by Alina Jacobs
“You can’t honestly tell me that you want to kick me to the curb after a reaction like that,” I whispered in her ear.
26
Brea
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should kick him to the curb, draw my line. Sure, I was already topless and in my panties in front of him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t stop now.
I just needed to convince him of that, I supposed. That devious grin on his face as he looked over me, enjoying the bareness of my body.
“Look, we shouldn’t...”
He offered a strong counterargument as he rubbed me through the fabric of my panties and sent another roar of bliss through me, making me call out with joy. How could he be so good at this?
Mark then started to rain kisses down my naked body, goose bumps forming everywhere his lips touched. He moved to my neck and my chest, suckling on my tits, which prickled wonderfully from his lips’ touch. The tingly shocks inched through my body. The hand not on my clit circled my nipples and perked me up so much. Then he slid farther down my body, going across my abdomen with his lips, before coming to rest between my legs.
His eyes stayed trained on mine, watching how I reacted to everything he did. He damn well knew how uncomfortable it was making me, and it seemed to inspire him more than anything else.
Mark’s tongue slithered around the fabric of my panties, tickling my heat even more as he pushed himself to explore what I had beneath. I lay there, baffled at what I should do. I still thought I should stop him, but everything he did was so damn good.
He grabbed the waistband of my panties and slid them down my legs, disrobing me of the final shreds of my modesty. He wasted little time in diving back between my legs and seizing right onto my pussy. The feeling built on the intensity of what he had done so far, and now there was no cotton in the way to dampen the effect of what he was doing to me.
He suckled my clit, and I shot straight up with a loud cry. His hands continued to massage and explore my body, pinching my nipple, grabbing my hips, driving me wild.
His tongue wormed its way into my pussy, deeper, wiggling around and touching me in all the right places.
The tide inside me rose higher and higher as I tried to keep on top of the boiling intensity. I trembled as every so often, pleasure jolted through me, every second more intense than the last. He lapped at me with great focus. He paid attention to my clit, making every bit of me feel his touch, his worship, his lust.
I writhed beneath him, panting, calling out his name, but what I didn’t do was stop him—which was what I should have done. The closest I came was a brief attempt to grab a handful of his thick, soft hair and pull him away from my pussy, but even that was a halfhearted attempt, because I didn’t really want him to stop. It just made him laugh softly and continue with his divine machinations.
The pace became quicker, more intense. The point of no return had long since been crossed, and there was no way I was going to hold on for much longer. I dug my nails into the leather of the sofa, trying to fight it off, but ultimately it was all for naught.
One more thrust of his fingers into me, one more suck of my clit, one more stroke of my aching pussy, and I was absolutely lost to him. Every bit of bliss shot through me, flooding me, claiming me. I bit down a scream as the pulsing orgasm washed over me, so much stronger than what any man had done to me before him.
He was good. Damn good.
Too good.
“Holy moly poly!” I said as I lay sprawled on the large leather sofa.
Mark, for his part, didn’t look at all ruffled.
I mentally did a quick catalogue. Had I been grooming down there? I had taken a shower before the meeting, so that was good. I hoped it wasn’t a dire situation down there. Mark at least didn’t look as if he’d had a bad time of it. He brushed a sweaty lock of my hair out of my face.
“And I thought the best thing that was going to happen today was getting my dinosaur taco holder,” I joked.
“You’re buying a dinosaur taco holder?” Mark asked, confused, as I hastily pulled on my clothes.
The elevator dinged, and Liz and Ivy walked into the space while I jumped up, clothes still half done, and sprinted to my sewing.
Don’t mind me. I’m just here engaging in a wholesome activity.
Liz beamed at me and set a paper sack on the counter. When she took out the containers, the smell of fried chicken and tangy sauces hit me.
“You need something after that workout?” Liz asked, handing me a chicken tender.
“I uh—”
“You’ve been sewing really hard,” she continued. “You have that bodice almost done. You must be starving.”
I looked down. The bodice was upside down, and I had been making sewing motions with a needle that had no thread. I hastily stuffed it into my bag.
“What did you two get up to while we were gone?” Ivy joked.
I stuffed a piece of chicken into my mouth so I didn’t have to answer.
“Do you want a french fry, Mark?” Liz asked. “Or did you already eat?”
I choked on my chicken tender, and Liz clapped me helpfully on the back.
Ivy launched back into the discussion on the seating arrangement and general program of the reception. And I tried to pay attention. It was uncomfortable to sit next to Mark for the rest of the meeting. He wore an expression like the cat that had stolen all the cream and opened a giant dairy department store and was making a million dollars a day.
And me? All I could think about was Mark’s tongue there doing that and how I somehow needed more of it.
27
Mark
Fuck, that was addicting. The sounds Brea had made, the way she had moaned when I licked her pussy, the way she had shuddered when she came then came again…All I wanted to do was bend her over and fuck her.
Unfortunately, I had to leave and actually go to work after the meeting. All through the parades of presentations and requests for my attention on some matter or the other, I thought only of Brea.
Unfortunately, every time I tried to prod her into seeing me again, she came up with some excuse.
Mark: You want to grab a drink?
Brea: Have to finish this gown.
Mark: Or I could come over and help you with your sewing.
Brea: You didn’t help the last time!
Mark: Of course I did. You have to be relaxed with a steady hand to sew. You were too tense before. You could have developed carpal tunnel.
Brea: Ah, yes, he was concerned with my well-being.
Mark: Hey, I didn’t take off all my clothes.
Brea: And that’s the real tragedy.
I smiled at the phone.
Finn poked his head into my office. “Ooh, did you meet someone?”
“No,” I scoffed.
“Lemme see!” Finn wrestled me for my phone. “She cracks jokes and doesn’t put up with your shit!” Finn said, laughing as I tried to grab the phone back from him. “I like her already.”
“I’m not sure she likes me that much,” I admitted.
“What’s not to like?” Finn protested, draping an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve got the money and the looks and the tragic backstory. That shit is catnip for women.”
“Not this one,” I said.
“You have to speak her love language. And no, I don’t just mean sex. What does she like to do?”
“She likes to sew.”
“Then sew her something,” Finn said grandly.
“I can’t sew.”
“I know,” Finn said impatiently. “That’s the point. You just do your best, give it to her, say you tried, and then she’ll think it’s adorable.”
“That is such a terrible idea. I have no idea how you made it this far in life.”
But when I got home that evening, after playing with Beowulf, instead of rerunning my algorithms for my stock purchases, I looked up sewing videos online.
“It can’t be that hard,” I decided. There was one video where the
lady was making a small stuffed dinosaur. There were only five pieces, and it was small. I could do it, I decided. I had been in the military, after all, and we were required to know how to patch our uniforms. I could handle a little dinosaur.
I placed an order for the material then playfully boxed with Beowulf. He had already doubled in size and had huge front paws.
“You’re going to be a giant,” I told him. The dog barked and sprang at me. “And,” I reminded him, “Brea is coming by tomorrow. She’s going to be so impressed with how much you’ve grown!”
I was waiting downstairs the next day when Brea arrived ten minutes before the meeting. Liz’s doctor had told her she should avoid sitting for long periods of time anymore because she was swelling and needed to keep moving. So long car rides to the Weddings in the City office were out.
When the Uber pulled up, Brea huffed out of the car, dragging a crate filled with a variety of gift bags.
“This seems excessive,” I said.
“Gift bags are important,” Brea said as I picked up the crate. “They’re the last impression a guest has of the wedding.”
When Brea walked into my apartment, Beowulf ran over to greet her and presented her with a slobbery toy.
“I think he likes you,” I remarked as Brea petted the puppy.
“Because he handed me a wet penis? Why yes, he must.”
“Wha—” I looked down. The dog had chewed the arms off of his stuffed platypus, and it did admittedly look a bit like a dildo.
“But at least he has something to personalize his space with,” Brea remarked.
I looked around. “This place has personality,” I said defensively.
“It looks like a prison cell.”
“That is a very expensive couch, I’ll have you know,” I told her.
“You need a feminine touch in here.”
“Well, I mean...” I said, encircling her waist. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“There are people coming soon,” she whimpered.
The door opened, and Beowulf barked. Brea and I pulled apart. She went to hastily set out the gift bags as Liz examined the goods on the table.
“You don’t want a chair?” I asked her.
“I’m supposed to be standing,” she said, lightly marching in place. “Also, I have to pee like every five minutes, so this may be a long meeting.”
“I have several options for gift bags,” Brea told Liz. She explained the picnic hamper option and then contrasted it with a tote and a box. She also went through a frankly gratuitous display of various customized jars of jams, honey, mini bottles of olive oil, little clear boxes with macarons, other boxes with crackers and nuts and other snacks. Plus there was something called a hangover kit, handmade bottle openers, little art prints, luggage tags, and a planter holding a tiny succulent.
“This is insane,” I muttered.
“I love all of them!” Liz gushed and started to cry. “I can’t choose just one.”
Worried, I handed her a tissue.
Liz blew her nose. “Sorry, I’m just really emotional. Wes is out of town. I want to surprise him with the gift boxes. Do you think he’d like these, Mark?”
“I’m sure he’ll like the snacks,” I said. “But do you want to put in some alcohol? Maybe something harder than champagne?”
“Yum, alcohol,” Liz said, tears forgotten. “All I want is a craft cocktail. French fries just aren’t the same without one. I do like all the favors. I think Mark is right and we should have more food, though,” Liz said.
“Hazel, the girl who does these prints, also runs the Gray Dove Bistro in Harrogate,” Brea said. “She’s going to bake donut Danishes that we can put in little bags to give out.”
“How many of these can I pick? I can’t decide!” Liz fretted as she touched the little party favors.
“Just have them all and give out bigger picnic hampers,” I said.
Brea glared at me. “There is a time frame. This wedding is happening in a few weeks!”
“So pay for rush delivery,” I said.
“Please!” Liz begged Brea.
Ivy shrugged. “I’ll see if they can rush deliver a bigger version of these hampers.”
Brea glared at me after the meeting was over. “For a man who claims he doesn’t like weddings, you sure are on board with making this one as complicated as possible.”
“So what?” I said, pulling her to me. “I like to make women happy.”
28
Brea
Mark bent down to kiss me. It was a hard kiss that promised more than what had happened in the office.
Terrible, terrible idea, I chastised myself as his hands roamed over my body. But as they went lower, the chant morphed into This is so freaking good! Gimme moar!
“I need to see you cum for me,” Mark whispered.
I needed to get away from him, to stop this from becoming more, and yet I couldn’t say what I needed to say.
His hand caressed my face then glided down my body. Even though I was fully clothed, his touch was strong and skilled enough to make me feel it nonetheless.
He caressed my breast, and my nipples perked up for him, tempting me strongly to strip to nothing and let him fuck me right there and then. I tried not to give in. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be letting him do this. But I wanted it.
I wanted his hands against my bare skin. I wanted him to touch more of me. Lower still his hand went, down to my waist, where the looseness of my top finally let him get that skin-to-skin touch that I had been craving more than wedding cake.
His grin was crooked as he pushed into my panties. I shared a long gaze with him. If I’m going to stop him, now is the time.
Shit, who am I kidding…five minutes ago was the time. Five days ago was the time. When I first met him was the time.
His fingers slid against my slit and felt my heat.
“Don’t act like you don’t want me. You’re dripping wet at the mere mention of me making you cum. You don’t even need to take your clothes off to get so damn horny for me. Just the mention of it and a hand is all it takes.”
Mark’s words rang too true and again filled me with a good deal of shame, and yet I wanted it. Breathing hard, I nodded approvingly. With permission granted, he slid his finger in, grazing my clit, the wonderful little shock bubbling through me. Deeper he went, going into my slit, tickling me down there.
One finger, two fingers…with just one hand, he was sending those blissful waves through me, sparking them up higher and stronger. I panted before him, not wanting to completely embarrass myself by begging him to fuck me but tempted to give in, to melt into him and moan for him.
I grabbed him tightly as he stroked those fingers into me, rubbing my clit with every pass, making me shudder. It wasn’t long before I gave him what he wanted.
I came for him, suddenly, powerfully. It was brief, but damn, it was good. I wish he had fucked me.
As the aftershocks of the orgasm washed away, the regret set in.
You were supposed to dump him, I scolded myself. But Mark wasn’t acting like someone who had any intention of being dumped. Hell, he wasn’t even acting like some guy who was in it for the hookup.
He was lightly kissing me. His pants were tented, but he wasn’t being too forceful, just content to kiss me and nuzzle my tits. Before I could fully convince myself to let him coax me into something more, furious knocking on the door interrupted us.
Mark sighed and shifted, holding me closer as Beowulf went berserk.
“Maybe they’ll leave,” he whispered in my ear.
“Mark!” an older man’s voice yelled. “I know you’re in there!”
“Fuck,” Mark muttered and stood up to head to the front door.
“I have a key from your mom. I’m coming in to do a wellness check.”
“I’ll get the door,” Mark barked as I scrambled to dress. An older man scooted into the living room as I was smoothing down my skirt.
“Well, I’ll be,”
he exclaimed to Mark. “You’ve got a lady in here!”
“Granddad!” Mark exclaimed.
“Ida?” I said in confusion.
The older woman grinned at me. “I know a gal who’s been getting some. Harris, let’s go and let these two kids finish getting their freak on. Your grandson looks like he’s still half drowning in bridled passion.”
Mark looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. I started giggling.
“Did you try any of the sex toys I sent over?” Ida demanded. “Look here.” She whipped a giant dildo out of her purse and handed it to me. “This will spice things up. Just wave this in his face if he starts falling back into the two-pumps-and-a-nap routine.”
“I think Mark’s probably got it a bit more together than that,” I said faintly.
Mark was clearly wondering to himself whether it would be better to end his misery by jumping off the balcony or slamming his head in the fridge.
Beowulf pranced over to me and sat at my feet, wagging his tail and barking. I waved the dildo at him. It wobbled unnervingly, and then it started vibrating. I shrieked and dropped it. Beowulf grabbed the dildo and raced around the room, happy to play with his new toy.
“That’s five hundred dollars,” Ida said.
Mark swore. “Why?” he practically shouted.
“It’s handmade, special limited edition, signed by none other than the artist Zarah herself,” Ida said. “I take credit cards.” She held out a card reader.
Mark begrudgingly handed her his credit card, and Ida swiped it.
“So you two ready to go on a double date?”
“Uh,” Mark said, “Brea has to work. She has Liz’s wedding dresses, plural, to finish.”
“Now, Mark,” Harris said, “you promised you would come out on a double date with your granddad.”
“I did?” Mark asked skeptically.
