. Her arms were slightly outstretched as she grabbed the counter hard, her breath still coming in sharp gasps, moans of pleasure sending waves of satisfaction through me. I teased her nipples,

gently squeezing, twisting, and caressing. I plunged in, heard my balls slap against her ass and then I withdrew, my cock glistening with her wetness. My passion rose still more and I began to thrust harder, her encouraging me with every stroke. Soon she moaned louder and I felt my own orgasm coming. I pumped harder, faster, and deeper. Just before the drumming sensations exploded, I pulled out and watched as my ejaculate spurted onto her back, pressing my cock against the crack in her ass, hot streams of fluid that offered me a greater release than I had ever experienced.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, over and over again. I caught my breath, turned her around and held her close to me, our hearts pounding in unison.

"Oh my God is right," I agreed.