I finally understand him, and when I think about it he’s absolutely right. We’ve left impressions on each other, and each of us is different in some tangible way for having met. His mind works in strange and wonderful ways, and he thinks about the world in such a different way than I do, but it’s made me see things from his perspective. And I hope I’ve been able to do the same for him.
This time he leans in for the kiss. He puts his arm around me and grips my shoulder, holding me tightly in an embrace as our lips meet. It’s a real kiss this time; a serious kiss; the self-replicating type that’s only meant to lead to more kisses, and I’m happy to oblige. But this time there’s no slow burn necessary, no romance to draw our passion to a halt. There are times for that, but not now. I know what I want and so does he. As we kiss he lifts me up and sits me down sideways on his lap. I twist so we can press our bodies together as the kiss gets more passionate. I can feel his erection growing underneath me. The hardness straining against his pants rubs against my pussy in just the right place. The thin cotton of my underwear barely creates a barrier, and I grind harder against him.
“Jesus, you feel so fucking good, Mia,” he whispers when our lips separate. “I’m so fucking hard right now.”
“I can feel you.” He starts kissing my neck in a way that makes me so wet I have to be soaking through my panties. I hike my dress up for easy access and straddle him grinding even harder.
He gets up and turns us around and places me down on the couch sliding my underwear off. I’m sitting on the couch sideways, and he’s on his knees in front of me. My dress is hiked up so the fabric sits around my hips. He scoops each one of my legs underneath his arms and pulls, so that I’m flat on my back, and my legs are extended with his massive arms hugging behind each of my knees I can I feel him lift my butt off of the couch in an upwards motion.
And then his tongue is inside me, first dancing and tickling the outside of my wet pussy, his lips sucking and circling my clit again and again. I arch at the feeling of his tongue pushing inside me. It’s making me hotter than I ever thought possible. I grip onto the sides of his head with both hands, the features of his face unseen as they lie buried between my thighs. He lets go of my legs temporarily, and I wrap them around his head as he fucks me with his tongue. “Fuck, Wesley, don’t stop.” The deep throb between my legs is growing stronger.
I gasp and moan as he varies the speed and pressure of his skillful tongue; long sensual licking mixed with rough flicks. Just when I think I can’t take any more without exploding his long thick finger finds its way inside me, sliding in with ease. I let out an uncontrollable gasp when I feel him, the deep pressure of his finger matching the gentle roll of his tongue over my clit. His fingers fuck me as my body convulses uncontrollably. I know if he keeps this up I won’t be able to hold back much longer, I’m right on the brink of coming all over his hand and face. He feels my spasms and stops what he’s doing, pulling away leaving me feeling empty and needy. Lifting his head from the depths of my pussy he looks me right in the eye, the evidence of my pleasure is all over his face. “I love the way you taste, Mia, so fucking good.”
All I want is to be pressed against his naked body right now, the firmness of my nipples smashed against the hardness of his chest, as I feel him deep inside me. I can’t wait any longer. “Take off your shirt,” I command him from the bottom as I pull my dress up over my head. He doesn’t bother unbuttoning his shirt, but instead rips it open, pulling from both sides until buttons are literally flying through the air. Once that’s gone he reaches down and clasps the buckle of his belt and undoes it with ease. I can see the long, thick outline of his hard cock imprisoned in his tight pants begging to be let loose. Once his belt is undone he easily slides his pants right off of his hips onto the floor. Where I expect my eyes to see underwear I’m surprised that he isn’t wearing any, and now his manhood is free.
He slips his arms around my waist and stands up, never breaking the bond of our kiss. As our tongues tangle I wrap my legs tightly around his waist. I hear him groan as the hot flesh of his cock comes in contact with my wetness. He starts to make his way to my bedroom and with each step I can feel the plump head of his cock rub up against my clit and I almost come right there on the spot. The bedroom is too far away for the passion we’re both feeling. I can tell we are both close to climaxing and he hasn’t even been inside me yet.
He spins me around and places my ass on the edge of the marble counter in my kitchen. I’m at the perfect height for him now, we line up perfectly. As we kiss he begins to slowly slide inside of me and then I feel him freeze and mumble, “Fuck, condom.” I shake my head and say, “it’s ok, pill.” The only words I can get out in my heightened state of arousal. I need him to fuck me. His eyes darken with arousal and he plunges inside me hard, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. He’s so big. The feeling of him filling me up completely is almost too much. He fucks me hard, plunging in and out quickly; my body shakes violently with each thrust. He slows for a minute and I know that he’s close.
“Holy shit Mia, you feel unbelievable pulsating around me. I’ve never been with anyone bare like this before.”
“Me neither, this is only yours”
“I want to come inside of you and make you mine.”
With his words I feel my orgasm building, and the idea of him coming inside of me is going to push me over the edge. With three more erratic thrusts we both come simultaneously, our bodies convulsing in unison, and our passionate moans ringing out loudly. When we finish I lean my ahead against his chest as we both try and catch our breath. Eventually he pulls out and I feel empty, but the heat of his body is still there. He helps me off the counter and when my feet hit the floor I can feel his come start to trickle down my thigh and I grin. Knowing that part of him is still inside me and that we shared that first together is exhilarating.
“Mia,” he says, still out of breath, “it’s like I said that first night we met: fucking amazing. You’re fucking amazing.” Then we make our way to my room and collapse on the bed. I’m pretty sure we will both sleep well tonight.
June 15th
I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S the last day of school. It happens every year, obviously, but this one has a special significance to me. At the beginning of the year I thought it might be the last graduation day the school ever hosted before sending our kids off to the real work, or other private care. But Wesley changed all of that. Wesley Marsden. The dark man with the blue eyes who loves regular coffee too. As I sit in some crazy traffic on the way to meet Dacia for an early breakfast before work I’m reflecting back on what’s easily the most unique school year I’ve ever experienced.
In September I was getting over a bad relationship with yet another wrong guy, thinking that my love life would be the one area that I just had to accept would be unfulfilling. I had my job, of course, and I had good friends and family, and that would just have to be enough for me. I guess I should thank Dacia for dragging me to The Drip that fateful Saturday night. I remember what Wesley said—how we make small decisions that we don’t even bother to think about, and the way that those decisions can completely alter the course of our lives, for better or worse. A million “what-if’s” with no answers to be had, but it’s interesting to wonder.
I’ve never really believed in fate—at least not the ways it’s always been described to me. I never thought that we were predestined to end up with a specific someone, but when I think about all the stars that had to align in order to bring me and Wesley into each other’s lives, I can totally see where the idea of fate comes from. It’s fun to reflect—and a little scary when you think about all that could have gone differently, but at the end of the day the how or the why doesn’t really matter—I had the greatest man I had ever met in my life, and he had me. He really was something special: sexy as fuck, a legitimate genius, a kind person who used his money for good causes, he had it all, and he’s mine.
I couldn’t be prouder as a teacher, and I
nearly cried last night thinking about it. I’m sad to see my students move on, but I’m so excited at the same time. This is what I work for.
Of course I’m late on the last day, but at least I was caffeinated and happy. As I get closer to work I see the empty busses passing me going the other direction, and realize I’m later than I thought if drop-off has happened already. Once I parked I basically run into the building, and when I finally reach my classroom I slow down to a normal pace; I don’t want to add to any negative behaviors by giving off a nervous energy to my kids, but my heart is still racing like I just finished a marathon.
I open the door and enter a completely empty room, which freaks me out a little because I was expecting four overly excited kids and two stressed out TA’s to greet me when I walked in. Instead what I see are empty tables and chairs, and a room that looked much bigger without anyone in it. Did I miss something? Did I forget that they had a special like art or music today? I walk over to our class calendar to make sure I’m not crazy, because I have our specials memorized by day and period, and I’m pretty sure I’m not that late. Nothing on the calendar, but maybe they made a class bathroom trip. Anything was possible, but it was definitely a weird start to an already frantic morning, so I decide to just put my bag away and set up our carpet time activities before they all got back to the room. Where the hell was everyone?
Five minutes pass and I step out into the hall and text Rachel, one of my TA’s.
Hey . . . bathroom with kids??? Where are you?
Not only was I worried about where they were, but it also looked bad if any of the administrators saw a class, most likely behaving badly, walking around the school with no teacher. I don’t get a text back and start to get worried. Right at the moment I start to panic a little I hear the start of an announcement in the classroom over the loud speaker, “Mia, this is Dr. Fisher.” Fuck! This can’t be good. “Please join your class in the art room. Again, Mia, please join your class in the art room immediately.”
I literally run from my classroom to the art-therapy room, which is on the same floor but on the other end of the building. My heart is racing the entire time because I feel like I’m in trouble. With the few coherent thoughts I can think of as I run and panic, I hope that Sara hasn’t bitten or hit anyone, or that Casey hasn’t had another bathroom issue. The kids were good, but they still have their moments. And if something did happen without me being there to mitigate, it would look really, really bad for me. It was the last day; could we just have a little less chaos than normal?
I’m panting when I get to the art room, but everything looks typical. My class is standing, holding onto little posters that they’re clutching close to their bodies, and Rachel and Melissa are standing around their table. All seems well, and I’m trying to figure out why I was paged to the room if everything is okay. “What’s going on?” I ask while hyperventilating. “Is everything okay, Dr. Fisher paged me here.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine, Ms. Mia,” Rachel tells me calmly. “Our friends were just finishing up some work they really wanted to show you for our last day.” I was relieved, but it was still weird. Rachel or Melissa could’ve just come and gotten me, but I guess they didn’t know I was here yet since I was late. Either way I was here, and I’m relieved that nothing is wrong.
“Of course,” I say, still trying to catch my breath. “You know I’d love to see.”
The kids form a line in front of me, going from my left to my right. On the far left is Johnson, our youngest; next to him is Thomas, Sara stands in the middle and Casey on my right. Teachers don’t usually go to specials; we just pick up and drop off, but I was so happy that I had reached a point where the kids wanted to show me the beautiful artwork they had created. Each one of them held their little posters backwards, so that the art was facing them and I only got to see four blank pieces of paper before the big reveal. Rachel and Melissa are sitting in the back of the room cleaning up with Ms. Gina, our art-therapist. “Okay friends; are you ready to show Ms. Mia what you made today?” After Ms. Gina’s question, Sara, Johnson, and Casey let out a simultaneous, “yes,” while Jayson, who’s mostly non-verbal, shakes his head in affirmation as he always does with me. “Okay, then, friends,” Ms. Gina says, “On the count of three. One, Two . . .”
On the three count the kids all turn their papers over at the same time, and when they do I think that my eyes must be playing tricks on me. I see what’s on each of their posters, but it just doesn’t process. The words are clear. From left to right poster I see:
WILL YOU MARRY ME
I stare at the words, and look back at Melissa, Rachel, and Ms. Gina like, what the hell, and I can see that all of them are wiping away tears, and I have no idea what’s going on. And then I hear his voice from behind me, so distinct and so comforting. “So, what do you think?” I turn around and Wesley’s standing there, filling the doorway with his height, a small grin sitting on his otherwise serious face.
“Wesley, what’s going on?” I ask, bewildered. He walks over to me and reaches down to take my hand, and I can tell that he’s nervous. As he drops to one knee I start crying because I finally realize that this is happening; this is real. Oh my God. He angles his beautiful face up to look into my crying eyes, and I can see tears swelling in his big blues also. He’s so handsome, especially now, and I feel like I’m frozen in the moment, even though it’s only a second or two before he starts speaking. “Mia Careri,” he begins, his voice slightly shaking, “you’ve changed my life forever, from the first moment that I laid eyes on you, my world has never been the same. You’ve made me a better man than I ever thought myself capable of being, and the thought of you not in my life forever makes life not worth living. In front of your kids, who I know are some of the most important people in your life, I have a question to ask you.” He stops and looks past my waist, over to the line of kids who are still holding their posters up, not quite understanding what they’re seeing. “Sara, is it okay?” he asks.
“It’s okay, Wesley, you’re doing good, keep going.”
“Okay, thanks, I will,” he says, smiling while he cries. I think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world that he involved my kids, especially Sara. There are friends and family, of course, but asking me in this way is about the most perfect proposal I could have ever imagined. Jeez, it’s not even over yet, I should listen. “Mia Careri,” he says again.
“Yes, Wesley.”
“Will you make me even luckier than I already am, and do me the honor of being my wife?”
I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was a little girl, and in all my wildest fantasies I never would have imagined it happening like this. I realize now that all of those childhood dreams were just templates; paint-by-numbers fantasies where all the important images were just blanks. There was me, of course, and I was always wearing a dress like the one I’m wearing today, but the guy had no face, his words just soundless movements of an unclear mouth, and the surroundings were just blurred edges. Now Wesley’s fulfilled this lifelong dream by filling in the blanks in all the best ways possible; with his face; his words; surrounded by my kids, and what may be the largest stone I’ve ever seen on an engagement ring—my God!
Like our first time together, there’s no more time left for hesitation, or for doubt, there’s only my answer; the answer that I’ve always had ready on the tip of my tongue since we first met. “Yes, Wesley, of course I’ll be your wife.” Neither of us can hold back the tears. I pull him up by his hand, and he slides the ring onto my left hand. It’s ridiculous! It must be over three carats—princess cut, which he knows is my absolute favorite, and it has a simple, Tiffany-style setting that I know must be platinum. I’m blown away by the look of it on my finger, not only because it’s literally every girl’s dream ring, but more so because of what it represents. His love, his devotion, and his endless willingness to remember what’s important to me are all embodied in the ring that now wraps my finger; the promise of a future, fulfill
ed by the man of my dreams, Wesley Marsden.
“Mia, you’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he says. I hear a little applause from behind me. “Look,” Wesley says, motioning over my shoulder. My kids are clapping for us, and Sara is smiling ear to ear—probably just because she gets to see Wesley. “Did I do all right, guys?” he asks the group. The kids just keep clapping. “I guess they approve,” he says.
“Well I approve.” We kiss, but it’s a PG-rated kiss, I am still at work. There’s plenty of time for NC-17 moments later on. “You know, I just realized something.”
“What’s that?”
“Mia Marsden has a nice ring to it.”
“Better than ‘blond Mia,’ for sure.”
“Oh my God, Dacia! I can’t wait to tell her we’re engaged. Oh my lord,” I say, “I’m going to marry Wesley Marsden. I can’t believe I’m wearing a giant engagement ring!”
“Oh, I’m sorry; I’ll take it back for a smaller one right away.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I smile. I’ve literally never been happier in my life than I am at this moment. Everything is right: the school isn’t in jeopardy of closing any more, I’m surrounded by my great kids who are graduating despite all odds, and soon everyone will know that I’m going to be Mrs. Mia Marsden. What a difference a year makes. “We need to tell your family too. Annabelle . . . I guess Kane, too.”
“Yeah, he should probably know. Better now than when he gets the invitation in the mail.”
“So I guess we have to invite him, then,” I say, joking.
“It’s probably the appropriate thing to do. Hey, maybe he can bring Dacia.”
“Stop it. Stick to being the best man ever. Matchmaking is not your thing.” I realize that we’re still standing in the middle of the art room, surrounded by my kids and some staff members. “Rachel, can you and Melissa take them back to the classroom and get them ready for the graduation ceremony, I need a few minutes.”
Impressions of You (The Impressions Series Book 1) Page 22
