Harrison

Gaby arrives shortly after seven p.m. She’d texted me, once, asking what time she should come around, and I just texted back, How about 7? And she replied Okay, and that was the extent of the conversation. She doesn’t fuss, and she’s not clingy. I like that.

However, I find myself uncharacteristically nervous when she walks through the door. I’m excited to see her, but apprehensive about having asked her around. I don’t want her to think I’m pushing her for anything more. Neither of us wants that. Equally, I don’t want her to think I’m using her for sex, because that’s just rude, even if she seems to be doing the same to me.

All I know is that I want to see her, and I was thrilled when she appeared to feel the same way. But I’m not sure what to expect from this second date—if that’s what it is.

To my surprise, she comes in carrying two carrier bags full of groceries. “Hey, sexy,” she says, passing me, and going straight into the kitchen. “As a thank you for today’s orgasms, I’m going to cook you dinner. And yes, I did use the plural there, just so you know what to expect for dessert.”

I laugh and shut the door, and it’s as easy as that. All my nerves vanish, and I join her in the kitchen, and let her start directing me to chopping up vegetables while she prepares the meat.

I’ve always cooked alone. On the rare occasion that I’ve prepared dinner for a girl, she’s sat and talked to me while I’ve done the cooking, so it’s the first time someone else has taken over my kitchen. And I discover that I love it. Gabriella is moderately bossy tonight because it’s her meal, but we move around each other as if we’ve been doing it for years, retrieving knives and bowls, and when one of us suggests something to the other—you could cut those this way? or have you thought about adding Cajun spice to the chicken?—we take each other’s advice without quibbling, and discover the meal is better as a result.

We eat our Cajun chicken and bacon pasta at the dining table, talking about other recipes and meals we’ve prepared, places we’ve eaten and the best restaurants, and spend an hour afterward sipping wine while we continue with our favorite cooking shows and chefs we admire.

It feels odd, I think, as the evening wears on, to be sharing myself in this way with someone that I’m not dating—not technically, anyway. What’s the definition of dating? Surely, it’s seeing someone with the intention of the relationship continuing? That’s not what this is—this is a second one-night stand. I have no intention of asking her for a third.

Yeah, right. My heart knows what my brain refuses to admit. This isn’t going to be the last time I see her. In fact, I think I might see her every night up until one of us leaves, if she’s willing. What the fuck. Carpe diem, and all that.

This particular line of conversation has naturally come to an end. We sit sipping our wine, studying each other. My dinner has gone down, and I start to be aware of physical things—the pale curve of her neck, the way her eyes are darkening with the fading light, the fact that I can see the tips of her nipples through her shirt, which tells me they’ve hardened, possibly because she’s thinking about similar things.

She puts down her empty glass and rises. “Give me five minutes,” she whispers, “then bring in another glass of wine.” She bends and kisses me, just a press of her lips on mine, then walks away into the bedroom and pushes the door almost closed.

My heart racing, I sit there for the prescribed five minutes, finishing off my glass while I look out over the city, imagining what delights the next few hours are going to bring. I might repeat some of my favorite positions from the other night, I decide. Or maybe think up some new ones. I’d quite like to watch her make herself come—that would be fucking hot. Or perhaps I’ll tie her up. Maybe I will keep her as a sex slave until it’s time for us to part. Somehow, I don’t think she’d argue too much with that idea.

I wait impatiently for the five minutes to pass. Then, rising, I pick up the wine bottle and take it into the bedroom.

I find Gabriella naked, lying across the bed, her head resting on the edge, so her hair is hanging down toward the floor. I put the bottle on the bedside table, and go to walk around the bed, but she catches my hand and pulls me toward her.

I bend over and give her an upside-down kiss, and she holds my head for a moment, opening her mouth to let me dip my tongue inside. But when I go to rise, she lifts her arms up and holds onto my thighs.

“You haven’t fucked my mouth yet,” she says, her eyes glittering in the moonlight.

My heart immediately pounds like a jackhammer, and the erection that was already on its way appears fully formed in seconds.

“Strip,” she demands, not moving.

My lips curve up, but I do as she says, removing my T-shirt and pants, and then my boxers. Clearly, she has an idea of what she wants to do, and although I’m not sure what it is yet, I’m happy to let her think she’s in charge for a while.

I start walking around the bed, but she clicks her fingers and then beckons me back. Puzzled, I return to stand behind her head, and I watch as she licks her palm. Upside down, she takes my erection in her hand and begins to give it firm strokes. And then she wriggles a little so her head is tipped over the edge, and licks her lips.

Holy fuck, she wants me like this. I let her guide me to her mouth, and then I feel the warm wash of her tongue over the tip, lapping up the moisture that’s already formed on the top.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, and then she takes me fully in her mouth.

It’s a big bed, high off the ground, and as I lean forward and rest my hands on her bent knees, we’re at the perfect angle. Heat surges through me at the newness of the position. I hadn’t thought I had much to learn in the bedroom, but I’ve not had a girl do this before. I’m concerned about choking her, but Gaby tightens her fingers on the back of my thighs and pulls me toward her, and I realize she can let me know if I’m going too deep, and at the moment she wants more.

So I give her what she’s asking for, and slide between her lips and into the hot velvet of her mouth. Ohhh, but that feels good. The breath hisses between my teeth. She looks so fucking hot stretched out before me. I run a hand up her body from her knee to her breasts to play with her nipples, which makes her moan around my cock and suck even harder.

Still, I’m worried about going to deep, and I thrust a little, then gently pull back and look down at her. “Okay?” I murmur.

She licks her lips, which are red and puffy from being stretched around me. “Come on Harry,” she teases. “You’re not going to break me. I want more.”

I groan and sink back into her mouth, and this time I push my hips forward, plunging deep. She moans again, and, encouraged, I begin to thrust, knowing I’m not going to take long with her being so fucking hot like this. I slide my hand from her knee down between her legs, and I’m not surprised to find her wet and swollen again. She moves my hand away, but then I watch her lower her own where mine has been, and to my delight, she starts arousing herself.

Watching my very own porn show, I play with her nipples with one hand, and continue sliding between her lips, so turned on by now that it’s all I can do to not come in seconds. Gaby’s fingers swirl over her clit, and she encourages me to thrust harder with her other hand, pulling me toward her.

Giving in, I push forward, deep throating her, thrilled when she takes it without complaint, and that’s it, I’m lost. I plunge into her mouth, tugging on her nipples, watching her fingers slipping and sliding through her folds, and unfortunately, I can only take about twenty more seconds of this bliss before my balls begin to tighten.

“Gaby,” I say hoarsely, “let me know if you don’t want me to come in your mouth,” but her fingers just dig into my thigh, so I let the heat rush through me, and as I watch her tease herself to an orgasm with her fingers, my climax hits. I pull back, and I’m able to watch myself fill her mouth, spilling occasionally across her chin and onto her pale throat, and see her swallow it down as she gasps and clenches.

The whole show is fucking marvelous, and when I’m spent, I fall onto the bed beside her, gasping for air, and bewildered that although I’d promised to make her my sex slave, I have no doubt that she’s the mistress, and I’m the one who’s enslaved.