by Thea Devine
“I think what you most remember is that I gave you a beautiful blow job,” Delia said.
He nearly choked. “Yeah, that I remember.”
“So because of that, here we are. How did you find me?”
“A lot of trial and error. I found out who held those seats and called the hotel office, but no one knew you. I left a message that if someone did know you, would that person call me back. Did that for about two months and finally heard from an assistant there. And all she’d give me was your work number.”
Good for Brooke. Delia smiled at him. “You went to a lot of trouble.”
“You’re that kind of woman.”
The drinks came, beer for him, club soda for her.
“What kind of woman is that, Bill?”
“Beautiful, seductive, aware of your power. You know the score. You’re easy to be with.”
Meaning I’m easy, Delia thought.
“I’d like to be with you sometimes.”
Delia felt a familiar sensual twinge. She knew what it meant, too. It meant she could very easily succumb to wanting to take care of this guy’s needs. She felt the urge; it had been too long since she had a penis of her own. But be with you sometimes was about as vague as a married guy on the prowl could get. He needed to put something on the table.
She twirled her straw for a moment, then looked at him from beneath her lashes. “How would that work, exactly?”
“Dinner now and again. Sex…”
“Where?”
“I get the skybox to myself every month or so—you can’t get more private or luxurious than that.”
“It was nice,” she agreed. “I really enjoyed that.”
“Let’s enjoy it on a regular basis, then, no strings. I’ll call when I’m available; you decide if you want to come. So to speak.”
I’d love to come. Just not like this.
“We could see how it goes,” she said, opting for having some sex.
“That would be good,” he said instantly. Whatever she wanted, however he could get her there. She saw it in his eyes. He wanted a sex partner on call; more than she wanted to give, for the return she’d get.
Not good Mistress Code.
He wasn’t offering her anything, really, except a cool environment in which to have sex—now and again.
It wasn’t enough. But maybe she’d choose to have one more encounter with him. One more encounter with his already engorged penis.
If she looked at it that way, she’d still be getting something; she’d still be on his turf, and at least she’d have some satisfying anonymous sex.
Maybe that was exactly what she needed at this moment.
“Dallan…” MJ’s back was against the wall, and his penis was deeply embedded in her while he simultaneously suckled and tweaked her nipples.
He grunted. “Shhhh…” He pulled on the hard tip and her body convulsed. “Such a sweet hard tit. Love that tit…” His mouth grazed the other one as he pressed himself even deeper.
MJ moaned and held him tighter as he stroked the hard tip with his tongue, exultant in the knowledge that he invariably lost his iron control when he fed on her nipples. This time was no exception—his bucking body swerved out of control, pouring his thick, hot semen into her in the long dark hallway to his apartment where he had taken her fast and hard because, yet again, he couldn’t wait.
They were both panting when he finally got back in control. “I can’t believe what you do to me,” he muttered, pulling up his trousers and tucking in his shirt. “Look at what you do to me.”
“I love everything you do to me,” MJ whispered.
“Good. Let’s fuck again. Come on—”
They raced down the hallway to his apartment door, and he grabbed her suddenly and pushed her down to the floor. “…Here.” He ripped open his trousers. His penis erupted, hard, hot, and ready.
“Spread your legs.” It was a command.
She raised her skirt and parted her legs and let him drive into her mercilessly, the way he always did after the first fuck when he always lost control in her.
Now he was in control, the way she adored him—heavy and hot, thick and filling. She was bound by his desire, a slave to his hunger for her nakedness. Theirs was a mutual surrender into a thick, lulling swamp of on-demand sex.
He lay over her, heavy, panting, his release trickling out around his still embedded penis. “God, MJ.”
“I know,” she whispered. This was too much and too good.
She willingly subsumed herself into his limitless and incessant desire for her. She loved being his, loved his naked body, his thick bulbous member, his luscious honeyed kisses, loved his desire to walk the razor’s edge of exhibitionism and defiance with her body.
She loved his sweat, the scent of his sex, the taste of his cum, the feel of his hefty shaft penetrating her.
“God, I can’t stop…” His body always went wild, his hips grinding and pushing into her, as if he wanted to shove the whole of himself between her legs.
She feared he’d consume her utterly, his lust was so blindingly overwhelming sometimes. She didn’t feel the friction or the heat, she felt only his engorged penis taking and taking, until she could give no more. Only then did he allow himself to let loose, when she could have sworn he didn’t have a drop left in his body. And yet there it was, trickling between her legs, leaving her sapped and limp.
She would be so clotted with his cream, so satiated that she never wanted to move, and all the while his shaft moved, stretched, and elongated again.
“Oh, look, MJ. Erect again, just looking at your creamy nakedness. Spread those cunt lips.”
“Dallan,” she started to protest; she was raw, she was tired after hours of copulating. But he was her unbelievably expert and commanding lover, and she couldn’t deny him her body. Nor would he let her.
He eased himself into her precisely at her vaginal opening, just to let her feel his thick erection. “It’s insane how you do this to me.”
“I love that I do it to you,” she murmured.
He cupped one taut-tipped breast. “And your tits get so tight and hard every time. I never get tired of fondling your nipples.”
I do. What? What was that insidious thought? No, it was just that they got irritated with all that tweaking and compressing. But she loved his bulbous head tucked into her just there.…That aroused her almost as much as his passion.
Not.
Nonsense!
Don’t move. I can’t take another lunge into my insides. No, I love his shaft kissing my cunt lips.
Not.
She shook her head. What am I thinking?
“MJ?”
He had said something and she’d missed it. Damn. “Yes, Dallan?”
“You heard me. I’m ready to fuck.” He rolled onto her and shoved deeper.
“Yes, Dallan,” she murmured, bending her knees to accommodate her lover, who was wild for her sex, her heat, her. Yes, Dallan. Whatever you want, I’m totally yours to do with what you will. Yes yes yes…
BROOKE’S RULES FOR THE UNEXPECTED MAN
Sleep with him if you have to.
If he offers nothing after three weeks (two weeks? one day? one night? one hour?), lose him.
Do not not not fall in love.
If you think you’re falling in love, fall out.
If he persists, tell him what you want.
If he thinks you’re nuts, leave.
Brooke stared at the list on her computer screen. Could I be that callous with Hugh?
Never.
Nevertheless, there had to be rules. You had to have a plan, because nothing ever worked out the way you thought it would, no matter how you planned for the contingencies.
Look at her. Affluent family, always enough money, the best schools, reasonably popular, had a social life, was academically superior, parents divorced when she was thirteen, but they’d stayed together for her sake.
Her sake? Hardly.
They’d lived a
t opposite ends of their huge apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, never seeing each other. One of them could’ve died and the other not know it, living in that hell they’d created for themselves. And her.
Trapped in the middle, she had escaped into alcohol and fumbling teenaged fucking. Thank God she’d had a friend who was aware of which doctor to go to for protection from her worst instincts.
She had been in an alcoholic haze most of her freshman year. She’d slept with most of the football team (but so had everyone else), and then she woke up one day and found the good sense finally to straighten out her life, realizing that she was the only one she could rely on to save her.
So she’d taken control, making lists so that everything was planned out with a reasonable supposition of what the outcome might be, so she couldn’t ever be blindsided again.
That was how she’d run her life for the last six years: setting goals, attaining them, and crossing them off her list.
Sleeping around wasn’t high on that list. Going to college far away was. Coming to Manhattan was. The Mistress Club was an idea out of nowhere that shunted her onto an entirely different track.
And who could have planned for the unexpected man? That had been totally off the radar, too. How did you deal with him? You fucked him and then bid him farewell, because he’d do the same to you.
A man who has no commitment to you has no investment, she thought. He has nothing to lose, and he’s been getting you in exchange for nothing.
How stupid.
So what determined when the unexpected man became the meaningless man?
Three weeks? Three weeks, you’re on call, he’s not, and he’s getting everything, and you’re getting foie gras, fucked, and no future?
Dumb.
And he’s told you that in advance?
Even dumber.
Hugh Steffen hadn’t yet told her so, but she knew. And even knowing that, she’d gone back to his hotel room the following afternoon, dressed in her hotel uniform that so captivated his imagination.
He met her at the door in his dressing gown, barefoot, his shaft protruding long and strong from the silk of his robe.
“Oh, my dear pussy, I can’t wait to strip you.”
“I can’t wait to see you.” She reached for him.
“No, no, not yet. Come, food first.”
“Let me eat you first,” she begged him a little breathlessly. His tantalizing penis poked out like a tent pole.
“You’re a brazen pussy, my dear. How can a man resist? Especially when time is of the essence…” He led her to the chair where he had so expertly fondled her the previous night, sat and spread his legs slightly, and opened his robe.
His shaft jutted out, thick, throbbing, and hard, more of him than she could have imagined. His scrotum sacs were taut and bulbous. His body was sleek and toned.
She knelt between his legs and took his pliant head in her mouth and pulled on it, hard. His body jolted with pleasure, and she took him then—fast and hard, sliding, pulling, nibbling at the shaft, the head, sucking him with lip-smacking sounds of lustful enjoyment.
He spurted and she took his spunk into her mouth, then pulled mercilessly at his head until he surrendered, spewing hot and creamy into her. She held it in her mouth for as long as she could, then she let it seep back onto his pulsating shaft.
She climbed onto his lap, raised her skirt, and straddled him so that her nakedness fit tightly onto his cream-coated shaft, and she guided his hands to her bottom, to her crease, to her newfound point of pleasure. He inserted his finger there, and she rode him in rhythm to his stroking to a melting, molten orgasm.
“Such a versatile pussy,” he murmured in her ear.
“We don’t have much time.”
“There’s always time,” he assured her. He shifted her onto her knees and guided her over his rigid shaft; she eased herself onto him, deeply down onto him, until he was so perfectly embedded that she felt his head touching home.
When will time run out?
Not today…
They rocked together like longtime lovers. He kissed her creamy mouth, stroking her with his tongue, tasting himself on her, tasting their scent, their sex on her lips and deep in her mouth.
The feel of him between her legs was indescribable. He was so long and strong, she felt as if he were her center and she was undulating around it and over it. She rubbed it and bounced on it and cradled it deeply and lustfully between her legs, and she never wanted him to withdraw from her.
He angled his hips up, poling into her in an unexpected tight thrust that caught her just as her body craved that—and she shot up into a rocketing orgasm that was a series of sharp, hard explosions of pleasure into which he shot his wad.
Time is running out.
Time enough for him to savor his staying power within her. “Such a luscious pussy. I need to caress it and kiss it.”
“I need to go back to work,” she murmured.
He sighed. “Ever the way.”
“But not quite yet.” She needed to keep his penis embedded in her for a few more minutes.
“You’ll let me pay homage to your incredible honeypot tonight.”
But what about all the nights after tonight?
A forbidden thought. Tonight would be enough.
Was it?
Now she was panicking. How long was he here for, anyway? What if he were leaving tomorrow? What would she do?
She wanted him insanely. He was everything a would-be mistress desired. He had to want her that much, too, or she would die.
Now she was hysterical. No one died from losing a lover whom she never really had in the first place. What did she really know about him? He was handsome, elegant, amusing, English, and he knew exactly a woman’s secret pleasure points.
So she had handed over her power and her sex to this irresistible man with his irresistible words and his irresistible penis.
Against everything she had advised everyone else to do, because she couldn’t resist the opportunity to have a distinguished older lover with potential and a still lusty desire to copulate.
The potential part was the problem.
We don’t need to know anything more, do we? he’d asked almost immediately, effectively cutting off any questions and demands.
What a canny man. He’d worked her slowly, sensuously, bringing her to a sinuous, explosive pleasure that was so alluring, so voluptuous, any woman would instantly capitulate.
Meantime, he got all the sex he wanted and he got to walk away, unexpected man morphing into meaningless man, leaving her with memories and postmortems.
A man like Hugh Steffen, with resources, charm, wealth, and a hardy need for sex, ought to make a commitment to a mistress. Yet why would he need to? Women were too ready to be screwed over. Even she, for all her good sense and her lists and her plans for every possibility, even she had succumbed to his beguiling charm, his smile, his mere presence in the world.
She hated herself for it—but nothing was going to keep her from going back to his hotel room that night.
Bill called Delia again the next day. She wondered how hard he had worked his corporate partners to make the skybox available that night. It was amusing to picture him going through his office, promising the earth to anyone whose turn it was to attend the game.
No, it wasn’t. It was kind of sad, actually. And it wasn’t what she wanted, and it certainly did not fit with the Mistress Code. Get, not give…
She must clamp down on those instincts to take care of someone needy.
Just this night. And she would ask him his intentions. Brooke was so right: A place of one’s own, an adoring lover who put you there, true appreciation for what you were to him and what he was to you—that made sense. No emotional nonsense, just a mutual connection with no mess on either side.
Tonight, she thought, was going to be messy.
Nevertheless, she met him in front of the Garden sign, already thick with fans, scalpers, and rushing-home commuters by s
ix o’clock. He wanted to give them time to “get comfortable,” he said. Talk a little, have some food, a drink. Get to know each other a little now.
She thought not. She’d thought perhaps she could reject him on looks alone, but he was as attractive as ever, and so keyed up that this luscious blonde in her tight Calvin suit and Manolo stilettos was with him tonight.
She was not immune to his excitement; it stimulated every sensual nerve in her body, and she felt that twinge of arousal that she had to ignore. She was just too susceptible to the thought of sex, and especially sex with a man whose penis was as strong and robust as his.
She couldn’t let it happen. She’d fuck him, if matters came to that, but unless there was something else for her after this encounter, she’d bid his penis good-bye.
They waded through the crowd and up to the upper tier of the Garden. The seats were already filled, the noise was deafening, but once he got her in the door of the private box, everything was quiet, muted, sexy.
The lights were low. Finger food was already set out and the bar stocked.
He’d been up here already, making certain there would be no interruptions.
“A drink?”
“Club soda.”
“Come on.”
She smiled. “I need to keep my head clear.”
“I’m hoping to make you lose your head.”
He poured a beer, handed her a club soda, and guided her to the couch. “So here’s to—”
“Let’s just toast to the moment, Bill.”
“To the moment.” They sipped, and he set aside his beer. “I want to spend this whole evening with you naked.”
Damn, that twinge again. “Me naked, or both of us naked?” she asked, stalling for time. The thought made her hot.
He was shucking his jacket, his trousers. “I’m there.” His shaft thrust out at her, long, deliciously rounded and swooping upward, tactile and seductive. He stood and moved in front of her to place himself directly at her mouth.
Too irresistible. She had to touch the head, had to stroke the smooth underside of it, just had to take his pliant bulbous head in her mouth—because she loved when a man ejaculated from her sucking him off.
