by Whitney G.
I could see that we were driving past property estates—mansion like houses with sprawling lawns and mile long gates, houses that were standing further and further apart.
Jonathan began to slow his car down, pulling up to a colossal black gate. He rolled his window down and punched in a code, causing the gate to slowly slide open.
He drove down a long gravel road that was lined with bright yellow gingko trees. There was a small courtyard in the distance and a gray stoned fountain stood stoic amidst a large bed of well-trimmed grass.
I kept my eyes forward, thinking that whatever his house looked like, it couldn’t be grander than any of the yachts he’d shown me. But once the house came into view, I had to hold back a gasp.
It was unbelievably beautiful. Stunning. An architect’s dream.
It was a colonial style mansion with white stones that gleamed against the sunset. It had to have been built in the 1930s—the marbled pillars that led into the entrance were reminiscent of the ones I’d seen in my history design books.
The arched windows—there were far too many to count, were at least eight feet tall and the glass within them was tinted black.
“Claire?” Jonathan was standing at my door with his arm outstretched. “Would you like to come inside?”
I stepped out of the car and followed him up the smooth slate steps and past the vintage front door.
The inside of the house was a stark contrast to the outside. While a few remnants of the colonial style had been saved, most of the house had been completely modernized: There were walls constructed completely from glass and free-standing spiral staircases. There were also high vaulted ceilings and recessed lighting.
Why does he need all this space?
He stopped walking once we arrived in what appeared to be an old parlor room. He pulled out a chair for me and walked behind the enormous bar.
I looked all around me, admiring the original artwork that hung in sparkling silver frames. “Will you give me a tour of everything before we leave?”
“Of course.” He opened a cabinet. “I can show you around the whole place tomorrow.”
“Do you really need more than one house in the same city? Why can’t you just stay in this one? It’s more than big enough...”
“I see my properties as investments.” He uncorked a bottle of wine. “This house isn’t really a home right now. It’s considered to be a landmark.”
“Why?”
“It once belonged to Charles Ellis, the other designer of the Golden Gate Bridge. He built this house to show off how innovative he could be, how far he could push structural design in the 1930s. Apparently he was spending too much time on it, so they put him off the bridge project before it was completed.”
“He never got credit for helping?”
“Not until 2007,” he said as he handed me a glass. “He’d been dead for decades by then though.”
“How sad...What made you buy it?”
“I was looking for an estate to invest in years ago, and it caught my attention as soon as I drove by. It reminded of a house in a book I read once. It’s a classic, but I can’t remember the name of it for the life of me right now...”
“What’s the book about?”
“Are you going to try and guess the title?” He smiled. “Are you that good with books?”
“Maybe...”
“1920s. Jazz Age. Wealthy guy who loves to throw lavish parties. Townspeople have no idea how he acquired his wealth and he’s in love with—”
“The Great Gatsby?”
He nodded and took a sip of his wine. “I’m impressed.”
“This house doesn’t really feel like single person space. It seems like it’d be more fitting for a family.”
“I can see that. Maybe someday I’ll have one here...”
I stilled.
It was moments like this that the insecurities I’d managed to bury crawled out of the ground and laughed in my face. I knew damn well that this fling wouldn’t last forever, that we weren’t meant to be together, but there were small instances that made those facts more apparent, more glaring.
And anytime those instances came up, the confidence I’d built up quickly crumbled into a million little pieces.
“Can I be frank with you for a few seconds, Jonathan?”
“You’re asking for permission to speak?”
I sighed. “You just reminded me of a reason why I shouldn’t be with you.”
“Come again?”
“You and I should end this before it gets—”
“Before it gets what?” He set his glass down and narrowed his eyes at me.
“You just said you wanted to have a family of your own here one day and I can’t give you that... Ever. My tubes are tied and even if I were to get that reversed, it’s pretty risky for someone at my age to...Anyway, we’re not that serious about each other so I don’t know why I even—” I sighed. “I think we should go back to the strictly sex thing that we had before. I don’t want to hold you back from enjoying your twenties. I definitely enjoyed mine and I want you to do the same. After we get done having sex tonight, take me home and we can try to put whatever this is back to where it once was...”
He stared at me, blinking slowly as if he was trying to process everything I’d said. I braced myself for his rebuttal, but he simply rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his wine.
He strolled over to me and pulled me out of my chair. He placed his arms around my waist and pressed his forehead against mine. “One, I’ve never had any desire to have kids of my own. Never. Two, when I said I wanted a family here, I was referring to one that would rent out this house because I’m putting it on the leasing market at the end of the year. Three, you should’ve told me that your tubes were tied a long time ago. I would’ve stopped buying so many fucking condoms. And four, you’ve never struck me as the insecure type so I’m not sure why you’ve been backpedaling so much lately, but let me make this clear: I am serious about you. I am enjoying my twenties. We’re not going back to a strictly physical relationship, and I’m not taking you home until tomorrow. Are we clear?”
“Yes...” I whispered and felt my heart skip a beat.
“Good. Let’s take a shower.”
“Together?”
“Of course not.” He released me from his arms. “I’ll take mine upstairs and you’ll take yours downstairs. As soon as we’re done, I’ll tuck you into bed and kiss you goodnight.”
Before I could fire back, he clasped my hand and led me out of the parlor and up the grand staircase. He twisted the doorknob to a black door and pulled me inside a massive bathroom.
Wow...
It was the size of my living room five times over; the crystallized glass shower alone was the size of my office. From its windows, I could see that there was a wet bench that wrapped around its insides, a sleek entertainment system that was embedded into the wall, and rotating panels with water jets that hung from the ceiling.
Across the room, was a marble spa tub that looked like it was meant to be a wave pool. And on the back wall, an open sauna puffed steam across the room’s sparkling white floors.
I stepped forward and ran my fingers against the marble countertop. Curious, I reached out to touch the quartz-like material that surrounded the wall length mirror, but I felt Jonathan wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“You frustrate the shit out of me, Claire.” He looked at me in the mirror, sighing. “That said, I can’t get enough of you for some reason...Every time I think that you’ve almost accepted us, you come up with some new ridiculous reason to pull away...”
“Well, you’re not exactly the—”
“Shhh...” He spun me around and kissed my lips. “You’re not allowed to talk tonight.” He slowly lifted my shirt over my head. “But you can scream as loud as you want to.” He kissed me again and my heart started beating faster.
Looking into my eyes, he slowly pulled the silver clip I was wearing out of my hair. He tossed i
t onto the floor with my shirt and began unsnapping my bra.
He unclasped my pants and let them fall into a pool on the floor. Then he stepped back and looked at me, really looked at me, as if he were regarding something valuable, something he genuinely cared about.
He bent down and lifted my feet up one at a time, carefully slipping my heels off. He moved the shoes to the side and delicately kissed his way up my legs, stopping once he reached my waist. He held me steady as he ran his tongue above the outline of my lace panties, pressing soft, warm kisses against my skin.
As he slid my panties down to the floor, my body became a quivering mess.
He hadn’t touched or kissed me since that day he told me about the “promise” and I was suddenly feeling nervous.
“Why are you shaking?” He stood up and brushed his fingers against my lips. “I’m going to make it perfect for you.”
“Make what perfect?” I barely managed.
“You’re not supposed to talk, Claire.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “If you say anything else, I’ll have to punish you. Are we clear?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He caressed my breasts and stepped back, gesturing at his clothes. “Your turn.”
I stood still for several seconds, not sure where to start—what to do. He and I had had sex hundreds of times, and we’d definitely become comfortable with each other’s bodies, but this felt more sensual—more intimate.
“Claire?” He grabbed my hand and placed it on his chest. “Start with my tie.”
I rose up on my tiptoes and looped my fingers through the knot, trying my best to avoid his heated gaze. As the tie fell to the floor, I began unfastening his shirt’s buttons—smiling as I felt his skin warm up, as I felt his reaction to me.
I reached up and slid the shirt off his shoulders, taking my time with his sleeves. I stared at the perfectly chiseled chest that stood in front of me, running my hands across it and biting my lip.
“Finish.” He caught my wrist and darted his eyes from mine to his pants.
I unbuckled his belt, sliding it free from the pant loops. I undid the button on his slacks, and they fell down to the floor without any help.
Since he’d already slid out of his shoes, he smirked and playfully tugged at his dark blue briefs, where his huge erection was straining against the fabric.
I bent down to pull them off, but instead of using my hands, I used my teeth. I sat up on my knees and rubbed my hands up and down his length—making him gasp, and then I took all of him into my mouth.
I eased him in and out, slowly flicking my tongue against his shaft. I cupped his balls in my hands, softy massaging them as I sucked on him faster and faster.
“Claire...” He groaned. “Claire, stop.”
I slowly pulled back like I was going to consider his pleas, but then I twirled my tongue around his thick tip, watching him shut his eyes in tortured pleasure.
His guttural response to me was driving me insane; I felt so in control. I forced all of him into my mouth again, feeling his muscles twitch and spasm with the hard pressure of my tongue.
I started massaging him with my hands again, sucking on him even harder, but he yanked me up by my shoulders and spun me around.
He bent me over the marble counter and slid a finger inside of me, forcing wetness to slip down my thighs.
I waited to feel exactly what I wanted—what I needed. I waited for him to impale me and make me scream, but nothing came. Before I could turn around and ask what was wrong, I felt him lifting me into his arms and carrying me across the room—towards the shower.
The glass doors slid open as we approached, and as soon as he set me down on the floor, the lights that hung above started to glow in a soft yellow. The water jets that protruded from the walls and the ceiling began to spray warm water over us.
He walked over to a hanging shelf and picked up a couple of pink bottles. “Tonight isn’t about me, Claire. It’s about you.” He spun me around so my back was against his torso. Then he began palming my breasts with one hand. “You are very tempting though...” He pressed his erection against my ass—frustrating me, making me want to turn around and—
“Are you about to say something, Claire?” The way he said my name made me yearn for him even more. “Are you frustrated?” he whispered in my ear. “Tempted to try me because you don’t believe what I said about not talking?”
I sucked in a breath and shook my head.
“I hope not.”
The next thing I felt were cool droplets being squeezed onto my head. Then I felt his hands gently spreading the cream all over my hair.
I shut my eyes and leaned against him as he lathered my hair, as he moved his fingers around my scalp in a circular motion, leaving no part untouched.
Please don’t stop...
He poured more droplets into my hair and massaged me again and again, making me weaker with each rotation of his fingertips.
“Does it feel good?” he whispered, pulling all of my hair to the top of my head.
I murmured, “Yes...” and I could sense him smiling behind me.
He pushed my head forward so that it was directly underneath one of the water jets, and he took his time rinsing my hair clean.
When there were no more suds sliding towards the drain, I tried to lean against him again.
“Stand still.” He held my shoulders, preventing me from doing that. “I’m not done.”
I sighed. Then I felt him caressing my back with a soft loofah, brushing it around in soft circles, leaving a sweet vanilla scent on my skin. After he thoroughly scrubbed my legs, he kissed my right shoulder, trailing kisses across my back until he reached my left one.
He slid the loofah underneath my arms and rubbed it against my stomach, moving it up and around my breasts. He used his other hand to touch between my legs, to reposition a water jet so it was streaming up against my most sensitive part.
“I’m going to fuck you with my mouth tonight,” he whispered.
I gasped. “What?” And then I shook my head because I didn’t want him to think I was trying to be punished.
“You heard me.” He walked around so that we were facing each other, locking his eyes on mine. “I’m going to be your first, and I’m going to make you cum over and over and over again.” He lowered his head and kissed my lips. “It’s going to be so fucking good that you’re going to want me to be your last.”
My heart stopped—literally stopped, because my knees went weak and I leaned against the wall, sliding down onto the shower bench.
Letting out a low laugh, he leaned down and kissed me one more time. He walked over to the hanging shelf and grabbed a blue loofah, using it to spread a clear gel over his skin.
He turned around and looked into my eyes, running the soapy loofah across his perfectly carved chest, across his muscled abs. He let the suds sit on his body for a few seconds, and then he let the water trickle down his body and clear them away.
“Can’t stand up?” He raised his eyebrow and I bit my lip as he ran the loofah against his rock hard dick, as he used his hands to teasingly rub it up and down.
I tried to get up, but my legs were still numb. The strong pressure of the water jets against my body weren’t much help either.
All I could do was sit and watch as Jonathan teased me with that damn loofah, letting it caress all the places I wanted to touch.
After many more minutes of playful torture, he tossed it onto the floor and winked. “Still can’t stand up?”
I blushed and he walked over to me, pulling me up by my hands.
As soon as we stepped out of the shower, the water jets stopped and the lights turned white again.
He pulled me over to a bench that sat in front of the sauna and smiled. He slipped into a black robe and grabbed a small towel from a drawer, wrapping it around my hair. He took another towel—a larger one, and began pressing it against my skin, slowly rubbing it all over my body.
“You are so beautifu
l, Claire...” He brushed the towel between my thighs, making my body tense. “Especially when you look at me like that...” He placed a kiss against my thigh.
It took him a while to dry me, and I thought he would ask me to return the favor, but he didn’t. Instead, he unwrapped a brand new blow dryer and took his time drying every strand of my hair, massaging my scalp as tenderly as he’d done in the shower.
When he was finished, he stared at my naked body for several minutes, smiling as his eyes wandered up and down.
“Hold your arms up.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a black slip.
As I held my arms high, he slid the soft fabric over my head and tugged it down, smoothing it out in certain places.
I started to wonder if he bought the same standard slip for all of the other “serious” women he’d been with. But, as I looked at my reflection, I noticed that there was white cursive threading sewn onto the lace that covered my left breast. It read, “For Claire.”
“I’ve never bought lingerie for anyone else,” he whispered. “Only you.” He clasped my hand and led me out of the bathroom and down the hall.
We walked past four doors and a small staircase before stopping in front of a set of white French doors. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked one of the doors, pushing me inside.
My eyes widened as I took in the room: The silky taupe drapes that fell down to floor, the perfectly polished wood floors, the large mahogany poster bed that stood on the far side of the room, and the large scale paintings that featured the greatest American authors.
I walked over the bookshelf that covered the entire back wall, pulling out the only book that wasn’t perfectly aligned with the others.
“I’m only thirty pages in.” Jonathan stepped in front of me. “It’s actually not that bad. Don’t follow her lead and get any ideas about leaving me though.” He smiled as he took Eat, Pray, Love from my hands, placing it back on the shelf.
“Come here.” He took my hand in his and led me over to the bed. “Wine?”
I nodded and he laughed.
“You can answer questions, Claire.” He uncorked a bottle and poured two glasses. “You just can’t initiate anything.” He handed me my drink.
