My heart quickens, I feel like my chest will explode with excitement. Always practical and career focused, I was never the sort of person to dream about the perfect proposal. In fact, I never realistically thought of marriage as a viable future. Yet, here I am, being proposed to and I’m just as doe-eyed as a lovestruck teenager. In a moment, all of my doubts about Blake and our future melt away. Blake has always been the one for me. I’m a fool to think otherwise. This is the man I love, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. “Yes!” I say, feeling my eyes well up with tears. “Of course I’ll marry you.” Blake kisses my hand and slips the ring on my finger, then stands to kiss me and wipes away a tear running down my cheek.
“I love you,” he whispers in my ear.
“I love you too,” I say, my heart bursting with happiness.
“I think we should have a celebratory drink,” Blake says, retrieving a bottle of champagne on a tray that sits next to the bed.
“Did you order room service,” I ask, noticing the contents of the tray.
“I ordered dessert,” Blake replies with a mischievous grin as he uncorks the champagne and pours two glasses.
“You want me to drink this?” I ask, as he hands me a glass.
“I figure we’re going to have a lot of firsts together. You can always remember your first glass of champagne was on your engagement night. Besides, I’d like to see you a little tipsy.”
“I suppose I can make an exception this once,” I acquiesce without putting up a fight. Blake just asked me to be his wife. The least I can do is have a drink with him. This is a night of opening myself up to new things. I might enjoy the champagne if I give it a chance.
“To my beautiful, brilliant, sexy bride,” Blake says as we clink our champagne glasses together.
Hearing him call me his bride sends a chill down my spine — in a good way. I take a sip of champagne and immediately regret it. It’s sweet, bubbly, flavor does nothing to cover the acidic tartness of alcohol, a taste I’ve always found unpalatable. Blake drains his glass in one gulp, then takes both of our glasses and places them on the tray.
“Hey, I’m not done with mine,” I say, feigning upset, when in actuality, I hope never to put anything that pungent in my mouth again.
“You can have more later. Right now, I have an urgent problem I’d like to address,” Blake says.
“Oh?” I ask curiously.
“Yes,” Blake replies surveying me with covetous eyes. “I told you at dinner that I’d get you out of that dress, and I’ve had you to myself all this time and still haven’t delivered. I’d say that’s a downright shame. I think it’s time you slipped into something more comfortable.”
Blake closes the gap between us. Standing behind me, he lightly runs his hands over the exposed area of my back. I stand quietly, barely breathing, in full submission to his desires. He takes his time, kissing my neck from behind as he pulls the straps of my dress down until my bare breasts are wholly uncovered. A tingle runs up my spine as he cups each breast in his hands, gently squeezing them before his hands continue their descent. He folds the dress down, further, until it falls to the floor. Sliding his hand into my black lace panties, he begins to rub the lips between my legs. I can feel myself getting wet. “You like that don’t you baby?” he whispers seductively into my ear.
“Yes,” I whisper almost pleadingly.
“I have a surprise for you,” Blake whispers.
“Another one?” I ask, intrigued.
“Lay on the bed, and keep your heels on.”
I walk over to the bed and lay on my back. Standing over me, Blake runs his hands down the front of my body, down to my panties. I take my breaths haltingly, in gulps, the exhilaration of his touch threatening to overwhelm my senses. He pulls my panties down, moving his hands behind me and groping my buttocks, continuing to glide them down my legs until they fall to the ground. He begins kissing me between my thighs, then between my legs. I feel myself flushing all over. This is new.
Blake stands up and walks over to the dessert tray. I watch him, speechless. Is he going to do what I think he is? He selects what looks like a small syrup dispenser and walks back over to me. Syrup? No, not syrup — honey. Blake loves honey. He has it in his smoothies every morning. My heart begins to race as I try to brace myself for what’s to come — hopefully, me.
“Close your eyes,” Blake says with a mischievous grin. I close my eyes, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my lips. “Now lay back and hold on tight. I’m about to give you a ride on my Texas twister, and it’s going to be an F5.”
I giggle aloud. I wonder what he means by that.
I feel him blowing lightly between my legs. Then a warm, thick substance covers my inner thigh — the honey. Blake laps it up with his tongue, and I let out a light giggle. I never knew I was ticklish there. More of the warm liquid is poured, this time between my legs. I wince slightly from the heat — always pain mixed with pleasure, that’s Blake’s prerogative.
Blake begins to lick the lips of my sex, briskly swirling his tongue like an oh … I see what he meant. “Oh, Blake,” I moan aloud, feeling the tension bubbling up in me like a geyser ready to explode. My body begins to tremble, begging for him to keep going. With my eyes still closed, I start rubbing my breasts, thinking about his hands there. His tongue moves in and out of me, and I am intoxicated by the waves of pleasure sweeping my body. He’s so close, if only he would keep going.
His lips move up my body, and I can feel his kisses on my stomach then on my nipples. I open my eyes to see his face next to mine, feeling his warm breath close to my ear. He hurriedly undoes his belt buckle, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. In a flash, his pants are around his ankles, and he’s holding his fully erect penis in his hands. His eyes have a look of urgency and desperation as he thrusts into me. Laying below him, I stare at the ceiling, knowing exactly how this night will end.
7
Things are Looking Up
Glancing anxiously at the clock on my phone, I’m relieved when Susan finally arrives. In her usual sprightly manner, she plunks herself into the seat across from me. “There you are,” I say, my tone teetering on mild irritation. “I have to be upstairs in ten minutes for a meeting with Jason.”
“Ugh, that sucks. I hate it when girl talk is cut short,” Susan moans. “Doesn’t Jason know the law requires all non-exempt employees a 30-minute unpaid lunch break?”
“I see you read the email from HR this morning,” I laugh.
“It’s also rude. What does Jason want? No wait, never mind, I don’t care. We only have ten minutes. I would rather know how things went with Blake. Considering you took two extra days off, I assume you guys worked everything out.”
“We did. This weekend was the best time we’ve had together in a long while,” I reply cautiously. So far I’ve managed to keep my engagement to Blake a secret from Susan. Her theatrics are something I’d like to avoid altogether. She’ll insist on emailing an announcement to the entire office, which I would find inordinately embarrassing. No doubt she’ll have an unending torrent of questions about where he proposed, what he said, the ring’s carat size, and far worse — a ton of wedding advice. The last thing I need is to feel pressured. I’m not ready to burden myself with sundry wedding chores. Susan might enjoy that sort of thing, but it gives me a headache just thinking about it. I’ll have plenty of time for that stuff later. I haven’t even met Blake’s parents — first thing’s first.
“I would hope so. A five day weekend is no joke.” Susan narrows her eyes at me. “I feel a but coming on. Am I right?”
How does she know these things? Of course, she’s right. With me, there’s always turmoil lurking beneath the surface. “You’re right. This weekend was amazing — magical even. It’s just that, well, lately I’ve started noticing things about Blake that I previously hadn’t.”
“Ooh, like what?” Susan asks, placing her tall, americano coffee aside as she leans in.
I can’t h
elp but smile. For Susan to put her coffee down is a big deal. “I’m making this sound worse than it is. Is Greg flirtatious with other women when he’s not with you?”
“Ha! I wish Greg would flirt a little, just for the sake of competition. You have no idea how many hot women I’ve pointed out to him, you know, for feedback — I like him to keep me on my toes; and he’s shown absolutely no interest. What can I say, he only has eyes for me. He’s old fashioned that way. Why, does Blake have a wandering eye?”
“I don’t have any definitive proof. It’s just a feeling. There’s this woman that Blake works with. Her name’s Allison. A month or so ago, I called Blake while he was dining at a restaurant. When he answered he sounded strange — kind of nervous and distracted. He told me he was busy and would call me back. Later that night, he explained that he and Allison had to work late and they decided to get a bite to eat afterward. He tried to make it sound casual and made a point to add that it wasn’t a big deal because she’s in a serious relationship. At the time, I thought it was odd that Blake so blatantly highlighted her relationship status as evidence that his going out with her shouldn’t concern me. The fact is, he goes out with co-workers all the time and has never felt the need to share any information about them. Why was this woman different? That conversation stayed in the back of my mind for a while, but I decided to accept his explanation. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him.
“Then, this past weekend, I looked through his phone and noticed he has a ton of text messages from her. They’re all pretty benign and mostly stick to business related topics. I just found it strange that he texts her so often. So I went onto his social media account to see if I could find a picture of her.”
“Detective Delaney, on the job,” Susan quips. “So what did you find?”
“I didn’t mean to snoop. I mean, I did. But it all started innocently enough. I was checking the time. I don’t have a watch. Intent matters you know. Anyway, I found a picture of her and, as I suspected, she’s a gorgeous, blonde hair, blue eyed, not to mention very tan, Texan. Basically, Blake’s type to a tee until he and I started dating. As I looked at her profile, I recalled the night I called Blake while he was with her, and how flustered he sounded. I can’t help but wonder…”
“If there’s more going on between them than meets the eye,” Susan finishes for me.
“Do you think I’m acting like a paranoid stalker girlfriend?”
“Honestly, yes. Sorry Bridge, I have to keep it real. Just hear me out before you say anything. You’re a homebody and, from what I know about Blake, he is more of a social butterfly. Take it from another social butterfly; we need to spread our wings and do what we do best — socialize! It’s part of our nature. When I go out, I talk to men all the time. Trust me, It doesn’t mean anything. If Greg freaked out every time a man texted me, he’d have a nervous breakdown.”
“I see,” I reply dejectedly.
“Bridget,” Susan says to me, her tone suddenly serious. “You know I support your relationship with Blake. I’m saying this as a friend who cares about you. I get the impression, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, that Blake is an outgoing guy: he’s young, successful and he sounds hot. Other women are going to find him attractive, and there’s nothing you can do about it. The odds are he talks to women all the time and doesn’t tell you. Sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t be better off with a guy who’s a little more laid back, like you.”
“You mean someone boring?” I laugh.
“No, not at all. I mean someone who will sit at home and watch old movies with you or go to a musical, you know, do Bridget things. Let’s be honest, you’re not exactly the bar hopping till two in the morning kind of girl. But I would bet Blake’s that kind of guy.
“Face it, Bridge: you’re Chardonnay, and he’s beer. You’re city, and he’s country. You’re north, and he’s south. It’s like the civil war all over again. I believe that opposites can attract and all, but not when you live on opposite ends of the country. I want you to be happy, and I think if you were with a guy who wanted the same things as you, then you would be.”
“Wow,” I sigh. “Please, don’t hold back,” I reply sarcastically.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell it to you straight. Besides, I know you hate it when I sugar coat things.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say realizing that it was a good idea to keep news of my engagement from Susan. “Listen, I’ve got to run. We’ll catch up later, ok?”
“Alright Bridge, good luck.”
As I make my way to the elevator, I can’t help but wonder if Susan has a point. On the one hand, I can’t blame her for thinking some of the things she does about Blake. She only knows what I’ve told her; and when I talk about Blake, it’s usually to complain. But the truth is, I wonder if the incompatibilities between Blake and I are surmountable. I have to believe they are. I’m going to marry that man after all.
With my laptop set up at the head of the table, I wait timidly in the Mount Rainier conference room for Jason to arrive. Jason, who I inwardly referred to as the self-absorbed prick who was mean to me, before I knew his name, turned out to be one of the marketing directors at the agency. He’s also Paul’s boss, which technically makes him mine also. According to Paul, and unbeknownst to me, Jason’s the reason I was hired. Apparently, he hand picked me out of dozens of qualified applicants.
At the request of my recruiter, I added a bunch of organic skin care labels, created for my now defunct skin care line, to my online portfolio. Jason based his decision to hire me on those labels, not on my background as a marketing analyst. As much as I hate to admit it, after a two-year hiatus from work, I’m lucky to have this job. Out of all the resume’s I sent out, I haven’t had a single job interview. It would appear that Jason has saved me from destitution, or worse, having to ask my mom to borrow money.
When I first met Jason, I was convinced that he was the least charming man I’d ever encountered. He had such an elitist air about him. All these months later, I remember our first meeting with perfect clarity, and how his apathetic glances had me feeling like an irritating fly he’d like to swat. I thought that was a chance meeting. Maybe he saw me on his way out of the office and decided, while he was in the area, he might as well bark a few orders my way. I was certain I wouldn’t see much of him after that day. It was quite a shock to find that I report to him directly on a weekly basis.
Initially, Jason’s personality was off-putting enough where even his striking good looks couldn’t compensate for his cool demeanor. It didn’t help matters that I have a long memory and the tendency to hold a grudge. It was a month before I lowered my guard around him. I’m not sure who softened towards who first, but somewhere in our weekly meetings, the most alarming development occurred — we became genuinely friendly towards each other.
While I fully acknowledge I’m probably reading too much into my interactions with Jason, I have to admit it feels different talking to him than other people. It’s as though we have a natural affinity for one another. Every once in a while, when we’re joking around, there’s that fleeting moment where we make eye contact and know that we understand each other. Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m mistaking his professionalism for a deeply rooted rapport between us that only exists in my deluded mind. He seems able to turn on and off his amiable persona at will. It is his job, after all, to woo clients into letting us handle their multi-million dollar accounts. He’s practically a salesman, and you can never really trust those guys, so I hear.
But even within the confines of my deluded mind, I can admit that I have the tiniest hint of a crush on him. Am I proud of the fact? No. In a way, I feel guilty. On the other hand, I never have crushes. The only guy I’ve been attracted to in the past five years is Blake. Is it really so awful that I indulge in a harmless attraction for a man that shows absolutely no interest in me — at least not in a romantic capacity? Especially when I suspect that Blake flirts with wo
men that he finds attractive all the time. Considering Blake’s proclivity towards impromptu dinners with gorgeous blonde co-workers, what am I supposed to think?
So I have a few transient thoughts about Jason that HR would most assuredly deem not work appropriate. It’s not as though it’s unheard of for a woman to look at an extremely attractive man and notice his tall and muscular physique, and perhaps wonder what he looks like without clothes on. Or, how large his cock is and what it might feel like if he were to thrust it inside her with his manly, virile…
“Bridget?” Startled by the sudden break in my reverie, I look up to see Jason staring down at me with questioning eyes.
“Hi, Jason!” I say a tad too brightly. “Oh, do you want to sit here? I can move if you’d like.” I can feel my pulse racing, and I’m sure my face is either bright red with embarrassment or white as a sheet, how mortifying.
“No, you’re fine,” Jason says, seating himself next to me.
With Jason only inches away, I’m all too aware of his presence. We’re seated at a large, oval conference table surrounded by 15 high back, leather chairs. It would be odd if we were sitting on opposite ends of the table — just the two of us here together. It’s perfectly reasonable that he would lean in so close to me as we huddle in front of his laptop.
As he talks, I keep my eyes glued to the computer monitor, feigning comprehension of his words as he points at various objects on the screen. All I can think of is how I detect the subtle woodsy musk of his aftershave. Breathing his scent gives me the unbridled urge to rub against him like a cat.
Jason: The Philistine Heart (Book 1) Page 6
