It’s not even noon on Monday when a text from Brian comes through.
Brian: When can I see you again?
I text him a selfie.
Brian: Very funny.
Me: When do you want to see me?
Brian: Right now would be nice but I’m at work.
Me: Dinner, then?
Brian: Can’t. I have a dinner meeting.
Me: After dinner?
Brian: I can come by your place when I’m done if it’s not too late.
Me: I don’t even care if it is too late. Come by anyway.
After waking up to the article Jill showed me yesterday morning, I realize now more than ever I need to take a different direction. I need to push myself to move forward. With that in mind, I think tonight’s going to be the night.
The night.
We’ll have all the privacy we could ever ask for in my bedroom, and I’ll be on my home turf. I text him my address before I have the chance to change my mind.
* * *
He texted me ten minutes ago saying he was on his way, and I’m trying not to pace nervously. I’ve already guzzled one glass of wine, but it didn’t do much to dull my nerves. Instead, it seemed to intensify them. I’m working through my second glass. Jill is out with Becker; he couldn’t wait to see her again, either, so I’m alone with my nerves—probably a good thing considering what I decided to wear.
Since we both know where this night is headed and we’ve got my place to ourselves, I picked up some lingerie. I can’t decide if that was stupid or smart.
It’s black, meshy, and lacy, with a corseted top that does a nice job of pushing up my breasts that are glowing with a tan from our weekend by the pool. The bottom has leg garters, and I attached them to some black lace stockings before I slipped my feet into my tallest black heels.
I’m second-guessing myself. I look good, I suppose, but is this way too forward? Is this jumping into things too quickly? Or is this exactly why he’s coming over and exactly what I should be doing to celebrate Reese’s Summer of Sin?
If I don’t do it, I won’t do it. I want to bite the bullet and give into the desire I’m feeling for him. The past is the past. I can’t change it, but I can forge ahead. I can move on. I can stop thinking about another man by filling my thoughts with someone new.
I hear a car pull into the driveway, and a minute later there’s a knock at the front door. I second guess my outfit choice for the millionth time, but he’s standing on my front porch and it’s too late to change.
I peek through the peephole in our front door to make sure it’s him. It is, and he’s cradling a bottle of wine in his hands and wearing a suit. I open the door, using it as a shield to hide behind, just peeking my head around it.
“Hi,” I say softly.
“Hey,” he says, stepping into my house like everything’s normal. Except it’s not. I’m wearing sexy clothes I bought with his reaction to them in mind.
I close the door and he glances around my entry before he turns back toward me. A soft grunt escapes his lips.
The corners of my lips tip up tentatively. “You like?” I ask. I take a sip from the wine glass I’m holding.
“Jesus Christ, Reese,” he whispers, making a show of adjusting himself in his pants. My smile widens—and so do his eyes as they travel the length of my body. He grips that bottle of wine tightly in one of his hands, like it’s his lifeline. “Uh…yeah. I like. I more than like.”
He’s staring, and I’m self-conscious. I duck past him and head toward the kitchen that opens into our family room, and he follows close behind me.
He sets the bottle of wine down on the large kitchen island.
“Would you like a glass?” I ask, nodding to the wine.
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving me. “No,” he says softly. “Come here.”
I set my glass down and take a step toward him. He strides over to me, closing the gap between us and taking me into his arms. He runs his fingertips along the lace covering my back.
He closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind all day and then I come over to this?”
I giggle. “Is that a good thing?”
“Oh, it’s a good thing. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop thinking about you tomorrow, either, except now I’ll have the mental picture of you wearing this.” He backs up a step, leaving me cold in his absence, but he appreciates me with his eyes, warming me and branding me as he memorizes my body in this sexy apparel.
“Think of me during a big meeting tomorrow,” I say softly.
“I will.” He says the words like a vow then steps toward me.
“Think of me when you’re in the middle of an important phone call.”
“I will.”
I want to tell him to think of me when he’s around his secretary, but I don’t. Jealousy has never looked good on me, and I don’t want him thinking about her when he’s about to have sex with me, anyway.
“I’ll think of you wearing this sexy outfit, and I’ll think of you out of it, too.”
His arms loop around me again, and he backs me up until I bump into the island. His hands come under my ass and he lifts me up onto the counter then settles himself between my legs. The counter is a little high for sex, but he can certainly do other things to me. He presses a kiss to my lips, and I slide my arms under his suit jacket and link them around his back. His lips trail down to my neck, and then he murmurs in my ear, “Remember when I fingered you in public?”
I moan, because it’s the only response I can muster. Yes, I remember, and I remember coming all over his fingers with barely a touch from him. I remember how much I wanted him then, but that was nothing compared to how much I want him now. My entire day, it seems, has been dedicated to getting ready for this moment, and now it’s here and all I want to do is allow him unfettered access to my body.
He reaches down into the cups of my corset and pulls each of my breasts out so they’re resting over the top. They’re pushed up even higher, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face in between them. “Perfection,” he says, and then he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. I brace myself by flattening my palms against the countertop, which pushes my breasts closer to his face. He luxuriates in them for a bit, giving both sides attention. When he uses a pinch of teeth, a dart of desire pressures between my legs, dampening my panties even more. He unclips the garters with strong, sure fingers, and then they trail toward the pressure and the ache. He unlatches from my breast and tugs at my panties, lifting them over my ass and pulling them down my legs and over my heels before tossing them on the floor. And then he steps back and spreads my legs wide open, giving himself a full view.
He licks his lips, closes his eyes, and kisses me hard on the mouth. He trails kisses from my mouth, down my neck, to my chest, down my stomach, and finally reaching his destination. He pushes my knees out further before he buries his head between my legs. He starts slow—the pad of his tongue licking through me several times, but then he picks up speed. He tongues inside of me, fucking me with his mouth, and my hips buck up off the counter toward his face. I’m desperate for release at the same time I’m desperate to hold onto the pleasure, to make it last as long as I can. Forever might not be long enough.
His tongue flattens against my clit again and he pushes a finger inside me, working his finger at the same time he works his tongue. Suck and push, thrust and lick. He reaches up with his free hand to pinch my nipple between his fingers, and the ache and pleasure and pain all collide at once as my knees automatically press together against his ears and my entire body roars with release.
I tremble as I try to gain some semblance of control back. He stands, his eyes hot on mine, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a move so sexy that I nearly come again just watching him. He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants, and then he reaches into his boxers and pulls himself out. He’s thick and heavy, a beast in his own hand. He strokes himself a few times, up and down, up and down, his eyes on me the entire time. A drop of moisture dampens the tip, and all I can think about is how I want him in my mouth. I want to please him the way he pleased me.
I slide off the counter and kneel at his feet. He still strokes himself, watching me with the eyes of a tiger. I open my mouth and he guides himself into it, still stroking even as I close my mouth around the tip and suck. He grunts out a sexy noise of pleasure, and a dart of excitement passes through my chest that I’m the one making him feel this way.
He moans as I push his hand out of the way and take over, taking him all the way to the back of my throat. He pushes his hips against me, and my throat tightens. I do everything in my power to relax, to let him buck his hips against my mouth, to please him the way he just pleased me.
Before he comes, though, he pulls himself out of my mouth.
“Inside,” he pants. “I want to come inside you.” He’s still wearing his pants, and he reaches into the back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He finds the condom he stores there, tears the packet open, and rolls it on.
“Get back on the counter and spread your legs,” he commands.
I’m about to protest that it’s too high, but he pushes me back so I’m lying on the counter and he climbs over the top of me.
He pushes my legs apart, so far that my hips scream in pain, and then he jabs himself into me. It’s big, and I grunt at the entrance before my body accepts him in. He starts to move fast—doesn’t give me much time to warm up to his intrusion, but I don’t need it. Our bodies find an immediate rhythm. He pumps and I buck, he bucks and I take it. In and out, back and forth, and then his thumb finds my clit. It’s too much, riding this line of pleasure and pain with him, and his body starts to tremble. I watch his face, his gorgeous face as he starts to come, and the visual sends me into my own orgasm. We come together, riding the crest before we both come back down, and it’s all over too quickly.
On and off, I wanted this to happen since our dinner date not so long ago, and this feels right—like I’m entering a relationship with someone, like there’s feelings involved on both sides, like it’s going to last more than just one night.
I try not to think of that one night, not in the glowing moments after Brian gave me my second orgasm of the night, but I still think of the fact that this man here in my home wants me for more than my body, for more than the night, for more than just sex. Brian and I connected on other levels first, even though I felt like I did with Mark, too, despite the shorter amount of time we had.
I point Brian in the direction of my bathroom to clean up, and I put my panties back on and head toward my bedroom to change out of this costume and into something comfier.
I bend over a drawer to grab a t-shirt, and the comparisons continue in my head. It was good with Brian, great—there’s no doubt. He took control. He dominated without being a dominant, just like we talked about. He gave me what I wanted and he seemed to enjoy himself, too. But this is still so new. There’s still a lot holding me back, still other thoughts in my mind even though I’m trying my hardest to push them away.
I’m afraid those other thoughts are going to consume me and take away my chance at happiness with a man who’s pretty damn close to perfect for me.