“No, I want to take you out.”
“Where?”
“The Met. There should be a show there Friday night. We can go see it.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Are you about to turn me down?”
“No, I mean, yes. I’d love to go.” She did it again; she smiled at me.
SHE WAS STILL IN THE bathroom putting her makeup on while I was picking out a tux when Friday evening rolled around. The bathroom and the closet had an adjoining door, so I could see her and she would be able to see me if she looked away from the mirror.
“Babe?” I called.
“Hm?” she answered.
“What did you decide to wear?”
“The red dress without the straps,” she said.
Elie Saab Fall 2010. She would look great in it. I knew because I had gotten it for her for the exact reason that she would look great in it. It amused me a little that she didn’t know who the designer was and likely didn’t care. Dresses like those were made for women who looked like her. She could name every known edible mushroom variety, but for all she cared, Donatella Versace could be one of my aunts or something. She had had to concern herself with real world issues, so it was understandable that things like fashion weren’t terribly interesting to her. Lucky for her, she was married to me. She finally walked into the closet. She already had on everything but the dress and her shoes, which meant she was wearing a strapless bra and panty lingerie set, La Perla. She smiled shyly as I checked her out. The panties were practically scraps of fabric held together with string. My cock stirred but we couldn’t. We’d be late. She put the dress on, and I helped her with the zipper. She turned to face me.
“Is this good?”
“It’s great. Wear the gold earrings,” I told her. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
I went downstairs for a drink before we headed out. The slit in Isa’s dress came all the way up to the top of her thigh. Everyone would be staring. Between her beautiful tits in the front of the dress and her legs, they wouldn’t know where to look. I’d been looking forward to this date all week and now that it was here. Fuck, I was nervous.
Sure, we could chat during dinner, but what if she didn’t have a good time? She had agreed to go, but what if she had said yes because she thought I wanted her to. I mean, I had asked her out, of course, I wanted her to say yes, but what if she had agreed because she thought I liked the opera. I did, but did she? What if she was bored out of her skull this entire time? What if she just ended up taking her phone out and not watching anything? Had she seen ‘Tristan und Isolde’ before?
I knew she liked me. She definitely didn’t hate me. That was good, but what if that was as far as it went between us. What if she only ever liked me? It never happened like that. Women, even the ones that I had no intention of seeing beyond a one-night stand, fell head over heels in love with me. With Isa... it was as if our wedding had cut me off at the pass. She was too mad to be attracted to me, and I was too mad to give her a reason to be attracted to me. We had definitely made progress, but what if—in the end—we just weren’t satisfied with one another. We’d definitely be satisfied in one way. I had nothing to complain about when it came to sex with her, and with the way she screamed when I fucked her, I felt safe making the same conclusion on her behalf when it came to me. There was that, but there was never any relationship that survived on purely the strength of the sex the couple was having, and I doubted that Isa and I would be the first.
If it really came to that, there was always divorce. I felt a little bad thinking about it, but it was true. There was no way she hadn’t thought the same thing, especially when I had been giving her every reason to. Maybe she hadn’t, and I just needed to make myself feel better by making myself believe that she had. Things had changed since the guy who was after her had been taken down. We were both a lot more comfortable around each other. We had been having sex more often. A couple times, she had leaned over and kissed me before she went to sleep. There was something there, and no one could say we weren’t both trying. It was still a tiny spark, but we were both fanning it with what we could.
But then again, why were we together in the first place? Our dads had been fighting, and now they were amicable because of our union. The fight was between them. It had to be because they saw no problem in marrying their two children. They wouldn’t have done that if the beef between them extended to anyone else in the families. They didn’t actually think they were making a union that would last when they pulled us arbitrarily out of our respective lives, did they? It was as if they were too arrogant to come to some sort of agreement between them, so they had to make some sort of equal exchange...both of their only children. That was it then, wasn’t it? We were doomed. There was nothing underneath what we were. It was an arrangement in every sense of the word. Christ. I was an asshole. This whole arrangement hurt her more than it did me. Hell. Maybe divorcing her would be doing her a favor.
I heard the sound of her heels coming down the stairs. I turned and waited for her to come to the kitchen. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her. It was a much more violent response I felt in my crotch when I saw her fully dressed than any when I had seen her in anything else. She had put the gold earrings on that I had asked her to and a sapphire studded bracelet, as well. When I saw her in her wedding gown, I felt nervous. I was excited. Proud because I was claiming her as mine that day, pretty much. I mean, we did have the same last name now. We were announced as Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzo Montorini.
Tonight she just looked... incredibly sexy. She was breathtaking. Divorce? What’s that? Isa was mine, every last perfect inch of her. What the hell was I thinking? The girl was worth it. What kind of fool lets go of someone like her? Not me.
“Do you like it?” she asked, smoothing the dress down her hips. I had probably stared too hard.
“You look beautiful. Let’s go.”
I HAD PAID FOR THE entire box. We were alone if you disregarded the entire rest of the auditorium. It was the closest thing to privacy that we could get. The goal was to watch the show, but I wanted to treat her. We were out on the town.
The lights would be down; we’d be close together. It was romantic. This was a great idea. The central parterre level where we were sitting was amazing acoustically, but the opera glasses helped see the finer details on the stage, makeup and things like that. I kept sneaking glances at Isa. She was rapt the entire time. Guess she did really want to see the show. Her eyes even became glassy with tears at some parts.
She hadn’t cried once since we had gotten together. Well, that probably wasn’t true. She had cried at the wedding, and if that was any indication about the way she felt about me in particular and us in general, yeah, she had probably done some crying.
She had said that she liked the opera, but I wasn’t expecting this. I had had to deal with crying women before, but they weren’t usually crying because they were overcome by the beauty of ‘Tristan und Isolde.’ She had to have been dragged to the opera when she was a kid. At least once if Alfonso D’Agostino was her dad. Women tended to cry around me when they wanted something, when they realized they weren’t going to make it to the second date, or when they learned that I didn’t actually want to introduce them to my parents. They would act like they knew what the score was going into it, but would lose their shit sometimes when they realized I had been serious when I told them they had to leave in the morning and I would not be calling them back.
They used tears as a weapon, and they worked, when they were real that was. Crocodile tears just annoyed me. Isa wasn’t sad. She was moved, but I couldn’t help but reach out for her. I took her hand, which caught her attention. She looked at me. Her green eyes were shiny like the tears would drop at any moment. I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She swallowed and sniffed a little, looking down.
“I’m fine. It’s just, the performance... it’s beautif
ul,” she said smiling. I felt this sudden urge to kiss her right then. I leaned forward and did it before I had time to think twice about it. Just a small kiss, on her cheek. She looked surprised. Her eyes became wide as she looked at me as if it was the most unlikely gesture ever.
Her hand was soft and warm, as she gently touched my face. She leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she whispered. She pulled her thumb along my lower lip a couple of times, getting rid of any of her lipstick that had transferred. I opened my mouth so my tongue made contact with her thumb. She gasped as I sucked the tip of her digit into my mouth. The air between us felt like it was buzzing with electricity. The show she had been so absorbed in a second ago had suddenly become a drone in the background.
As she took her thumb from my mouth, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I noticed everything. The perfect waves she had styled her hair into that shone and caught the light. The slow heave of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled. The gorgeous way the color of her dress contrasted with the green in her eyes and her tan skin. I looked up into her face and caught her eye.
I couldn’t believe it. The look on her face was unmistakable. This wasn’t like the times she had sat in my lap and purred in my ear when she was drunk. We were both stone cold sober. More than once now, especially when we had been at the hotel, we had had sex without the help of alcohol. It felt good to think that I wasn’t so unappealing to her that she had to be drunk to stand me touching her. This was still different. We weren’t at a hotel. We weren’t even at the house, in our room. We were in public. The opera for fuck’s sake. If anything, the people here were the last people who would have sex in public.
The thought sent all the blood in my body right down south. I could feel myself getting hard thinking about pulling that dress up and fucking Isa right there in the box. We would be surrounded by people. The box was fairly private, but what if someone got lost trying to get to their seat? What if someone came by to see whether the box was occupied and found us mid-clinch? She wouldn’t have liked that, would she? I wouldn’t care if that happened, but Isa was... she wasn’t like that, was she?
The look in her eyes could have fooled me if she wasn’t. She looked hungry. Starved, and she was looking at me. That look was something I saw often, but not on my wife. If anyone looked at me that way, it was best that it was Isa and not some other woman.
The question now was, what did she want? She wanted me, that was obvious, but I wouldn’t be able to really give it to her under the current circumstances. Not here. My cock ached as I thought of all the things I wanted to do to her in that opera box. All the things I wanted her to do to me.
Her dress was beautiful, and it had cost a lot of money. I knew; I got it for her. When I was picking it out, the thought of how easy it would be to get on and off didn’t cross my mind. I just thought the color red looked beautiful on her bronze skin. How attached was she to it, though? Would she agree to kneel down on the ground and suck me off?
It had a high slit up the side. She had beautiful legs. I knew it, but everyone else needed to know it, too. A compliment to her was one to me as her husband, really. It climbed nearly all the way up to her hip. It would be so easy to move the dress to the side and sit her on my lap in a straddle. I’d get my cock out of the front zipper of my pants, and she could top me, right there. Ride me till we both came.
I placed my hand on her thigh, sliding my fingers up the length of the slit and parting the fabric so I was touching her smooth skin. I watched her face. If she wanted me to stop, she didn’t say anything. I caressed the skin and slid my hand higher, my fingers climbing up the flesh of her inner thigh. She sighed audibly and parted her legs further. The length of her right leg was completely uncovered, shapely and sexy as hell.
My hand finally came in contact with her barely-there panties. The lace was the only thing keeping me from touching the most intimate part of Isa’s body. I could feel the heat emanating from her core. Glancing up to look at her face, I saw her bite her lip.
If that wasn’t an invitation, I didn’t know what was.
I pulled the lace aside and gently ran my fingers over her lips before parting them. She was wet and getting wetter. She sighed with need, as I teased her opening.
“Put it in,” she whispered. I slid my index finger into her and watched her eyes flutter shut. She let out a soft moan. I thrust it in and out and added a second finger. She couldn’t hold that moan back. I shushed her gently, looking around to see who might have been watching us. Her breath came faster, making her gorgeous tits heave up and down.
She was gone to the world.
“Faster,” she said breathily. I obliged, focusing on shallow motions that would stimulate her lips. I pulled my fingers apart so she could feel me stretching her. The music was picking up. The lead soprano’s voice rang through the auditorium.
“Lorenzo, I’m going to come,” she whispered urgently. Her walls clamped down on my fingers, as she shuddered through her orgasm. Her back arched, and her hand found my thigh, gripping tightly. She reached her climax as the music hit its crescendo. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. I slid my fingers out of her as she panted and slumped in her seat. She looked at me, smiling. I smiled at her. Maybe we had to go on dates more often.
Chapter 5
Isa
Mom always used to tell me that Dad had used to take her to the opera when they were still dating. It was weird to think of a time when my parents weren’t married, but there had been. They had only taken me once or twice when I was younger, but ultimately started leaving me behind because it was difficult for kids to sit still through a multiple act performance, where the performers were singing weird songs and you couldn’t talk above a whisper. You never really appreciated things like operatic singing when you were a child.
I never really went to the Metropolitan Opera House for any reason. I had applied to cook at the Grand Tier before, but they had not gotten back to me. Effectively a rejection. This was totally Lorenzo’s scene, but I was into it. There was obviously a reason why he had suggested we come here. He had fine taste in every other respect, why wouldn’t I like this. I wanted to trust his judgment, and about five minutes into the first act, I was glad that I had.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it was like an entire play, but grander. The story was gripping. By the time we got to the second act, I didn’t know if I’d end up running my mascara all the way down my cheeks from crying. I was overcome. There was no way that Lorenzo could have known that that was the sort of reaction I would have had to the performance. There was no way I could have known. It felt amazing to think that he had wanted me to see this. Maybe I was giving him too much credit for being thoughtful and considerate, but I barely gave him anything at all. It was our first date, and it was going great.
The singing was enough really. It was more than enough, but then he had started kissing me and asking whether I was okay. Okay? I was at the opera with my gorgeous husband. He had asked me out. We were acting like normal newlyweds. I was more than okay. I was fucking elated.
And then Lorenzo had... oh, my god. I blushed to think about it after the fact. With the dress, I had worn it was practically bound to happen. His hand had slid up my leg and he had pleasured me during the second act of ‘Tristan und Isolde’ at the Met. He had licked his fingers clean, tasting me afterward as if it was nothing. I was done. I was officially tapped out. There was no way I could have paid attention to the show after that.
I wanted to give him something. Getting his dick out of his pants would have been slightly harder than it had been for him to get under my dress. Whom was I kidding? We couldn’t stay here. I didn’t want to jerk him off. I wanted to give him more. Honestly, I wanted him to give me more, too.
What the hell was wrong with me? Was it because I was pregnant? Pregnant women apparently desired sex more than when they weren’t pregnant, but this was just... this was jus
t something else. Maybe he derived some pleasure from getting me off, but the fact was that he had. He had made me come, and it had just gotten me hotter than before.
He had called me his ‘frigid wife’ before, and admittedly, sometimes I was deserving of the title. Who knew? Depriving Lorenzo of sex was depriving myself of opportunities like this. He was a man and I was a woman, the only man and woman available to each other to take care of things of this nature. It didn’t really occur to me that there was an element of my husband that truly wanted to have sex because it would be pleasurable for me.
Men, a lot of them at least, had sex like they were the only ones trying to achieve something. I knew he definitely thought I was sexy; he looked at me like he did, but I looked at him like I did, too. It went without saying that he was more experienced than I was. I wasn’t a virgin. I was nearly thirty, of course, I wasn’t a virgin...but I didn’t like casual sex. I didn’t like feeling used, and I couldn’t get myself to reduce another person to purely someone I was fucking. I wanted to please Lorenzo, but I also wanted him to please me. He had just fingered me in public...there was no way he didn’t want to go. I placed a hand on one of his legs and leaned into him. I very deliberately let my chest press against him.
“Let’s go home,” I whispered into his ear. He looked down at me.
“You don’t want to see the rest of the show?”
I shook my head.
“I want you to take me home,” I said. My other hand touched the side of his face, feeling his rough stubble under my fingers. I ran my hand down his neck and over his suit jacket.
“Oh yeah?” He was interested.
“I want you to take me home, and when we get there, I want you to lead me upstairs,” I said.
“Go on,” he said gruffly.
“I want you to lead me upstairs, and I want you to fuck me in our bed.” Lorenzo smirked hearing me speak like that. If he was surprised, he didn’t look it. He looked aroused.
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