by Ellie Danes
“Right. You just need me to dig up personal information for you instead.”
“No. Not entirely. I have plenty of money. I probably could have paid someone off to get me the information. This just seemed like a better alternative.” He squeezed my hand as he looked into my eyes. “I live in the city and my businesses keep me busy. I travel a ton and I have operations in several cities. Rob, the guy from earlier, he probably did see an article about me in that magazine.”
“You’re famous?” I could feel my heart sink as I asked the question.
“No, I’m not famous. One of my restaurants was featured in the magazine. It’s no big deal.”
“One of them? How many do you have?”
“A few, but that’s not the point. I want you to get to know me for who I am, not what I do or even what I have.” Weston’s eyes didn’t move as he stared directly into mine. His voice didn’t waver or hesitate as he sat in front of me. “Trust me, please.”
“I…”
A knock at the door startled me and Weston jumped up to answer it. “Hold that thought,” he said as he swung the door open to see the concierge standing there behind a cart.
“Special order, sir. Can I push this inside?” Weston held the door as the man pushed the cart loaded with glasses, mixers, and large bottle of vodka. There were also assorted smaller bottles of liquors on the cart. “I took the liberty of bringing a few extra things. If you’d prefer I don’t leave them, I can take them back.”
“No, that’s perfect.” Weston grabbed his wallet and flipped it open, pulling out three crisp bills and handing them to the man.
The man stared at the money in his hand. “Shit, really?”
“Really. Have a good night.”
“Thank you, sir.” The man opened the door to leave with impeccable timing as the room service order arrived and he assisted the other man.
A few minutes later, our spread had been set up and I had almost entirely forgotten the conversation we had started.
Unfortunately, Weston reminded me of where we left off as he began to mix drinks for us.
“So? Can we move forward with this and just have some fun?” he asked. “Stop worrying about what those people downstairs think, and start enjoying yourself. Imagine if you really had paid me to be here. This would be one boring ass date.” Weston laughed as he poured a splash of cranberry juice into the glass to just barely darken the massive pour of vodka.
“You know, I wasn’t really all that big of a deal in high school,” I explained. “I wasn’t, like, a loser or anything, but I was sort of Miss Second Place. On the Homecoming Court, but never the queen. A member of student government but never class president or even vice president, or anything like that.”
“It seemed like a lot of people back there were pretty confident in your success in life,” Weston pointed out.
“I mean, they know I’m good at my job, but I guess I just wanted people to think I have it every bit as together as they do. Even if I’m turning into a spinster.” I laughed at that and helped myself to some of the roasted, spiced nuts that Weston had taken off the cart.
“You’re not a spinster--you’ve actually had sex,” Weston countered.
“I’m sure there were probably some spinsters who did, too,” I insisted. “They just never got anyone to marry them. And I’ll probably never get anyone to marry me. I don’t even know if I want to get married.”
“Marriage isn’t the end-all-be-all,” Weston said, and I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with me or making a separate point.
“What about you?” I asked. “Did you ever go to your reunion?”
“I went to a couple of different schools,” Weston said. “So, while I could have gone to the one I spent senior year at, I didn’t really see the point, since I pretty much just filled a chair and got my work done. And I don’t think I even got an invitation for my other school’s reunion.” He shrugged.
“I’m sure that the people you knew at your other school were at least curious,” I pointed out.
“The ones I care about mostly know what I’ve done with my life. The rest of them, I’m not even sure if I’d remember names or faces.”
He sipped his drink and I sipped mine.
“Don’t you think at least a few people from the school you graduated from were probably curious about you?” I asked.
Weston chuckled. “I’m sure some of them were, but that doesn’t mean I have to indulge their curiosity,” he said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with going to things like this--if it makes you happy.”
“I’ll be happy if we can get through the weekend with everyone convinced that I’m a well-rounded success story,” I said.
“I’ll do everything I can to help you with that,” Weston told me. He raised his glass and we clinked our cocktails together before taking another drink.
Weston looked at me for a long moment. “Have you really never had an orgasm?”
I felt my face burn with a blush, but I was loose enough from the alcohol to where I didn’t feel as embarrassed as I would usually.
“Not with anyone else,” I said. “I’m...I’m not even really sure I’ve properly gotten off on my own.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
I risked a glance at Weston’s face and saw him frowning in confusion. “I mean that I’m not sure that what’s happened actually counts,” I said. “I mean--I’ve watched videos and stuff.”
“Well, most porn is pretty exaggerated.”
“I know that,” I said, my blush intensifying. “I know it’s an act, but I feel like…” I sighed and took a long sip of my drink. “From what I’ve read and heard and all that, I feel like if I really had gotten off, like--really--then I would know it for sure.”
“Not necessarily,” Weston said. “But if you can’t even really get yourself off, then that would explain why no one else has been able to do it.”
“I said I’m not sure,” I protested.
“How many guys have you been with? Did we talk about this before?”
I shrugged. “Five.”
“Five, and not a single one of them knew how to get you off?” Weston shook his head, clucking his tongue against his teeth. “Well, it could be worse.”
“Hey--I told you before, some women just...don’t,” I countered.
“Unless there’s something physically different about you, there’s no reason that you can’t get off--eventually, somehow,” Weston insisted.
“That’s not exactly true,” I said, but I wasn’t all that confident in saying it. Most of what I’d read had chalked up women being incapable of orgasm to a “combination of factors including physical and psychological.” I couldn’t think of a single psychological reason that I wasn’t able to get off, and my doctor had told me I was totally normal from an anatomical perspective. So I never got a reason for why I couldn’t climax.
“It’s just sad, a pretty girl like you never having an orgasm,” Weston said, shaking his head.
“It’s not sad! It’s just one of those things,” I protested. “I mean, I feel like I’m missing out sometimes--and I especially did when I saw all those videos--but it’s like...like being colorblind, or something.”
“Colorblind people have a physical difference in their eyes,” Weston pointed out. “I assume you’ve asked doctors about your little problem?”
“Not...exactly,” I admitted. “I mean, I asked if there was anything wrong with me--physically--and the doctors have all said that I’m fine.”
“So, if there’s nothing physically wrong with you, it has to be psychological,” Weston said.
“It doesn’t have to be,” I countered.
“It probably is,” he said.
“It’s beside the point anyway,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Let me refill your drink--what were you on?”
“I’m sampling just about everything,” I admitted.
“How about a good old-fashioned vodk
a-tonic?”
I shrugged, but when Weston held out his hand, I gave him my glass.
He mixed me a drink quickly and handed it back. His fingers brushed mine and I could feel the electricity surge through my body. “I personally don’t think you’ve been with the right man. You need someone that isn’t just about the physical aspect of sex. You need someone who’s all in. Someone that you can be uninhibited with and just let go.”
Weston sat beside me on the bed and placed his hand on my leg. The moment he touched me, I could feel my heart beating faster in my chest and my breath deepen.
“Let me guess, you’re that man?” I asked, then shook my head. There was no way of knowing exactly what Weston could do to me or if he could really be the one, but there was an aching feeling inside of me that wanted to find out.
Chapter Fourteen
Weston
“What if I just gave you a massage, and we see where it goes?” I asked.
“Whatever, it’s not going to work anyway,” she said. She drank down about half her vodka-tonic in two gulps, and then finished it in two more. She then set her glass aside, fumbling slightly as she turned around on the bed to put her back to me.
I slipped the hotel robe off of Ashley’s shoulders and got to work. Her skin was soft and warm, and she smelled so good. However, she was extremely tense. I applied pressure to her muscles, urging her to relax with my touch.
Soon, the alcohol and the massage began to work. She slumped slightly forward and moaned. “That feels really good, Weston.”
“Good,” I murmured. “You’re doing great. Just let yourself relax into my touch.”
After another minute, I worked my hands lower and pressed against the muscle on either side of her spine. Her robe pooled tantalizing around her waist. If I peeked forward, I’d see her breasts jutting out. All in good time, I thought.
Slowly, I moved one hand forward around her ribs, waiting to see if she flinched. When she didn’t, I moved forward a tiny bit more until my hand brushed against the side of her breast.
So soft, so close. Ashley inhaled deeply, but she didn’t tense up. Instead, she seemed to be waiting for something.
She was waiting for me to touch her. Smiling, I brought both of my hands around to cup her heavy breasts. She felt amazing, and her breasts were just slightly more than handfuls. I rubbed her nipples between my fingers, and she let out a breathy moan.
“Please, Weston,” she said.
That was my cue. I eased out from behind her and helped her lie back on the bed. Then I began licking and kissing one of her nipples while kneading the other breast. She moaned louder.
I switched to her other nipple and kept the pressure on the first one with my other hand, worshipping Ashley’s breast with my mouth, sucking as hard as I dared, testing her reactions every moment. She writhed and squirmed underneath me, her hips moving instinctively, and I knew without even having to check that she was starting to get wet, that she was probably just short of soaking already--but I wanted to get her so incredibly hot and so turned on that she could barely even stand it before I moved onto the real attacks.
I moved up from her breasts and kissed her again, teasing her nipples between my fingers all the time, rolling and twisting them as Ashley started moaning a little louder, a little longer, into my mouth. I put one of my knees up between her legs and just like I expected, she pushed her hips down, rubbing against me on instinct. I could feel the heat of her through her pajama pants and my own, and I knew--I knew--she had to be soaking wet. But I wanted to push her just a little bit further.
I dipped back down to Ashley’s breasts and started worshipping them with my mouth again, letting my hands glide down along her body to the waistband of her pajamas. I kept them there for a moment and then, when I was sure she wouldn’t stop me, I tugged them down, moving my knee out of the way to get them past her thighs.
Somehow--I couldn’t say how--I was getting almost as turned on as Ashley was. As I started working my way down over her belly, I had time to notice I was hard as a rock in my pajama pants. I breathed in the smell of her: soap, lotion, and the deeper musk of her arousal, and it was like a jolt of electricity straight to my cock.
I spread her legs further apart and shifted down in between them, pulling her pajama pants the rest of the way down her legs and tossing them aside. I took a moment to appreciate just how fucking gorgeous she was, sprawled out on the bed, flushed and with her eyes dark from how turned on she was. She was exactly what I liked in a woman: a little soft in the right places, with a nice curve from her tits to her waist to her hips, and legs that were lean but not muscular exactly. In spite of the fact that she was clearly not expecting any kind of sexual action, she was freshly shaved, which made it all the more obvious how wet she was.
“If nothing else, we know you experience sexual arousal,” I said, grinning at her. I slid my finger along the seam of Ashley’s lips and she shuddered.
“Arousal isn’t the problem,” she said, her voice breathless.
“No, it certainly isn’t,” I told her. I pressed a little more firmly as I slid my fingertip up and down along Ashley’s folds, stroking instead of just touching, and I saw her thighs tense up at the sensation. I spread her apart to reveal the pink, drenched inner folds, and I found her clit, swollen and straining. Good little bead, I thought, barely brushing a fingertip against it.
Ashley gasped and shuddered, her hands gripping the blanket in reaction to my touch. I tested her a little bit, trying to find what she liked best. Feather-light touches, then a little firmer, then a nice hard rub. I’d thought maybe her clit was too sensitive or not sensitive enough, and that might be why the other guys hadn’t been able to make anything happen. But she reacted the way I expected each time, getting turned on even with me rubbing against her little pleasure center more firmly.
I held her slippery-wet folds open and brought my face down, looking up at her face as I found her clit with my lips and tongue. Ashley cried out as I started working her with my mouth, sucking lightly and swirling my tongue around her little bud. I tried a trick that never seemed to fail me with other women, and started pretending to draw letters of the alphabet with the tip of my tongue against her clitoris. A...B...C… I got to E and Ashley almost shrieked. I fought the urge to laugh and continued on through the letters, filing away the one I knew she liked for when I got through the rest. S and Z had her grabbing at my head, and I closed my eyes, focusing completely on the task at hand with the knowledge I’d gained.
I worked her steadily with my tongue, holding her hips down, keeping her exactly where I wanted her. I sucked the little bead of nerves between my lips and flicked my tongue against it, mimicking the different letters of the alphabet that I knew she’d liked, over and over again. I could feel the tension mounting in her, but I could also feel her holding back; I would need to add something to the repertoire before she got used to the sensations I was already giving her.
I slid one finger inside of her slowly, nuzzling against her folds to keep them as open as I needed them to be. Ashley made a noise--somewhere between a wordless question and a whimper and a moan--and I pushed deeper. She was tight. She was tight enough that I thought it was possible that the guys she’d been with just hadn’t taken their time, that she had probably been in enough pain from their blundering attempts to pound her to climax that it was no wonder she’d never come.
So I worked her slowly but steadily, feeling out her inner walls with first one finger and then the other, working her clit with my lips and tongue the whole time. When I could comfortably fit two fingers inside of her, I tried finding her g-spot, slowly rubbing along her passage with my fingertips as I moved them in and out, deeper and deeper.
I knew the instant I’d found it. Ashley’s muscles clamped down around me, her thighs threatened to crush my head, and a moaning cry left her throat like it might have torn something on its way. I chuckled and nearly choked, but recovered enough to keep going. I worked her with my m
outh and fingers, brushing against her g-spot at first only every few thrusts and then rubbing against it more persistently.
When I was pretty sure she was well and truly distracted, I turned up the intensity again, flicking my tongue against her clit as fast as I could and sucking hard, even as I rubbed hard against her g-spot from the inside. I could feel Ashley trying to fight it—she grabbed at my head and shoulders and shook from the effort of holding back the pleasure I was giving her. The moans leaving her throat were cut through with stubborn whimpers that were still like music to my ears, and her whole body hardened around me.
I felt her shudder from head to toe, heard her gasp and almost sob.
I pulled away from her legs and slithered up along her body, my fingers working her. “You’re so beautiful…just relax and enjoy this,” I told her, kissing her on the lips.
Her hips bucked against my hand and she let out a moan. “I--I...fuck,” she cried out, and I felt her whole body go tense in a different way, a way that I knew very well. She shivered uncontrollably against me and under me as she gave into the orgasm rippling through her nerves, and I kept working her as long as she writhed and twisted, only starting to slow down when I felt her begin to relax.
“You came,” I told her, withdrawing my fingers from her.
“You’re right,” she told me triumphantly. “I did. I—wow.”
Without the focus on getting her off, I could think of how incredibly hard I was. My cock was throbbing, aching in my pajama pants.
“Thank you,” Ashley said, her eyes shining.
I grinned, for a second forgetting about the pain in my cock. It was blue balls from hell.
As if she’d read my mind, Ashley glanced down at the tent I’d popped in my pajama pants. “It only seems fair for you to let me get you off, after that,” she said, sounding as natural and as matter-of-fact as I could imagine any woman being when it came to offering to get a guy off.
“What did you have in mind?”
Ashley sat up, giving me quite a delicious view, and turned to face me fully.
