Chapter 9
Carla
“More wine?”
Kellan nodded. He looked extremely hot in his royal blue t-shirt over pinstriped, grey front panel shorts. He wore loafers, expensive and Italian. A gift, he’d explained, from a designer once upon a time.
I topped off his stemless wine glass with more of the expensive red I’d picked up on the way home from the fashion show, along with the assorted array of light to heavy hors d’ouvres we’d been enjoying since he arrived two hours earlier.
“I can’t get over your place,” he said, admiring the view of downtown South Beach from my funky patio, featuring ivy-covered trellises and a mismatched table and chairs set, jar candles flickering in every corner. Six stories below, traffic still oozed down Ocean Beach Boulevard in an endlessly snaking convoy of bright lights and long convertibles. “This place must cost a fortune.”
I shrugged, sinking down into the chair across from him. “We had a client a few years back, a big shot realtor who’d hire a few of my models to come by her open houses every weekend.”
Kellan laughed—an open and breezy sound—fresh. “Whatever for?”
I shrugged. “She just liked pretty, young people to be there, to attract other pretty, young people. She’d hire photographers as well, and posted it on social media, live tweeting it, stuff like that. Apparently, it worked and, as a ‘thank you’ present, she gave me a good deal on this place.”
He seemed impressed. “I imagine you in some high-rise condo in Miami Beach,” I sighed, drawing my knees up under my chin on the cozy wicker chair I was sitting in. I’d worn a long beaded skirt, saddle brown, and soft white panties I knew he could see if he wanted to.
He clucked his tongue, and rolled his eyes. “I might be,” he snorted over his wine glass, “If I didn’t piss through my money so easily.”
“Ah, the follies of youth,” I chastised him, teasingly.
“What are you talking about, Carla? You act like you’re sitting in a wheelchair or something.”
“I’m older than you by a good click.”
“A few years, maybe,” he said generously.
“Look,” I said, putting my wine down on the faded wooden table. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear you’re getting into my pants tonight, Kellan, so…you don’t have to sweet talk me.”
He arched one carefully manicured eyebrow, licking his lips wickedly. “Maybe I like my women older,” he purred, sliding a hand out to cover one knee. It was warm to the touch, soft and tender, and I couldn’t wait until I had it on my bare, trembling skin. Any minute now, I thought to myself, enjoying the pleasant anticipation of wet panties on my gleaming mound.
“I hope so, Kellan, because I like my men younger.”
He laughed, the velvet tones doing something magical to the butterflies already dancing in my belly. “I’ve noticed.” He turned, sliding the other hand on top of my knee and, gently, tugging my skirt up along my legs. “Now, where would you like to begin thanking me for saving your ass today? Out here, in plain sight, or somewhere more…private.”
“Why the rush?” I asked, finding it hard to sit still myself.
He reached for his wine glass, polishing it off dramatically. “The food was wonderful, Carla. The wine exquisite, but I’ve become addicted to your pussy, and I’m ready for a nightcap!”
By the time I’d finished laughing, we were standing with my head against his shoulder, his arm around my waist, drifting off the rooftop patio and into the living room.
We passed the coffee table, half-empty platters of Kalamata olives and feta cheese, brie en croute and sugared grapes, ricotta cheese and crackers still littering the top from our long, lingering dinner for two.
I slid my hand down into his, leading him past my home office and down a short hall, covered with framed photos of my hottest models on their most popular magazine covers, and into the bedroom.
It also featured candles on every available surface, filling the room with the warm honey glow of natural light as soft, billowy white curtains fluttered in the open window above the bed.
The tropical air was humid, my skin was already sticky, and his palm moist as I led him to the bed. It was a queen size, covered in soft white sheets, a different colored scarf already tied to each corner of the metal head and foot boards.
“Someone’s been busy,” he said, nodding toward them.
I reached for the top button of his shirt. “Not as busy as she’s about to be, Kellan.”
He jutted his chin out to strike a dramatic pose. After only knowing him a few days, it was one of my favorites. “It’s my ‘thank you’ gift, right Carla? Shouldn’t I be tying you to the bed right now?”
I finished unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it slowly off each shoulder before dragging it to the floor. “Oh, you will. Later. Much later. But I’m still hungry, Kellan, and you’ll make a delicious appetizer.”
His smile was breathtaking. Or would have been, that is, if I’d been able to breathe in the first place. “Later, huh? Don’t we have to work tomorrow?”
I bit my lower lip and shook my head, kneeling to slip off his loafers before unbuttoning his shorts. “I always give my models the day off after a show,” I explained, looking forward to the long, languid night—and morning—I had planned for the both of us.
“How generous of you,” he murmured absently.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, lover,” I teased, unzipping his pants. He was hard, stiff, and ready as I pulled down his shorts, the outline of his long, thick cock prominent against his European low rise briefs.
I would have loved to tease and tempt him over the briefs, but once he was tied up I’d have to cut them off and, well… they looked expensive. Instead I dragged them down, unceremoniously, saving the dramatics for once he was on his back.
“Speaking of appetizers,” he chuckled, nodding toward it.
I rolled my eyes. “All in good time, my boy. All in good time. Now, on your back…”
He did as he was told, sliding his smooth, bronzed body on top of the crisp white sheets. If only I had a camera, I could sell the picture of him for millions and retire early. Bronzed and beautiful, lean, hairless and sculpted, it was hard to believe he was all mine.
Quickly, lest he change his mind and flee into the arms of some skinny young bikini model, I tied his left ankle with a salmon colored silk scarf from my generous collection, his right with one of cinnamon red. Almost relieved that he could no longer flee, I tied his right wrist first before finally securing his left.
“I believe this is a first,” he murmured as I stood, stepping out of my favorite beaded sandals and sinking, with bare feet, onto the wooden floor of my bedroom.
“Bullshit,” I murmured, wriggling out of my skirt.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “Younger women are so boring in bed. I told you I prefer them experienced.”
“Nice word choice,” I murmured, unbuttoning my blouse as the tantric house music I’d chosen for the night’s playlist oozed, sultry and wicked in the background.
“I don’t want to blow it now,” he chuckled.
“Oh, you’re going to blow all right,” I teased, tossing aside my bra until I, too, was in just my birthday suit. “When I say you’re good and ready.”
“We’ll see about that,” he whispered as I slid one knee onto the bed, near his right ankle, drifting my fingertips along his glistening shin bone. His skin was moist in the tropical heat, and his body shivered as I continued my teasing trajectory up the length of his leg.
His balls hung, limp and shaved, they clung to one thigh as I gently rasped my index finger along them. He moaned, an exotic sound that came from deep in his belly, and made mine tremble.
His cock lay against his stomach, stretching past his belly button, begging for my attention as, veiny and satin-like, it trembled and throbbed. I ignored it, my index finger dancing along his torso until it caressed his chin, his lips, his eyebrows and ran along his stubbly brown hair. I crept onto the bed, kneeling at his side, close enough to smother his waiting mouth with a dangerous kiss, so electric and weighted we both gasped by the time it was done.
“How do you like your gift so far?” I asked, my breath hot on his ear as I slid my hand beneath the pillow to drag one last scarf, black and thick, from underneath.
His smile was the only reply I needed, peppering both eyelids with soft kisses before showing him the blindfold. “One last present,” I teased, covering his eyes and lifting his head gently to tie it beneath.
Once bound and blindfolded, I admired him at will, savoring every nook and cranny, every hard edge, and soft, velvet inch. The sparse hair beneath his arms, the gleam of the candlelight reflected on his wet lips, the rapt attention of his nipples as they stiffened beneath my touch, the quiver of his flat belly, the soft tuft of fur above his cock, carefully tended and at last, I knelt between his legs.
I smelled his fragrance, meaty, manly, and musky, a heady blend that found me lying flat on my belly to lick and lap at his thick balls, hearing his groans of appreciation as they danced along my tongue. The taste was divine, the heat—insatiable…and I was just getting started!