Julia 27
I’m feeling considerably better about the CD release party when we’re back in the city the night before. Matthew is busy getting David down for the night while I unpack the suitcase I made him haul here from Long Island. I love having the best of both worlds, the country and the city, but it can be a real juggling act, getting three people packed and organized to move from one location to the next every other week.
I unzip the roller bag and start the inventory process. I have less than twenty-four hours to go and this would be a good time to find out if I need to pick up hairspray or lipstick or something. One by one, I pull the items out of the jam-packed case … Stockings. Extra pair of stockings. Extra extra pair of stockings. Favorite nail polish. Incredibly uncomfortable, incredibly expensive, incredibly gorgeous shoes. Velvet wrap. Sparkly hair clips. Extra sparkly hair clips … and so on, and so on, and so on. When I get to the bottom of the bag, I notice something unusual … something wrapped in delicate tissue paper.
“What on earth?” I mumble as I pull the sheets apart to find my ‘special’ nighty. The one I keep wrapped in tissue so its gossamer-thin fabric won’t pull. I take it from its paper nest and hold it up by its delicate, lace straps. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is. What I haven’t forgotten is how insanely expensive it was. I bought it for the honeymoon we never took, though it did make a very brief appearance on our wedding night. But how did it get in here? I didn’t pack it. Which means that...
“Oh, you naughty, naughty man,” I gasp to myself, shaking my head and grinning at the same time. “Hoping to get lucky, I see!”
I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s nearly nine o’clock. David should be out cold before Matthew even finished reading him ‘Goodnight Moon.’ That doesn’t leave me much time!
I quickly toss everything back into the rollerbag and push it around to the other side of the dresser out of sight. After that, I run around the bed, quickly turning down the sheets and fluffing the pillows. Then, I head into the shower for a quick hosing-off and leg shave.
When I finally slip the whisper-soft negligée over my head, it falls in all the right places. Next comes the matching thong. I hate the matching thong. It’s like butt floss. But he loves them and I suppose I should be grateful he’s not into garters or corsets. Finally, I pull the ponytail holder from my hair so that it falls into soft, auburn waves around my shoulders. A quick check in the full-length mirror, and I know I’m good to go. And not a moment too soon, as I hear Matthew checking the locks and turning off the lights … the last thing he does before settling down to read in bed. The bed upon which I’m lying when he opens the door.
He stops dead in his tracks.
“Wow …” he whispers appreciatively, eyebrows arched. “Julia, you look … incredible. Is that what you wore on our wedding night?” he asks quietly. As if he doesn’t know exactly what it is!
I nod, pretending not to know that he put it in the suitcase and allow a sultry little smile to play on my lips. I’m not usually the instigator when it comes to sex, so this is a nice treat for us both. His willingness to participate is, shall we say, suddenly very pronounced as he comes into the room and shuts the door behind him quietly. By the time he gets to the bed, he is minus one sweatshirt, two socks and he’s already got one leg out of his jeans. I get up and help him to dispense with the other leg and his briefs. And since I’m in the neighborhood …
“Oh, Julia …” he moans, when I take him in my mouth. His hands stroke my hair from above where I’m kneeling on the floor. I’m gentle, but firm with him, alternating sucking and licking and nibbling. Once upon a time, this wasn’t on the top of my to-do list, but my Matthew seems to cherish and adore everything that I do for him. To him, and me, this isn’t just an act of physical pleasure, it’s a gesture of my love for him. This is the love of my life and that is what makes this so hot for both of us.
“Gahhh!” he gurgles in surprise when my hands come up from under to massage his testicles. “Oh, oh, Jesus, Julia …” he murmurs. This man is mine, I think, as I take him deeper into my mouth, my eyes peeking upward to catch a glimpse of him with his own eyes closed, head lolling back on this neck, as if praying to the heavens.
“Julia,” he gasps down at me after a few more seconds of this. “Julia, let’s go to bed …”
Uh-uh. Not this time. This time I get to be turned on by his mewling and moaning and begging. I get the vicarious thrill of his pleasure and the high of controlling it. I redouble my efforts, using more inward pressure as I wrap my mouth around his shaft.
“Oh … oh … Julia … please …”
I’d smile if I could. I know that tone in his voice intimately, and I put him out of his misery with some fast in and out across my slick lips. Suddenly, his hands are balled in my hair and I can feel the tremors wracking his body at the same moment that I taste him. When, at last, he is able to open his eyes, he finds me, still on my knees, watching him with complete adoration. His pleasure is my pleasure.
Before I can get a word out, he bends down, scoops me up and takes me to our bed. Oh, he can’t possibly be ready to go another round! But, as it turns out, that’s not exactly what he has in mind. At least, not yet, anyway. I’m on my back, lying across the bed as he climbs up with me. He is lying on his side next to me when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s a long, deep, kiss that makes me feel as if he’s trying to inhale me, to drink in my essence, my soul.
I feel his fingers exploring me through the thin fabric of my soaking thong. When he nudges his index finger past the elastic at the crotch and makes contact with me, I gasp into his mouth and arch off the bed. But he is relentless. His mouth will not leave mine, desperate as I am to moan out loud, to call out his name. His tongue continues its soft caressing of my cheeks and teeth and all around my tongue as his fingers pull me apart, wantonly rubbing and pinching and thumbing, as if my body were his to play with as he pleases. Turns out, it is, actually.
I think I’m going to lose my mind when he stops suddenly, both the touching and the kissing. But it only takes him a second to pull my right nipple from the cup of the nightie and attach his mouth to it. At the same time, his arm makes itself at home as it lays between my breasts, all the way down to my abdomen so he can lodge his entire hand into the front waistband of my panties now, with full, unrestricted access to every part of me. My mouth is free once again, but I can’t even moan, I’m too busy taking in one surprised gasp after the next as he manipulates me with expert precision. He runs his hand languidly up and down, up and down, from one end of my slickness to the other, ever so slightly brushing against my clit, as if by accident, but just to tease. The torture is exquisite, and then, with no warning, his mouth finds mine again with even more hunger and passion, and he concentrates his efforts on rubbing just the right spot while dipping into me again and again.
He was right to cover my mouth with his, because I’d be screaming at this point if I were free to do so. Instead, I moan and plead and groan against his lips as if they’re a gag. All the while, he pushes me further and further over the edge with his relentless rubbing and thrusting until my body is writhing left and right and up and down, unable to control itself.
When the wave comes, it takes my breath away, wracking my limbs with shuddering intensity until I’m reduced to a few residual twitches of ecstatic electricity. I’m panting and practically in tears when he takes his mouth away from mine. My eyes are closed as he kisses my forehead, then my eyelids and my cheeks and lips. I’m unable to speak when he adjusts himself on his back and pulls me into his strong arms so I can feel his heart beating through the wall of his chest.
Oh, yeah. This nighty was worth every penny.