Maggie almost didn’t go to meet with Connor. She left Susan’s flat at quarter to nine and dithered. She went home and rang her father to say hello, to ease her guilty conscience.
“Hi, Dad. It’s Maggie.”
“I thought you’d ring during the weekend.”
Maggie barely caught her sigh. It was always the same, and it didn’t matter what she said or did. She couldn’t do anything right where her father and stepmother were concerned. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t bother making excuses.
“I see your mother is in the magazines again.”
“Oh?” Good grief, what had her mother done now?
“You haven’t seen the Woman’s Weekly?”
“No.”
“She has a new lover.” Her father snorted, and she knew if they were standing in the same room his cheeks would blaze with anger. “Some rugby player,” he added with disgust.
As usual, Maggie didn’t know what to say, planted firmly in the middle of her parents.
“A younger rugby player. He’s your age!”
“Oh.” Maggie wondered what Susan would say about an older woman whisking another eligible bachelor from the dating pool.
“It’s disgusting how that woman flaunts herself.”
“Dad, I rang to see how you are. I’m meant to meet a friend—”
“At this time of night? You don’t get that from me.”
Maggie’s hand clenched her phone. “I’d better go. I’ll ring you next week. Give everyone my love.” And she hung up before her father wound up for another volley of complaints about her mother’s morals and bad blood passing on to her. She stomped around her apartment to disperse her anger at both her parents. They were as bad as each other.
Half a dozen times, she picked up the phone to ring Connor, only to put it down again. If she hurried, she could leave a message.
Cowardly.
Finally, she dialed and waited. One of Connor’s flatmates answered.
“Connor’s here. Just a sec.” He hollered for Connor before she could leave a message, say that it wasn’t important. Her heart thumped while she waited. She could hang up but his flatmate knew it was her on the phone. Connor would ring back and ask questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Maggie?”
“I’m running late,” she said. “I’m still at home.”
“I’ll come over. Be there soon.”
“I—okay.” Weak. So bloody weak. Why couldn’t she tell him it was over? Maggie disconnected, took a deep breath and let it ease out. Truth stared her in the face. She didn’t want to end things between them. That was why she couldn’t tell him.
Sad. So sad.
Sighing, she went to tidy her bedroom before taking a quick shower. She knew where Connor’s visit would end.
Greg hadn’t counted on rugby training going so late. He’d thought about giving the sport away, but the partners liked knowing he played rugby, and he’d take every edge. He deserved a full partnership. He’d earned it.
He pulled up outside Maggie’s apartment, cursing when there were no parking spaces out front. He drove past, finding a space two blocks down. With any luck Maggie would get over her snit and let him stay the night. A man needed sex, and while he could’ve slept with someone else, he hadn’t, wanting Maggie.
A man jogged across the road in front of him, and Greg cursed.
Bloody Connor Grey. What the fuck did the man want with Maggie at this time of the night?
He knew they were friends and resented their closeness. He wasn’t stupid enough to let her know, but after they married, he’d push Grey out of Maggie’s life. Let him know Maggie didn’t want him hanging around.
Greg hesitated, not wanting Connor to see him. They’d had their usual niggles on the rugby field tonight and Greg had decked him. Connor had a fat lip in the changing rooms after practice. It would look worse tomorrow at work. Bastard had it coming. Way Greg saw it, he still had a few free shots coming as payback for his black eye.
Connor entered the apartment building, and Greg decided to go for a coffee. He’d grab a takeout and come back to wait for Connor to leave. Maggie would send him on his way soon enough. She liked to have early nights during the week and was in bed by ten.
Fifteen minutes later, Greg returned. Connor’s car was still parked outside. Greg sipped his coffee and watched the lights in Maggie’s lounge on the second floor. They flicked off and he straightened, moving into the shadows so Connor didn’t see him when he left. Maggie’s bedroom light flicked on, and he saw her wander over to pull the curtains. Another shadow walked up behind her, and the two blended into one.
Greg blinked, unsure if he’d imagined that or not. The next instant the curtains shut off his view. What the hell?
Were Maggie and Grey involved? Nah. He shook his head and glanced at the window again. He waited for an hour, his fury increasing with every passing minute.
Connor didn’t come out again.
“What’s wrong, babe?” Connor had thought he might find an excuse to spank her again, because he’d kinda enjoyed it last time. One look at her face made him change his mind. “Are you okay?” The words emerged a little weird because of his fat lip.
“I should be the one asking that. What happened to your lip?”
“A tackle at training,” he said, making light of the truth. Greg had punched him on purpose. Not that he intended to tell tales. They’d work it out, either on the field or off.
“And you had your face in the wrong place?”
Her teasing note made him smile. That sounded better. When she’d first opened the door she’d looked like a whipped puppy. “Something like that.”
“I’m tired,” Maggie said.
“So am I.” His ribs hurt like hell. Greg had managed two good shots before their team mates had separated them. Connor wasn’t about to involve Maggie in the middle of their petty squabble. “Can I sleep here the night? Hold you?”
“I thought we were about sex.”
“We’re friends.” He hated the note of vulnerability in her voice. It made his chest ache. “Maggie, what’s the problem?”
“I have a guilty conscience.”
“Why?” Connor caught her hand and tugged her to him. “Tell me.”
“We’re sneaking around behind our friends’ backs. Lying to them.”
“Babe, our private arrangement is none of their business, but we can tell the girls if it makes you feel better.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Never mind. I’m going to bed.”
“Am I staying tonight?”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
Connor stood, indecisive for a few seconds. Women. They confused the hell out of him. But one thing was clear. If he walked away now, she might not let him back into her life. Not his plan. Soon, he’d push for more. She was so damn skittish, reminding him of the wild deer that used to graze his grandfather’s land. He followed and wondered why she didn’t want to tell the others about him.
Didn’t she think their relationship would last? Granted he didn’t have a good track record with women, but with Maggie, it was different. She was a friend first. They knew each other, their strengths and weaknesses.
Damn, why did this have to be so difficult?
He walked up behind her as she drew the curtains, pulling her against his chest. At first she stiffened, but she relaxed into him quickly enough to mollify his pique. He curved his hands around her waist, enjoying her warmth, her softness. Her old-fashioned lavender scent.
“Come to bed,” he whispered. His cock filled and he dredged up every bad, embarrassing and cold memory to will away his erection.
She turned in his arms, stretched up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips and pulled away. Her robe slipped down her shoulders, and naked, she crawled between the sheets.
“Goodnight, Connor.” She turned away onto her side.
Connor’s eyes narrowed, his temper rising. Hell, how did he fix this if she wouldn’t tell him her problem?
He stripped off his clothes, leaving his jeans, T-shirt and underwear in an untidy pile on the floor. After flicking off the light, he crawled into her bed, thankful for the first time it was a double rather than one of the larger sizes. It gave him an excuse to touch her. He swallowed the curse trembling on his lips, thinking it instead. Fuck, what happened if he couldn’t fix whatever was wrong?
Connor woke, his arms full of delectable woman. During the night they’d gravitated to each other, seeking warmth and touch. He let himself drift, content to enjoy the moment of tenderness until his body reacted to her presence.
Maggie stirred, stretching like a cat, her body brushing his dick. Connor couldn’t help the involuntary jerk of his hips. He watched her face, the flicker of her eyes as she came fully awake.
“Connor.”
“Morning, babe.” He drew her closer and kissed her, signaling his intentions clearly. He wanted to make love to her. He mightn’t be able to tell her he loved her, but he could show her with his body, his actions.
“I need to clean my teeth,” she muttered.
“No,” he said, instinctively knowing she’d think too hard if she left the bed. He slid his mouth over her silky cheek, taking nibbles out of her neck. He slid his hands down her body in a long, luxurious stroke. Damn, he wanted to wake like this every day. His hand halted at the dip of her waist, and he kissed his way down her body, sliding a leg between hers. She softened beneath him, her relaxation giving implicit permission to continue.
Thank you.
He touched. Stroked. Kissed until sensation roared through him.
Chills rippled across his flesh when he entered her, contrasting with the heat surrounding his dick. Man that felt fantastic. Amazing. He rocked into her, taking it slow at first, using every bit of his expertise until she shuddered against him, cried out.
Pushing deeply, he let go, giving in to a sweet orgasm. Afterward, he held her close and wondered how he should play this. How did he demolish the wall he sensed between them? He wanted forever, and she wanted only what they had now.
Connor recalled one of his ex-girlfriends crying when he’d broken off things with her because he hadn’t wanted serious and she did.
One day, she’d said. You’ll find a woman you want. I hope she doesn’t want you back because then you’ll know how rejection feels.
Connor knew how dismissal felt. It was a brutal kick in the guts.
Sex is good. Spanking is fun and makes me hot. Sometimes variety helps spice things up and gives lovemaking a new edge.
I’ve been reading about bedtime stories. No, not the run-of-the-mill kids’ ones like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. That would be plain weird. No, I’ve been thinking about stories for grownups.
Imagine reading a story together. You and your partner are both naked. The book is open in front of you. There are pictures—explicit ones—and the words are even better, stimulating the imagination.
You’re in a private Turkish bath. The scent of fragrant jasmine oil lingers on the air. The air is moist and you lie on your stomach, sweat trickling down your face, your chest, between your breasts. Patiently, you wait for your massage, mind drifting away with the soft notes of birdsong, piped through an invisible sound system.
A door opens.
Footsteps pad closer.
Strong hands work your back. Stroking and gliding across moist skin. Slowly, they travel down your body, kneading and pushing your buttocks. A hand snakes between your legs, spreading them. Fingers work even lower, tickling across the root of your balls. The hand slips lower, massaging and teasing until your penis fills with blood and becomes erect.
I’m sure you get the picture. Adult bedtime stories can be a lot of fun and are a novel way of building desire.
Another method of foreplay I wanted to mention is role-playing. We role-play when we’re kids, pretending we’re bus drivers, nurses or shopkeepers. It’s a fun way of playing, involving imagination and sometime props. Think about it. Extend the idea into the adult arena. I’m sure you’ve seen or discussed some of the corny porn movies available for viewing. There’s a reason doctors and nurses or teacher and the naughty schoolgirl scenario are popular.
What? You think we’re all sick in the head?
I hate to break it to you, but if you’re reading my blog now, you’re on the same page. You like things a bit different. Role-playing falls into kink for some people. I guess it depends how far you want to take it, but role-playing is perfect for spanking foreplay.
Get costumes. Dress as a school girl, a nurse, a disobedient servant or geisha girl. Have your lover dress as his or her chosen character, improvise a script and have fun together. Agree beforehand what’s acceptable, what drifts out of bounds and use a pre-agreed safe word if boundaries are crossed. Play time should be enjoyable and not stray into torture.
And just so you know, I have an old school uniform that still fits me. Guess what I’ll be wearing for my next spanking…
Connor stared at the screen, shifting in his chair. Damn, that was hot. His Maggie had hidden storytelling talents. He wanted her to read a Turkish bath story to him, tell him how it ended and, even better, show him.
He’d return the favor and tell her a story guaranteed to make her squirm. A story to make her hot and desperate for him. His brow wrinkled as he considered the possibilities.
This weekend. After his game, they’d shoot away for the rest of the weekend. Waiheke Island, he decided. Close but not too close to home. They could walk on the beach, visit the World War Two gun placements and dine at the vineyards. And when they weren’t doing all that, they could make love. Some adult storytelling. A spanking for a manufactured infraction. Some traditional sex to balance things out. Yeah. A great plan. And if he could find out what was troubling her so much the better.
He grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen counter and hit speed dial. Maggie answered almost straight away. “How do you feel about a gym session?”
“Sounds good. We haven’t been for a few days. I’d arranged to meet the girls, but I’ll let them know I’ll be late.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” Smiling, Connor put the phone beside his laptop. He hit a search engine and a few minutes later had picked out a good place to stay.
Leaping to his feet, he jogged to his bedroom, changed for the gym and grabbed his car keys. He arrived at Maggie’s apartment just as she walked outside.
“Great timing,” she said, opening the passenger door.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” he asked.
“Apart from going to rugby? No.”
“Would you like to go to Waiheke? After the game.”
“Just the two of us?”
He nodded, pulling up at a red traffic light. “Just us,” he confirmed.
“I’d love to.”
Connor let his breath ease out, a smile unfurling. He’d thought he’d have to persuade her to go away with him. All he’d needed to do was ask.
He flirted with asking her to bring her old school uniform, but wimped out. He was good at improvisation. Hell, it was hard-wired into all Kiwis. It was a well-known fact New Zealanders thought outside the box, and as a good, red-blooded Kiwi male, he fit the profile.
Bring on the weekend.