by Jordan Burke
“You have a good job.” He reached for a piece of the crostini. “It’s not a well-known line of work. How did you get into it?”
Digging again.
“I didn’t want to work somewhere that might go out of business,” I said. “The economy was tanking and I searched for government jobs on the internet. This one sounded interesting.”
“And then you found out that it wasn’t.”
“Right.”
There was a lot of tension in the air between us. I knew he was digging for information, and he knew I knew it. I could tell by his eyes.
It was the oddest dinner I’d ever had. The food was great, and looking at Watts was great, but the conversation was more like that of a first date, where two people are feeling their way around each other, looking for something to cling to that will hold the conversation a little longer.
Part of me was ready to fully open up to Watts, but an equal part of me knew he was holding something back. I could have gone first, telling him everything, spilling my past before him to judge. But I had a strong feeling that I shouldn’t, like I was tethered to my fortress of privacy and the demons were pulling me back from Watts, urging me back into seclusion.
I fucking hated it.
I tried to study his eyes—looking for any hints they held. I read nothing but tension in them.
We finished our meal during a few moments of silence, which only made the situation more tense. I was waiting for him to spring the next intrusive question, and I knew he was waiting for the same from me.
I wondered how long this delicate dance would go on. How long we would be able to respect each other’s boundaries of privacy.
It struck me that I had the perfect way to break the anxiety.
Watts took our plates into the kitchen. I told him just to put them in the sink, that I’d get to them tomorrow, because right now I had something else in mind.
. . . . .
Watts didn’t question where we were going when we left my apartment. It was as though he either implicitly trusted me, or he was so carefree that it didn’t matter to him. He drove, and I told him where to turn, until we got the parking lot and he pulled right up to the building.
“Dog shelter?” he asked, looking up at the sign.
“I want you to meet Winnie.”
We got out of the car and he followed me inside. Meg was coming out of the back room, holding a small puppy.
“New one?” I asked.
Meg said, “Yeah. Dropped off this afternoon by a couple of cops. They found her wandering around near a bus stop. Almost walked out into traffic.”
I reached to pet the puppy’s small, pitch black head. “Oh, no. Well, at least you’re safe now.”
Meg looked over my shoulder.
I said, “Oh, Meg this is my friend…Daniel.” I hesitated about what to call him. Watts? Some people would find that a strange first name, so I quickly reasoned I’d just introduce him by his real first name.
“Pleasure,” Watts said.
“Nice to meet you,” Meg said. “Always nice to have more help around.” Meg looked at me. “But I suppose you’re here for your girl.”
“Yep.”
I took a step toward the door and Watts followed me. Meg walked outside with the puppy.
That was another great thing about the shelter. The focus was all on the dogs. I had never once heard anything personal from or about anyone who worked or volunteered there.
It’s the reason I was comfortable bringing Watts along. Nobody was going to ask him anything, and even when I came in alone the next time, there would be no follow-up questions, no prying.
“Your girl?” he asked, following me down the hallway.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I have a daughter, and she lives in a dog shelter.”
“Smartass,” he said, tapping me on my butt. “I know who she was talking about, but is she yours? Have you decided to adopt her, after all?”
I shook my head. “This,” I said, dramatically presenting her, “is Winnie.”
I unlocked the door to her kennel and let her out. I knelt and she licked my face, then went immediately to Watts, where she buried her nose in his crotch.
I lowered my head and covered my face with my hand, shaking my head.
“Well,” Watts said, “that’s not such a bad greeting.”
I laughed.
We took Winnie out to the dog park that was adjacent to the shelter. Nobody else was out there at this hour. The sky was in the latter stages of dusk and the air had cooled down a little. Winnie ran around, sniffing the ground, coming back to us when I clapped.
I knelt. Watts remained standing.
“You don’t like dogs?” I asked.
“I do.”
“Then get down here and give her a treat.”
He squatted next to me and I handed him a treat. He held it out flat in his hand and Winnie grabbed the treat and devoured it in a matter of seconds.
“Did you have dogs growing up?” he asked.
“No.” I kept my eyes trained on Winnie. “You?”
“Two.”
I looked at him. “Yeah? What kind?”
Watts nodded his head toward Winnie. “Just like her.”
“Aw, really?”
“They were two boys, though. I don’t think I ever had a girl pet.”
I laughed.
“What?” he asked, holding out his hand with another treat.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I have this thing about when someone obviously has something to say, but won’t.”
I shook my head. “I just thought…it’s a dumb joke. When you said you never had a girl pet, I was going to say ‘Want one?’”
Watts didn’t laugh, but he did crack a smile. “And you weren’t talking about Winnie here.”
“What? Oh!” I feigned shock. “Of course I was. What did you think I meant? You and your dirty mind.”
Watts laughed this time. “I’m glad you showed me this side of you.”
“Me, too.”
Chapter Six – Watts
Catherine was tough, smart, not at all oblivious to my effort at getting her to tell me something from her past as we were eating dinner. She knew what I was doing—I could tell—so I pushed gently, but backed off when it was clear I wasn’t going to get anything.
Trying again when we went to see the dog, I didn’t get anywhere, either. So I let it go.
I didn’t see anger in her eyes. Nothing that told me she was upset with me for asking those questions. What I saw was agitation and fear.
I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and I certainly didn’t want to scare her.
In those few moments, with just a few reactions to rather innocuous questions, I had no doubt there was great pain in her past. I’d known this, ever since seeing her face when I left the hotel room suddenly that night, but this was different. I was seeing it on a deeper level.
Still, it was well-hidden. We were both very skilled at hiding our pasts.
Arriving back from the dog shelter, we had gone into her den, where we sat and talked about her book collection. She had asked me to look and see if I noticed anything of value, something she could sell, but a cursory examination revealed that she didn’t.
I thought maybe she was going to say she had money problems, but when I told her there was nothing of great market value on her shelves, she didn’t look the slightest bit disappointed. “They’re worth everything to me,” she had said, and that was the end of that.
The tension between us remained palpable. It wasn’t something I’d tried to induce, but once it was there, all it did was heighten the excitement when I showed her the cards that I’d brought with me.
“Pick one,” I said. I held out my hands, ten note cards fanned out for her to choose from. The side she could see was blank. “Every card has something written on it. Whichever one you pick, that’s what we’re going to do.”
She was sitting on her couch. I stood in front of
her.
She looked a little nervous, which I found myself enjoying. There was an element of responsibility in this for her. I was still in control, having written down the sexual acts on the cards, but she was the one choosing, not knowing which one she’d draw. Watching her eyes drift from mine down to the cards, I knew she was feeling the risk.
And I loved seeing her in that frame of mind. It was perfect for what was about to happen.
She drew one of the cards. I put the rest of them on her coffee table. I watched her read what was on it, her lips parting slightly as her eyes scanned back and forth across my written words.
She didn’t say anything.
“Read it out loud to me,” I said.
She closed her mouth. I saw her swallow hard. She licked her lips before reading.
“Catherine is naked, wearing only heels. She sits on the edge of her bed as I kneel before her.”
That’s all I had written. She knew the rest. She’d just brought it up two days ago.
“Lucky me,” I said.
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky us.”
Chapter Seven – Catherine
Watts walked into the kitchen and reached into the paper shopping bag. I hadn’t looked in it, so I had no idea he had something for me at the bottom of it.
He came back into the den holding a shoebox, handed it to me and said, “Open it.”
I removed the top off of the box and saw a pair of red stilettos with five-inch heels.
“Confession¸” he said. “Before leaving Sunday morning I looked in your closet and didn’t see any heels with the height I like. I also checked your shoe size.”
I took the shoes out of the box. They had tags on them, but Watts had removed the portion that showed the price. I immediately recognized the brand because of the red sole, and knew they were expensive. He was right—I didn’t own anything like this. Never had. They weren’t stripper shoes, by any means, but they were sexy as hell. Elegant. Just as I’d pictured back when he’d written that email to me about his fantasy.
“These are gorgeous,” I said. “They’re just as I imagined.”
I looked up at him, and once again saw that intense, deep stare in his eyes. Whatever happened to him when he got turned on, it was like nothing I’d ever seen in a guy before in my admittedly limited experience. Some kind of primal, maybe even predatory, look.
He extended his hand and took mine, making me rise off the couch. Wordlessly, he led me to the bedroom, letting me walk in first.
“Undress for me and put on the heels.”
I had on a spring dress and sandals. They came off fast, and once I was down to my bra and panties, Watts told me to slow it down. “Not a strip tease. No exaggerated movements. I just want to watch you undress like you normally do, as if I weren’t even here.”
My stomach fluttered at his directions. He knew exactly what he wanted, and how he wanted it. I hadn’t expected the voyeuristic aspect of his fantasy to turn me on like it did, but I suddenly found myself enjoying the vulnerability as excitement pulsed through my veins.
Watts was leaning against a wall, arms folded across his chest, one ankle over the other. A casual pose, as he observed me, almost as if doing some kind of appraisal of an item he wanted to own.
When I was completely naked, he told me to sit on the edge of the bed and put the heels on. “Try to keep your legs together as much as you can,” he added.
“Right,” I said. “A little mystery?”
He nodded and smirked.
I put the shoes on, making sure not to open my thighs too much.
“Now sit back with your hands flat on the bed, and cross your right leg over your left,” he said.
I followed his very specific instruction.
He stood straight. “Fucking perfect.”
Even though it only took a few steps, I noticed that sexy stride of his as he walked toward me. Our eyes locked and he held his gaze on mine as he slowly knelt on the floor in front of me. He leaned forward and kissed my knee, and then I felt his hand grasp my right ankle, moving it slowly upward and over so my legs were no longer crossed.
He positioned my ankles together.
Then, just as he’d described in his email he said, “Put your right leg over my shoulder.”
I lifted it and draped it over his left shoulder.
“Now press the heel against my back.”
I followed his words.
“And when you’re ready,” he said, softly, slowly, teasingly, “pull my face toward your pussy.”
I shivered when he used the word. I loved it when he wrote explicitly to me, and hearing him say it was even more of a turn-on. I felt little goosebumps popping up on my arms and legs, a chill curling through my body as I anticipated feeling and watching everything he was about to do to me.
Watts kissed and licked and sucked my inner thighs. I watched him, but hadn’t yet lost my ability to think straight, and the thoughts that flooded my mind were all about how different I was when I was with him. It was as though there was a part of me that I set free when Watts was around. A part of me that was just behind those walls, lightly knocking on them, asking to be let out to play with him.
I couldn’t resist any longer. I put more pressure on the heel against his back and instantly my thigh muscle contracted, forcing him against me.
His mouth was on my already-wet flesh, kissing, sucking, then suddenly it was gone.
He licked the insides of each thigh, lingering a little on the left one, opening his mouth and letting his lips, tongue, even his teeth drag along my skin. If his touch wasn’t enough to make me more than ready, his warm breath on my inner thighs was.
Seconds later, his tongue was fluttering along my slickness, changing it up every few seconds to long strokes against my clit.
Watts used his fingers to part me, fully exposing my excited clit to him.
My hips rolled along with his touch—his tongue alternating between firm and flattened, making circular movements, my body making movements in the opposite direction, creating a friction like I’d never felt. My body was begging for it and he was giving me all I could handle.
I loved listening to noises he made—almost growling in his own pleasure, pleasure he was getting from pleasing me—which created a vibration on my pink skin.
“Talk to me,” he said, his voice soft and somewhat muted.
“I can’t….”
Those were the only words that would come out of my mouth. Between the way my mouth was almost locked in an O-shape and my staggered breathing, it was a wonder I could say anything at all.
I felt his hot breath on me as he spoke between licks. “Come for me, Catherine. Come in my mouth.”
“Yes, yes...” My hands held onto his head and I grabbed handfuls of his hair.
I writhed along with his tongue strokes, the orgasm jolting through me. My stomach muscles flexed, relaxed, repeated, and my body shook as I threw my head back into the pillow and cried out his name.
He moaned, adding a vibration to the licking, and the orgasm intensified as it rocked through every inch of my body.
As the force of my orgasm decreased, Watts stayed where he was, kissing my inner thighs. After a moment, he moved up over me, his mouth immediately going to mine. I felt the hunger in his kiss—deep, passionate, wanting, needing.
He knelt between my legs and ripped open the foil packet holding the condom, unzipping his pants but otherwise staying clothed. He had one hand between my legs, his thumb keeping me primed. I looked down my body and watched that for a second, but my eyes were torn from that and drawn to his other hand. He freed his cock, pulling it out and gripping his shaft.
I had never seen a man touch himself before. I watched the way he held himself lightly, then squeezed harder as his hand moved toward the end of his shaft, making the head plump up. Watching him, and feeling his thumb on my clit, I could have come again just like that.
But he apparently didn’t have the same thought.
I watched as he rolled the condom down his beautiful length. I could hear and feel my heart beating in my ears. I wanted more. I needed more of Watts.
My head almost rolled to one side when he put his hand beside it on the bed. The weight of him and the forcefulness with which he moved causing the mattress to give way. My arms were just over my head. Watts grabbed them both with one hand, holding my wrists together like he’d done with my panties before, but this time with just his strong hands, pinning me in place.
I watched his face. His lips pressed together, his nostrils flared, and his eyes were staring hard at me with lust. I was underneath a man who was intent on having me, owning me sexually, driving toward his own release.
His hard cock was notched between my legs, right there against my clit.
“Watts.”
He looked deeply into my eyes.
I said, “Do it. Please.”
“I love when you beg for my cock.”
Without warning, he slid into me. I gasped. He was stretching me as he pushed in, farther, deeper, slowly at first and then he plunged it all the way in.
He pulled out, not all the way but a long stroke retreating from me. Then, back in, this time faster and deeper, his hips slamming into mine.
He sat straight up, his cock deep within me, looking down at me he started rocking his hips back and forth.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “You look so fucking amazing.” He looked down and watched himself sliding in and out of me.
All I could do was breathe heavily. I didn’t have anything to say. I just didn’t want him to stop.
“Do you love my cock inside you?”
“Yessss.”
“Tell me, Catherine.”
“I love your cock.”
“Tell me you love my cock fucking your tight pussy.”
I took a deep breath so I could get the words out that he wanted. “I love your big cock inside me.”
Talking like we did in our emails—or even dirtier—drove me wild, and I felt my orgasm surging, and I came quickly, hard, my back arching up off the bed as my fingers grabbed the sheets.
