by Rowena
Heck, I was lucky to find this dress—I bought it two or three years ago as a gift to myself but never got an occasion to wear it. It’s pretty modest, but it’s deceptively conservative, giving just enough cleavage to almost be lewd, and the sheer arm material suggests vibrant sexual being rather than church lady.
Haha! What a lie.
My dating life has been pitiful.
So much so, that my daughter, Bianca, must have instinctually known nothing was going to happen the few times I’d gone out before, so she didn’t bother prying.
But tonight, she watched me with suspicious clear blue eyes, as if sensing something different. Was I that obvious in my nervousness? Could she tell how much more emotionally invested I was?
Watching her questioning face, it struck me again how little she looked like me.
The medical staff glanced at me all weird when she was born because she had those light eyes and pale skin.
I’m sure they’ve seen a brown-eyed, brown-skinned, dark-haired girl like me push out a white baby with hints of wispy blond hair before, but maybe it had been a while since the last time.
Bianca has darkened up since then, so the questions and silent queries have lessened, but she still raises a few eyebrows with those eyes.
Her hair is a sort of dirty blond too, even though her dad’s also dark-haired.
Anyway, I hated leaving her tonight—already we’re apart all day, and by the time I get home from school at four, we have a mere four to five hours before she’s in bed. I admit, it’s still a good chunk of time—especially when dealing with a kid young enough to have constant needs, but she’s a person now with questions and a unique working mind that intrigues me.
I never know what’s going to have her attention and what she’s going to ask about it. She makes me see things in different lights.
I haven’t yet told her about finding her father.
She asked me if she had a daddy once, and I gave her the dumbest answer.
I should have thought about it more before I responded, but once my throat opened back up again after the cry-ball dropped back down, I squeezed the words “Yes, but he went away” through it.
Of course, that only led to more questions. But what else was I supposed to tell her? That he was dead? That he threw me away, and in doing so, made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me? That chances were, he’d take off and leave both of us behind if he knew?
“Where’d he go?” she asked.
“He got lost,” I said lamely. “He’ll find us again someday, but guys aren’t very good with directions.”
I had to keep myself from giggling at my own stupid joke, nervousness making a fool of me.
Thankfully, she looked fairly satisfied with my answer and she hasn’t brought him up since.
Christ, I wonder if she ever shared the story I told her with anyone.
I imagine having picked her up one day, and the headmistress’s sympathetic gaze staying on our backs as we left, her mind running over the words the innocent girl had spoken lightly.
“My daddy got lost with the wrong directions, but he’ll be back someday,” Bianca might have said, and the teacher must have patted her head and thought, Poor thing, knowing we’d gotten ditched.
Except Brent didn’t exactly abandon us—he never had the chance to.
And now, there was no way I was going to introduce her to him only for him to turn around and say, “Whoops, this shouldn’t have happened. I’m not ready to be a father” and take off. No way.
“Where are you going?” Bianca asked once the taxi arrived, staring up at me expectantly.
“Out, baby. I won’t be gone long. I’ll check in on you when I get back, but you better be asleep!”
That’s what I take comfort in as we head toward Brent’s car—at least she’ll be asleep when we arrive, and he has no chance of seeing her. She’s never up beyond ten.
* * *
When I see the car awaiting us, I wonder if Brent had always planned to convince me to let him drive me home. But perhaps he always rolls in stretch limos with enough room to fit a football team when he goes to dinner—I don’t know.
All I know is that once we’re inside, sitting in the limo with him feels far too intimate. It’s just him and me with no restaurant ambience, so it is entirely too quiet. I can concentrate on nothing but how handsome he looks in his suit and how good he smells.
His cologne is playing games with my head, and the way it seems he’s looking at me threatens to unravel me. He looks like he wants to eat me up!
What have I gotten myself into?
He is sitting across from me, just staring at me and it’s doing a number on me.
I don’t know what he’s thinking although I can guess—a burning gaze like that points in one particular direction.
Yet he doesn’t make a move to close the gap between us.
He just sits there, staring, making me wriggle as I look into his burning blue eyes then look away again while fiddling with my hands in my lap, trying not to think about the liquid pooling in my underwear as I try and fail to ignore how incredibly good-looking he is and the promise of mind-blowing sex he is beaming at me.
God, I want him. There’s no doubt about that.
Even if I hadn’t been going through a dry spell, I would still want him—he oozes sex appeal and all I want to do is see his hard, muscular form without that damned expensive-looking dark suit on.
I’ve seen his naked body before, but the years have added to his bulk, and I have to stop myself from drooling as I remember the look of his hard muscles, the rippling abs before and during taking me.
I try not to think about what he has going on lower than those abs.
Oh god, I’m going to leave a wet spot on these leather seats.
I need to get out of here—as spacious as this vehicle is, I’m starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.
If he at least spoke, I would have something else to think about than his long, hard…
“So thanks for dinner tonight,” I say quickly. “I’ve never had that lamb dish before—it was amazing.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says in a low, seductive tone, still staring at me unabashedly with unrelenting heat.
What the hell’s he trying to do to me?
I wonder how much longer I have till we finally pull up to my place.
“Are we there yet?” I eventually say with a nervous giggle, trying to laugh and smile away the tension.
“We will be,” he says in that same low, suggestive tone.
I keep my eyes on my hands until I feel the limo slow to a stop.
Am I supposed to wait for the driver to open the door or…?
Fuck it, I need to get out of here.
I scoot toward the handle and try to open it myself, but it doesn’t give.
“What’s the hurry?” Brent says, scooting toward me, and before I can panic properly, he pulls me close to him and his soft, probing lips are suddenly on mine sending trembles through me.
More heat and moisture gather between my legs as my traitorous mouth lets him in, and he starts exploring it with his wicked tongue.
He grazes the roof of my mouth with the tip of it and I actually shake a little, helpless against the shock and pleasure of the sensation.
He pulls me closer and I know I’m in trouble; there’s more than enough space back here to go all the way.
His large hands start roaming my body, exploring my curves, and I fight against the desire to help him out of his jacket.
His hands come back up to cup my face and such a small gesture—the gentle warmth of them—makes me feel safe.
I have completely forgotten who I’m dealing with—I’m not safe with this guy—the guy who took my virginity, said “whoops,” and then turned his back on our friendship a few months later.
Yet here I am, letting myself get guided backward until I’m lying on the seat.
What the hell am I doing? I can’t be that easy!
One date and I’m willing to give it up to him again after what he’d done to me?
“No,” I say, wrenching my mouth away and turning my head.
I hope he listens the first time because the feel of his thick, hard cock pressing against my needy center is chasing away all other words.
I keep my eyes away from him, focusing them on the empty seat opposite us.
I know I can’t look at him—if I do, I’ll get lost in those simmering blue eyes and forget what the hell I’m protesting.
Thankfully, I feel him pulling away.
Phew!
If he had listened to me like this the very first time around, we might not have gone through the past five years the way we have.
Then again, I wouldn’t have had Bianca. But perhaps we would have at least stayed friends all this time and who knows where things could have gone? Maybe we would have gotten closer naturally and I still would have had Bianca, and we wouldn’t have lived so much time without each other.
I let out a breath.
The way things worked out was probably for the best.
We both had to grow as individuals in various ways, and it’s probably a good thing we did it apart.
What am I saying? I’m acting as if we’re headed toward being together as a couple now.
Sure, he’ll probably have to be in my life more once I tell him about Bianca, but it doesn’t mean we’ll be together together—just tied to each other in a way.
Once his body has completely raised off of mine and he backs away a little, I sit up, still avoiding his eyes.
“You can come now,” I hear him say, sounding kind of far away. I assume he spoke the words into some secret compartment that beamed the command to the front of the limo because I still don’t look up.
Then he says, “I’m not done with you, Nina,” his voice sounding closer to me.
I keep my eyes away from him the whole time I wait for the driver to arrive, and straight through the door opening and me climbing out.
I flash the driver a smile before taking off toward my door, and I don’t look back once.
* * *
Brent calls me to make sure I’ve gotten in safely, then asks what I’m doing the next day.
I tell him I’m busy—best to give ourselves a little time to cool off, I think. Plus, I have plans with Bianca and I don’t want to have an impending date with Brent hanging over me while I hang out with her.
“How about Sunday?” he says. “I’d like to take you for a ride.”
I hear undercurrents to his voice, so why the hell am I about to agree to go out with him again? Clearly there’s not a friendly atmosphere to our meet-ups at all.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
I think about his proposition some more.
I need to keep my wits about me, and in very little time, Brent has me tripping over myself.
Time alone with him made me feel like I’d had a couple of Cosmos and Long Island Iced Teas; I couldn’t think straight.
So far, I’ve done a pretty good job of remaining logical.
It’s still too early to tell him about Bianca because I really didn’t know what kind of man I’m dealing with and meeting up with him should shed some light on that.
On the other hand, spending more time with him means I’ll be putting my ability to reason in danger.
Still, how could I possibly get to know Brent and find out what he’s made of if I don’t spend time with him? How will I ever know when or even if the time is right to tell him he’s a father?
I have to give him a chance to show me he isn’t a dick. Or just a dick.
“Okay,” I say, stopping myself right before mentioning having to find a babysitter again.
* * *
I’m not sure if I made things worse going a whole day without him, because once Sunday arrives, my eagerness to see him has heightened tremendously. I even let him pick me up from home though I make sure to meet him outside and instruct the babysitter to make sure to keep Bianca away from the window.
Brent shows up in his toy instead of the limo, and he wasn’t kidding about the joy ride.
We curve around mountains, fly down on stretches of road that seem made for his sports car and its insane speeds.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble?” I ask at some point, thinking about a lurking traffic cop waiting to take down a speed demon.
“They won’t bother me,” he says with a confidence that leaves no room for doubt.
I decide to question his rule-breaking no longer.
Exhilaration fills me as we zoom along, watching stretches of ocean on scenic routes.
The exhilaration doesn’t abate until I realize he’s pulling up to a residential area—specifically to an estate fit for royalty.
I remember what he said about his fortune and realize it’s probably his own mansion.
Excitement fills me, and this time, fear comes along for the ride.
“What is this?” I say. “Where are we?”
“I want to show you my home, Nina.”
I try to make sense of the occasion.
Does this mean anything?
No, of course not—friends take friends home all the time! Where can you take a friend if not home?
But something feels off—this isn’t a meaningless tour.
Or maybe I’m still so heady from our carefree drive that I’m still not thinking straight.
Once the gates open and he drives up a winding pathway to a set of garages, fear has grown a tiny bit more than the happy excitement of checking out a billionaire’s home.
Once the car is parked, he comes over to my side and helps me out, not letting go of my hand as we head inside.
I barely have time to take in all of the embellishments of his massive grounds before the gorgeousness of the home’s interior zaps away my words.
I must look a sight with my mouth hanging open as my eyes take in the sheer opulence before me—from the sparkling chandelier to the intricate designs on the curving staircase to the paintings on the walls.
I’m still trying to find my words when I feel his hand pull me toward the stairs then guide me up them.
“No elevator?” I say sarcastically, happy I didn’t end up saying something stupid like, “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Can I stay?”
He gives me a small smile, but his face is still tightened with purpose, and it finally dawns on me what his intended destination is.
My heart beats rapidly as we get to the second floor then walk down a hall.
I miss what might have been decorating those walls or the ceiling because I’m in my head again, struck by what’s about happen.
It seems inevitable—the fire between us has to be addressed, and I still don’t know what any of this means.
When we reach what I assume is the master bedroom, my mouth drops open again.
The square footage surpasses my whole apartment by far, and the size of the bed is really quite unnecessary.
The room is beautifully decorated in dark purple and pearlescent tones, and all other thoughts evaporate once Brent picks me up and deposits me on the bed.
His mouth is soon on mine, and he kisses me until all I can do is start helping him and myself out of our clothes.
We are both naked in record time, and his mouth starts blazing trails over my skin, sending tingles from my neck to my raging pussy, making me arch at the soft heat from his mouth tasting my chest and sucking my breasts, then tickling my stomach.
I am lost in helpless throes once he reaches my middle, and my inner thighs squeeze his head as his tongue laps at my hungry center.
I want to give him the same pleasure he’s giving me, but my body screams for more and soon, my mouth is begging too.
“Please, Brent,” I say when he brings me to the brink of orgasm with his tongue and lips, skimming my needy folds in a relentless tease.
I’m about to hold his head in place and fuck his face till I come wh
en I feel him raise himself, and my eyes snap open to see him position himself over me, lining up the head of his cock with my desperate wet pussy.
Somehow, I find the sense to say, “Condom!” and his face transforms to a silent curse before he quickly retrieves one and slaps it on.
He climbs over me again and then plunges into me quickly—as if to ward off any more delays.
His hard cock parting me almost feels like the first time, and the shock of his entry makes me cry out.
He starts thrusting his cock into me with hard, desperate movements, smashing our pelvises together as he plunges deep into me without mercy.
My lips ache with his rough claim, yet my pussy still wants more.
As I start to match his thrusts to try to take him in deeper, he suddenly pulls all the way out of me and flips me onto my stomach.
Then he lifts my ass in the air, getting me on all fours, and before plunging deep into my hot wet cunt again, he says, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”
His large hands grab my ass cheeks as he rides me hard, balls slapping against my pussy lips as he pulls me to him with quick, hard thrusts.
His fingers make their way to my clit and he fondles my nub, working it with his thumb until I feel an orgasm start to build.
I can tell he’s not far from his own, and he works on bringing us there together, drilling into me with his cock while massaging my sensitive bud.
The combination of his thick, hard probing cock, his balls slapping against the folds of my pussy, and his finger working my needy clit makes me come so hard I fully expect the sound of my loud climax to shatter some of his expensive vases.
While the double orgasm is washing over me, I feel his pelvis slap against my ass with a final hard thrust, and he stays buried deep in me as his own orgasm takes over him.
I hear him cracking his toes.
I can feel our bodies pulsing against each other—my walls gripping his throbbing cock as it shoots cum.
“Shit,” I hear Brent say as he starts to pull out of my protesting pussy.
I don’t like his tone.
“You fucked it right off,” he says. “Hold still.”
What the hell is he talking about?
