The Ground Rules

by Roya Carmen

  As soon as we walk into his suite and the door closes, his lips are on mine. I promised myself I wouldn’t let this happen again. But the sensation of him against me is so wonderful. He pulls my jacket off, trailing kisses down my neck. I pull his satchel over his head and bury my hands in that beautiful hair of his—it’s so soft against my fingers.

  I’m just about ready to devour him—just like those calorie-filled red velvet cupcakes they sell at my favorite bakery—the ones that go straight to my hips.

  He pulls his lips away from mine and rests his head against my forehead. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Remember,” he whispers, “when I told you I wanted to see you?”

  I smile at him, a little nervous.

  What does he have in mind?

  “All of you,” he adds, his eyes dark.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my voice small. “I remember.”

  He pulls away and walks slowly toward the bedroom. He looks back and shoots me a soft smile, urging me to follow him. I trail behind him eagerly, taking in the space. When we reach his bedroom, he heads to one of the arm chairs sitting not far from the bed. I catch a glimpse of his shoulders in his fitted shirt. I don’t want to be naked for him—I want him to be naked for me. He takes a seat, his movements slow and deliberate.

  I stand there, taking in the room—the contemporary lines, soft lighting, crisp white linens, upholstered velvety headboard, soothing caramels, and breezy blues. The décor is soothing, but I am anything but relaxed. He stares at me without a word. He’s making me anxious again.

  His gaze sweeps over my body and rests at my stiletto-clad feet. “I’d like you to undress for me.”

  I stand still, speechless, but he offers no other direction.

  “Uh,” I say, caught off guard. “Where? Here?”

  He scratches the edge of his jaw, still not quite making eye contact with me. “Come over and sit on the bed.”

  I can’t do this—not when he’s not even looking me in the eye.

  I don’t want to do this.

  I want him to undress me. I’m a very private person—almost no one has seen my body in its entirety. I’ve had two children. I’m thirty-five years old and far from perfect.

  I can’t do this.

  I walk slowly to the bed, and I hesitate a little before sitting. I’m petrified. I realize I probably look like a deer in headlights. We’ve discussed boundaries and limitations, and he’s mentioned that I shouldn’t do anything I don’t want to do.

  I smile as his eyes finally meet mine. “Why don’t you undress for me instead?” I tease.

  He smirks. “Next time, perhaps.”

  My gaze falls to the floor as I trace my finger along the scoop neckline of my dress.

  “Please don’t do this if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “I won’t be upset.”

  I look up at him, still not sure.

  “It’s…something I’ve fantasized about,” he confesses, “since the first night I met you.”

  “Really?”

  “That pretty little pink dress you had on? I wanted it to disappear.”

  I can’t deny him this one small fantasy…maybe he’ll make mine a reality too.

  I tilt my head ever so slightly.

  I have no idea where to start.

  I stand, trail my finger down to my leg, and slowly hike the hem of my dress, giving him a peep of my thigh-high stocking and garter. Part of me knew this was going to happen. Why else would I have dressed like this? Who was I kidding?

  He leans forward on his forearms, a smile on his face—he seems to like what he sees.

  This might not be so bad.

  I throw my head back, trail my hand to the back of my neck and reach for the zipper of my dress.

  But I can’t quite undo this dress by myself. For some reason, I can manage to zip it up, but not down. I hadn’t expected an impromptu striptease. If I had, I would have worn something more strip-friendly—like a wrap dress or a shirt dress.

  Something I could undo easily and seductively.

  This isn’t sexy at all.

  Weston seems amused by my struggle. A big grin stretches across his face as he watches me.

  Yes, I knew this might be embarrassing—but so early on? I’ve barely gotten started.

  He wears a devilish smile as he walks toward me. “Need a little assistance?” he asks as he grabs a hold of my waist.

  “Yes.”

  He pulls me to him and turns me on my feet. His hand brushes my skin as he sweeps my hair over one shoulder, sending shivers through me. I close my eyes and wonder why his touch is so electric—it lights me up every time. He kisses the back of my neck as he slowly pulls down my zipper. He’s taken over, and I’m officially in seventh heaven. “I’ve done my part,” he whispers. “The rest is up to you.”

  Damn…I’m not off the hook.

  I turn back to see him sitting comfortably in the chair again. He leans in, his forearms on his knees, his shirt pulling against his shoulders. God…he’s gorgeous. The faster I get this done, the sooner I get him all over me.

  I pull a strap slowly over my shoulder, and slowly pull the dress down to my waist, exposing my black silk bra.

  He swallows hard and nods in approval, leaning back in his chair. His smile has faded—his face is serious and intense.

  I’m turning him on.

  And I love the idea of turning him on.

  I shimmy my hips a little, pull the dress over them, and let it fall to the floor, revealing the matching silk panties, garter, and stockings.

  He undoes the top button of his shirt. “I…love…it.”

  Yes, I almost scream…he’s getting undressed. This is going exactly where I want this to go. “Do you approve?” I ask, my words silky.

  His slow smile says it all. “Yes…definitely.”

  I sit on the bed and kick off my stilettos, throwing my head back. I trail my finger down my hips and slowly unhook the clips on my garter. He watches my every move, his eyes not leaving my body even for a second.

  I start to lose my inhibitions, desperately wanting him to want me. I slide my stocking slowly down my leg. My eyes don’t leave his—I want to see him react. His lids are heavy, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face—barely discernable. His fingers trail down his shirt—he’s down to the middle button, a white undershirt peeking through.

  I can’t wait for him to get that shirt off.

  By the time I’ve removed both stockings, his shirt his off, and he’s devastatingly beautiful in a tight undershirt, desire still in his eyes.

  I bring my hand to my neck, knowing I need to kick it up a notch, but I’m so scared. I feel so vulnerable under his stare. I’m not sure if I’m ready to show myself completely to him.

  I trail my hand to my breast and slide it under the silk of my bra. My skin is hot and my nipples are hard. I let my breast fall out over the underwire.

  He closes his eyes for a second.

  I’m arousing him.

  I’m arousing myself.

  “I want to touch you,” he says, his words soft. “I want to taste you.”

  He has no idea how much I want that. “Come and touch me.”

  He studies me for a beat, and he smiles. “Settle down…little butterfly,” he whispers, the words flowing off his tongue deliciously.

  I laugh a little. “What?”

  He leans back in his chair. “You’re beautiful and colorful, and you do get quite eager and fluttery when you’re aching to get off.”

  I bite my lip, suddenly a bit self-conscious. “Oh…do I?”

  “You do. It’s rather adorable, actually.”

  I laugh again but don’t say a word, aching for him to come to me.

  “I’ll come to you soon enough, but I want to see you completely naked first. And feel free to speed things up,” he quickly adds, his smile playful.

  My inhibitions are completely gone. I want to be naked for him. I want him to touch me. I arch my back and reach for the
clasp of my bra. It falls to the bed, as I reveal myself to him.

  He bites his bottom lip, his gazed fixed on my breasts. I think he likes what he sees.

  He peels off his undershirt, revealing a set of gorgeous shoulders. The sleek lines of his body under his fitted shirts gave me an idea, but I had no clue he was so ripped. He leans back in his chair with a sly smile, showing off his toned abs—he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  I quickly slide my hand down my belly and toy with the lace trim of my panties.

  I can tease too.

  He watches me intently, tapping his foot. I linger, tracing my finger back and forth along the waistband.

  He sucks in a long breath. “Take them off.”

  I hesitate a little.

  I’m not sure he’s going to like what he sees. I’ve cleaned up for him, but I’m a natural woman. And he strikes me as the type who appreciates a nice Brazilian. But…he’s touched me there before—he knows what to expect.

  I peel off my panties, slide them slowly over my knees, and let them fall to the floor. I’m motionless in my birthday suit. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. He stares at me for the longest time without a word. My heart hammers in my chest, and I wish I could dissolve into thin air.

  “You’re perfect,” he finally says.

  And I smile at him, relieved he likes me the way I am. And also very relieved my little show is officially over.

  Except…it isn’t quite over.

  Not as far as Weston is concerned.

  He bites his lip, a hint of a smile on his face. “Sit back on the bed.”

  I sit on the edge, waiting for him to come to me, the crisp white bed cover cool on my rear.

  But he doesn’t.

  He sits there comfortably and kicks off his shoes. I’m just about ready to bolt at this point, but I’m stark naked. I’ve done my part, and I wonder what he wants from me.

  “Come over,” I tell him, wanting him all over me.

  A wide smile stretches across his face, ever so slowly, doing sinful things to me. He’s being playful again. “Open your legs for me. I’d like to see you,” he whispers. “If you’re comfortable…”

  My heart pounds in my chest as I spread my legs for him, very slowly. I spread them wider and wider, surprisingly not feeling exposed at all, but rather extremely aroused.

  “Mirella…” he whispers.

  I feel like I’m going to die if he doesn’t come to me soon.

  Finally, he stands and walks slowly over to me, his eyes glued to mine.

  He leans over me, and he kisses my neck softly. I close my eyes as he trails his lips down my chest and kisses my breast, licking circles around my nipple but not quite touching it. He’s teasing again.

  I run my hands through his soft hair, breathing in the wonderful scent of him. I want this moment to last forever.

  Finally, he takes my breast in his mouth. My breathing quickens, and I slide my hands against his smooth shoulders. I make my way down and reach for his fly. I want him naked against me.

  He stills my hand. “Uh…no,” he laughs softly. “We’re not doing that, quite yet.” His tongue ribbons down my stomach and around my belly button…and below. I ache for him to venture south and lick me there. He tangles his arms in my legs and kisses the inside of my thighs, his tongue sliding against my skin, along the edge of my curls.

  “You…are…such a tease.” My words are ragged.

  He plants soft kisses on the fleshy part of my thigh. “Just ask,” he whispers.

  He wants me to beg again.

  “Please.”

  His warm breath lands against my sex, and I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. His tongue slides back and forth against me.

  It’s so good.

  I’m climbing quickly.

  I grab a handful of his hair, the soft, thick locks tangled in my fingers, my moans louder and louder.

  I’m almost there. I want this to happen. There is no way I can stop him—it just feels too damn good.

  But then, he pulls away.

  I could just kill him.

  I lean up on my elbows. “Weston,” I cry out.

  “I’ll bring you there…” he promises with a sly smile, “but I have yet to see every inch of you.”

  What in the world is he saying? He’s seen everything.

  He pulls away. His eyes are intense and serious. “I’d like you to kneel for me.”

  He wants me on all fours.

  “But only if you’re at ease doing so,” he adds.

  At this point, I would do anything he asks—I want him so badly. I turn around, do as I’m told, and settle my knees on the soft bed, feeling extremely exposed. Suddenly, I’m in someone else’s body—someone bold, sexual.

  He stands behind me and trails his fingers softly along my spine, down to the base of my back.

  He traces a line to the edge of my crack. “You are a work of art.” His fingers dance lightly along my ass, my sex. Neither of us utters a word. I am too aroused to speak. I just want to close my eyes and enjoy his touch. His fingers linger for an eternity, trailing back and forth, nearing, but not quite touching.

  I’m not used to this.

  Gabe is not like this. His style is fast and furious—he plows on through and hopes I can catch up with him. Weston, on the other hand, likes to take things slowly. He likes to explore. He likes to tease. He likes to hear me beg. I had never realized being with another man could bring such a different experience. And I eat it up. I love being teased, taunted, and brought to the edge of desire. I love being explored and adored and handled softly.

  “Touch me, Weston,” I finally beg.

  His fingers glide between my lips.

  And I want him so badly.

  “I want you inside me,” I say softly. The ragged words escaping from my mouth shock me.

  His hand leaves me, and I open my eyes. I tilt my head over my shoulder to look at him. He reaches into his pocket.

  I throw my head down, close my eyes and wait for him, my body anticipating his. This magnetic pull he has over me is beyond comprehension. I’ve never seen myself as a very passionate person before—I’ve always been ruled by my good senses, not by lust.

  He teases me with his shaft. I want to beg him to stop and to enter me—I want him inside me. I bite my bottom lip as I enjoy the feel of him against me.

  He finally eases into me, and I want the sensation to go on forever. He moans as he stretches into me. I cry out, knowing I’m going to come, fast and hard. His thrusts are slow and intense, and he moans louder and louder. As he comes, he pushes harder into me and brings me to my own climax.

  When I’m finally brought down from the waves of pleasure, I turn to look at him and smile. Thirty seconds—I think that’s all there was to it.

  He laughs. “In my defense you worked me up quite a bit.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t even touch you.”

  He kisses the back of my neck. “What can I say,” he says softly. “You have extraordinary powers.”

  He eases out of me, his hands still on my hips. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And he’s gone again.

  I bury myself under the covers and wait for him. I definitely don’t want a repeat of last time.

  I want him to stay.

  He comes back, a plush towel wrapped around his waist. He is magnificent, and I just want to rip that towel off.

  He lies next to me, pulling the covers over both of us.

  “You were great,” I tell him, remembering all the sensations he’s brought on in me.

  “It’s easy to be great with you.”

  I trail my finger along his smooth chest, tracing circles around his nipple, and venturing further south. “You have a great body.” I slide my finger all the way to his belly button. “How do you manage that?”

  His smile is bashful. “I train religiously. Two hours a day, five days a week,” he says matter-of-factly, like this isn’t completely impressive.

  “Wow
. That’s a lot of training. When do you find the time?” I ask, suddenly a little self-conscious about my complete lack of exercise.

  “I work out from five thirty to seven thirty, Monday to Friday.”

  “In the morning?” I blurt out. “When do you sleep?”

  “I sleep six hours a night. That’s pretty standard I think,” he says, his hand against mine, his thumb playing with my fingers.

  I realize we are so completely different. “You are very regimented.”

  “It’s what feels most comfortable to me. I like to follow a set schedule. I like to know what’s coming.”

  I smile at him. He’s such a nerd. A really hot nerd.

  “What do you do at work all day?” I ask, wanting to learn more about this beautiful nerd.

  “Ahhh…” He lets out a sigh. “A lot of meetings with suppliers and engineers, conference calls, meetings out of town occasionally, site visits, and quality control,” he explains, looking half-exhausted. “But thankfully, I have a few men to cover most of it. I delegate a lot.”

  “You basically tell people what to do all day,” I tease.

  “I suppose you could put it that way.”

  “I tell people what to do all day too. But they’re all five years old, and they never listen to me.”

  He laughs, fine lines edging the corners of his eyes.

  “I guess what I do isn’t very exciting and important compared to you. Gabe likes to say I get paid to make zoo animals out of toilet paper cardboard rolls all day.”

  I think this is kind of funny, but Weston doesn’t seem to agree—his smile has completely faded.

  He studies me for a second with a serious expression. “You shouldn’t say that,” he chastises me, trailing his finger along my hairline. “Your vocation is most likely a lot more important than mine. You are molding the minds of our future leaders. You probably spend more time with these children than their own parents. Do you realize just how pliable the human brain is at that age? How much it takes in? How much your presence in their lives will affect who they become?”

  I’d never thought about it like that.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Mirella.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more serious. “What you do is very important.”