by Holly Jaymes
His eyes were intensely blue. When he looked at me, watching me weaving around the tables to get to him, I felt naked. He was undressing me, or at least that was how I felt. It was like he could see right through my clothes.
He had the same taste in clothes as in college. He wore a pair of jeans and an old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Isaac had a lumberjack look about him. He was strong and muscular. I couldn’t help but imagine him with his shirt off. I pictured the way his muscles bulged on his arms.
“Margo, you made it,” he said, shutting his book, and I sat down.
The cafe was a fashionable, hip place. Isaac looked comfortable there. The employees all seemed to know him. The people who were sitting around us looked over at our table repeatedly. Mostly Harvard students, I presumed. But they too seemed to all know Isaac. He hadn’t lost his allure. Everyone wanted a piece of him.
“I think we should plunge right in so that I don’t take up much of your time,” I said, pulling out my notebook.
Isaac leaned on the table, with his arms folded, his eyes piercing my skin.
“I have all the time in the world. No more lectures for the day, I’m all yours,” he was grinning as he spoke.
I didn’t want to blush in front of him. I didn’t want him to think this was anything more than a simple interview. I flipped open a page and pretended to write something. The whole time, Isaac’s eyes remained focused on me.
“I spent the whole night thinking about you, Margo. I was right there is no way I would forget a face like yours,” he said.
I jerked my head up to look at him. He must have been able to see the nervousness in my eyes.
“I seem to recall us at a party together,” he continued.
“We should get to the interview. I have other people to talk to for this piece,” I interrupted him.
“You were in the corner, drinking. You’d been staring at me the whole night,” he carried on.
My body felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t look at him while he spoke. Those familiar feelings of embarrassment were returning to me.
“And then you yelled at me. You wanted me to shut up or something,” he said.
Isaac sat back in his chair, with his thick muscular arms folded over his chest. I dared to look at him and was glad to be sitting down because I felt weak and nauseous.
“I don’t remember any of this,” I lied.
He was grinning, searching my eyes for a reaction.
“Well, it happened. I remember it now. I went over to try and talk to you, but you ran away,” he said.
I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my head up as he looked over me. His gaze drifted from my face to my breasts, then back up at my eyes again.
“What was it, Margo? Were you afraid of me? Were you too shy to speak to me?” he asked, his lips stretching in a smile.
“I was probably just drunk. People do a lot of stupid things when they’re drunk,” I replied and scratched my pen on my notebook.
“You can say that again,” he said with a huge sigh and ran a hand through his thick hair. I tracked his fingers. I noticed how long and wide they were. He had big, manly hands. He had hands that would fit perfectly on my breasts. I shook my head.
“Anyway, can we start the interview now? Talk about your work instead? I need to do my job,” I snapped.
Isaac shrugged, his handsome face was light-hearted and casual while he looked at me. I, on the other hand, was burning up.
“If that is what you want,” he said.
Our eyes met, and in his gaze, I could see the suggestion of something else. I looked down at my notes. All I had to do, was get through this interview, just half an hour and it would all be over, I told myself.
The truth was that I couldn’t stop thinking about the strange turn of events which had brought me here to this cafe. I was now sitting in front of the man I idolized in college. This was the guy that I thought was too good for me, and who I thought I didn’t deserve.
He was speaking to me now. He was even flirting with me. I’d seen the look of desire in his eyes. Could it be possible that after all these years, Isaac Parnell wanted me?
“Yes, I would like to carry on with the questions,” I stated, snapping myself out of those daydreams.
He continued gazing at me steadily, watching me closely like he could figure me out. It wasn’t a secret, Isaac was a self-confident man, who thought he knew everything. Could he see in my eyes that I wanted him too? Could he tell that I couldn’t forget those teenage feelings of wanting him, even if I tried to?
“I’m going to be an open book for you, Margo. You can ask me anything you want,” he said, sipping on his coffee.
“Don’t worry; there aren’t going to be any personal questions involved here. I will be asking about things relating to your work. It isn’t that kind of an interview,” I said, trying to grin at him.
He almost looked disappointed when I told him this. It was as if he was looking forward to telling me about his life.
“Whatever you need, Margo. I’m at your service,” he told me.
I cleared my throat, focusing on my notes. Just half an hour, I reminded myself, and then I would go.
I considered myself to be a strong, professional woman. How was it so easy for Isaac to crumble me within minutes?
“Okay, I’d like to start from the beginning. First, just a basic question. Where do you think you get your love for literature?” I asked him.
I watched as Isaac looked up at the cafe’s ceiling, squinting his eyes in thought. I saw the shape of his thick, manly neck. I took in the width of his strong shoulders. I looked at his arms, and I wanted to wrap my arms around them.
“I guess, I’m a romantic, and I always have been. My life’s mission has been to find the right words for love and nature and those feelings that are most indescribable to us,” he finally replied.
I realized that my throat had gone dry. Then I noticed that I had been staring at him for too long.
Chapter 5
Isaac
I felt like I was trying too hard, but nothing seemed to work on her.
I tried to answer Margo’s questions as profoundly and intellectually as possible. Margo, however, seemed unfazed by it.
Today, she’d ditched her leather jacket for a green silk shirt instead. She was wearing white linen pants, which flared at her ankles. Her shirt was tucked in, accentuating the smallness and flatness of her belly.
Margo seemed to have impeccable taste in clothes and a keen sense of style. She’d tied her red hair up in a loose bun, and some strands escaped and fell around her face. She had dainty gold earrings, which matched the slender bracelet she was wearing. She looked professional and neat and was the sexiest woman at the cafe. She was possibly the sexiest woman I’d seen in a long time.
I wasn’t about to give up so easily.
I came on strong.
The more questions about academia she asked me, the more I strove to impress her. She remained quiet for most of it and took notes instead. She asked me a few questions, and I did most of the talking.
We’d been sitting in the cafe for close to an hour, and I felt like I had made no progress with her.
She asked me what my relationship with popular fiction was, and I’d answered lengthily. Before she could ask me the next question, I interrupted her.
“What do you think of dinner?” I asked her. She wrinkled her brows.
“Excuse me?”
“Dinner, with me. I’m starving, and I thought I could cook us something,” I explained.
“Are you asking me to have dinner with you, at your home?” she shut her notebook and stared at me with her sparkling green eyes.
“Yes. Why not? We could catch up on old days,” I said as she tilted her head to one side.
“We were never friends. You barely even remember me. You didn’t know my name,” she said. She looked mildly amused.
“Now’s our opportunity to change all that,” I declared and sto
od up from my chair. I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I was going to get to the bottom of this problem. I wanted to know why Margo Clarke didn’t have the same reaction to me as other women did. I distinctly remembered her staring at me at that party, as if she wanted me. What had changed since then?
She stared at me now, watching me in surprise.
“I’m not sure if I should have a private dinner with someone I’m interviewing,” she said. There was a tone of nervousness in her voice.
“I’m not just that guy. I’m someone you went to college with. We can leave the professional stuff aside for this evening, can’t we?” I suggested.
I thought she was going to refuse. I thought this was it. I would never see her again. Instead, Margo stood up and sighed, like she was unhappy about her own decision.
“Sure,” she said.
I threw the onions in the pan. They sizzled in the olive oil. I had poured us some wine and Margo was walking around my living room. She had spent a considerable amount of time studying the paintings on the walls.
“That smells good. You seem to be a good cook,” she said, turning to me.
“The direct result of living alone all these years. I’ve learned to cook for myself,” I replied and dropped the chicken into the pan.
I watched as she sipped her wine silently. She was watching me too.
“And why do you live alone, Isaac?” she asked then.
She was less defensive now that she wasn’t interviewing me anymore. It almost seemed like I might still have a chance with her.
I shrugged.
“I don’t have an answer for that,” I replied.
“Haven’t met the right woman yet?” she asked, drawing closer to me. I was flipping the chicken breasts over and over in the pan, trying to char the sides.
“I guess,” I said.
“Or you’re just not open to anything real?”
I looked up at her. Margo was standing with the glass of wine in her hand, her red hair falling over her face and with her green eyes glimmering in the dull light of my house.
“Is this a part of the interview?” I asked her. She smiled, shook her head and took another sip.
“No, I was just curious.”
There was silence between us for a few moments while I cooked the chicken. I’d already set up a table for two. She went and sat down on one of the chairs.
“Do you want to tell me about yourself? Or am I not allowed to ask you those questions,” I began.
She was watching me again, from under her heavy eyelids.
“What do you want to know?”
“For starters, why we never got to know each other in college. I feel like we could have been friends,” I replied.
She threw her head back and laughed, but it was a bitter laugh.
“You mean, you wish you had one more girl to worship you and follow you around campus like a puppy?” she said. Her voice was sizzling, just like the chicken in the pan.
“What are you trying to say, Margo?” I firmly asked as she stood up from her chair.
“That I didn’t want to be one of your sidekicks. I didn't want to be someone you sometimes threw a bone to,” she replied and walked towards me.
“Is that what you thought of my friends?” I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.
“They weren’t your friends, Isaac. Or rather, you weren’t friends with them. They worshipped you. They thought you were God. Especially the girls. They looked at you the way your students look at you now,” she continued.
I watched the way her body moved. Her hips swung from side to side with every step she took towards me.
I moved away from the pan and wiped my hands on a kitchen towel.
“Were you jealous of them, Margo?” I asked her, teasingly.
She was standing in front of me. I stepped closer to her. She had to crane her neck back to look up at me, but she had the confidence to meet my eyes.
“Maybe I was,” she replied.
“You wanted to be close to me, didn’t you?” I asked and her lips fell open, but she said nothing.
“You wished you could be one of those girls, one of my friends. You wanted me to look at you,” I continued.
Margo’s eyes had glazed over. There was a faraway look in her eyes like she was reliving those moments from college.
“What did you want?” I asked. Margo gulped.
“Yes, I wanted you. I was young and foolish and thought the world of you, just like every other girl around you.” When she spoke, I could hear the rage in her voice. She was angry with herself for wanting me. She was mad at herself for feeling weak.
I reached out and held her by the back of her head, keeping her facing me.
“And now?” I asked. She gulped again.
“And now I’ve grown up, and I’m not that shy nerdy girl from college anymore,” she replied.
“No, you are not.”
“I’m not desperate for you anymore,” she continued as I moved closer to her. She leaned back. I pushed her against the cooker, reaching behind her to turn the knob off. The chicken could wait. I had more important business to take care of.
“What are you going to do, Isaac?” she asked and her voice was thin and weak.
“I’m going to give you what you’ve wanted for a long time, Margo,” I said. I leaned my face towards her.
She gasped when our lips met. It was a fresh, surprised sound that escaped her mouth. I slipped my tongue between her lips to taste her. She was sweet and smelling of wine. My hands rose up to her hips, holding her tightly. Our bodies pressed together. My cock was rubbing against her, between her legs. I knew she could tell just how hard I was, how badly I wanted her.
Margo had her eyes pressed closed as I kissed her deeply. It was a slow but hungry kiss. I was exploring her, opening her up. When I finally pulled away from her, she was breathing harshly. Her breasts were rising up and down.
“This is not why I came here,” she blurted and rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth.
I stepped away from her, with a smile on my face. I’d broken her. I could see it in her eyes. There was no turning back now.
“You can leave if you want, but I would like you to stay. I think we have some unfinished business. I'd like you to take your clothes off."
Chapter 6
Margo
It was like a dream. My wildest fantasy was coming true. Isaac Parnell was standing in front of me, commanding me to take my clothes off.
Of all the crazy thoughts running through my head, only one stuck. I had to see him naked. I’d fantasized about his cock for so long, and I was so close to seeing it. I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.
My fingers flew up to the buttons on my shirt, and I started unbuttoning. Isaac watched me for a few moments. He was watching the way my shirt parted, and then he watched my bra-clad breasts came into his view.
Then, he began unbuttoning his shirt too. Within moments, his chiseled torso was in full display. I felt the wetness growing between my legs.
I had always sensed that he was well built, but I didn’t imagine him to be this hot! He had six pack abs! His chest was broad, and his arms were immense. I could see the tattoos now, the ones I’d never known about. There was a phoenix on his back, rising from the ashes. There were Sanskrit words tattooed on the back side of his right abdomen. Everything about Isaac was sexy.
I couldn’t help it. I started undoing my pants.
There was a grin on Isaac’s face. He was pleased with the effect he was having on me. As my pants came off, so did his jeans. He wasn’t an underwear kind of guy, to my pleasant surprise.
His big cock hung growing between his legs, and I had to do everything not to gasp.
I was in nothing but my lace lingerie, and Isaac was in nothing at all. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing on him, and he had the kind of body that was made to be sported naked.
He strode towards me, taking three powerful steps to reach me. Then I was in
his arms again.
He wrapped himself around me, grasping my chin and lifting my face up to his so he could kiss me. We kissed like wild animals this time. Our naked bodies pressed together.
His hands were all over me, cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples through my bra. I was dripping wet for him, breathless and rolling my hips against him.
“I can’t believe I missed out on this in college,” he grunted when he pulled his mouth away from mine. His fingers teased the straps of my bra, and then he was pulling them down. My breasts swung out of its confines. He pinched my rosy nipples, one by one.
I gasped. Currents of electricity were shooting up and down my spine. His cock was rubbing against my bare legs. I could feel the power and throbbing strength of him. Isaac dipped his head down and slurped at my left nipple.
I whimpered, helpless in his arms. I threw my head back and weaved my fingers in his thick hair. I could feel the roughness of his face on the sensitive skin around my nipples. He kept sucking and kept tugging at my breasts with his mouth. When he gently bit on my nipple with his teeth, I sighed and pushed my hips against his.
“Isaac, please,” I moaned. He pulled his mouth away from my breasts.
“Is this what you want, Margo?” he asked, and I felt his fingers slide down between my legs. He tugged at my panties roughly, then pulled them down my thighs. My pussy, my wet, throbbing hot core, was in his hands now.
He rubbed my swollen clit with his thumb before his forefinger slid into my folds. I cried out again. I was crying out his name and begging him for more. Whatever pride and dignity I had during the interview, was all gone now.
I could only think of his cock and what it would feel like to have him inside me.
“Good girl,” he whispered in my ear, while his finger slid slowly in and out of my pussy. His thumb remained on my clit, stroking me, teasing me to the point of no return.
“Please…please…” I begged him, and his middle finger joined in. He was filling me up, preparing me for what was going to happen. His thumb on my clit was an explosive feeling. I writhed and moved in his arms, losing control of myself.
