by R. C. Martin
My face breaks out into a grin, and I cover my eyes with my free hand, beside myself at his transparency.
“I can work in an hour for lunch. I know it’s not much, but—”
“Come over,” I interrupt. “I’ll be here. I don’t work late on Sundays, so I’ll be up.”
“Don’t cook. My treat.”
“Okay,” I say, still speaking through my smile.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Can’t wait.”
“You have no idea, angel.”
“Happy Fourth of July, Michael.”
“You, too.”
BY THE TIME Monday rolls around, I’m so excited to see Michael that I can hardly keep still. I tried my best to stay busy over the weekend, but it didn’t stop me from thinking about him. The more I thought about him, the more I missed him. When he called late last night, we got to talk for nearly an hour, and it eased my impatience as much as it heightened it. Now, as I sit in the corner of my couch with a book in my lap, I find myself reading the same two sentences over and over again, too distracted to actually comprehend what I’m seeing. It also doesn’t help that, every so often, I’ll look across the room and smile at the sight of my flowers, still situated on the dining table. It makes my heart flutter, remembering his thoughtfulness.
My phone sounds with a text alert, and I’m quick to discard my book in order to see who it is. I snag the nub on the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to break out into a giddy grin when I see My Lover lit up across my screen. His message informs me that he’ll be here in five minutes, and I’m quick to hop up from the couch as I race for the bathroom to take one last look at myself before he arrives.
The denim shorts I have on are frayed at the bottom, the tips of my pockets peeking out from beneath the edge. On top, I’ve got on one of my favorite sweatshirts. The gray fabric is lightweight and fitted, with a pocket on the front, like a hoodie. The best part is the collar—which looks more like a pair of sweatpants. I wear it off my shoulders, the drawstring pulled tight enough to keep it up around my chest and strapless bra. I’ve left my hair down, the tips of my wavy locks tickling my bare shoulders; and I’ve kept my makeup light, as usual, wearing just mascara and a little lip gloss.
When a knock sounds at the door, my heart leaps in my chest, and I’m practically running on the balls of my feet as I go answer it. Knowing our time together is limited, I don’t waste a second before opening up. I swear, I almost swoon at the sight of him standing on the other side of the threshold. He’s not wearing a suit jacket, and his pale blue button-up, hugging him just the way that I like, is opened at the collar. Instead of a tie, he’s paired his navy blue pants with a vest, which shows off the tapered cut of his waist.
It takes everything I have in me not to jump into his arms.
“Blaine?” he asks on a chuckle.
“Hmm?” I hum, snapping my gaze up to meet his.
His beautiful blue eyes smile down at me as he inquires, “Are you going to let me inside?”
“Oh, my god. Yes! Sorry,” I stammer, stepping aside.
He walks right by me, and I watch him as he deposits a paper bag on my kitchen counter. He then turns back and closes the door I didn’t realize was still open before gathering me into his arms. I gasp in delight, my own arms circling around his shoulders as he takes full advantage of my parted lips and greets me with his tongue.
My stomach clenches, and I swear, I’m wet in a matter of seconds.
I tighten my grip around him when he frees a soft moan into my mouth. Then I kick my legs up, hooking them around the back of his thighs. With a grunt, he drops a hand to grab my ass and effortlessly hoists me up higher. I squeak in surprise and excitement, adjusting my legs around his hips as he continues to kiss me. I’m barely aware that we’re moving until he sets me on the counter beside my sink. His hands slide down and around my waist, and he gives me a squeeze before pulling his lips away from mine.
His chest heaves with his labored breaths as his eyes dance around my face. I feel my way over his shoulders and down his chest, greedily clinging to his vest as I press my knees into his sides. I want more. How he found it within himself to stop, I have no idea. I tug on him a little, my gaze trained on his lips—red from our fervent hello—and he leans toward me, pressing his forehead to mine.
His hands clench around me, and I sigh in want, tilting my head back in an attempt to reach his mouth. He groans before mumbling, “If we don’t stop, we won’t eat.”
“Are you hungry?”
He coughs out a laugh, running his nose alongside mine. “That’s currently a surprisingly complicated question, angel.”
Tugging him even closer, I brush my lips over his as I whisper, “Un-complicate it.”
Speaking into my mouth, he all but growls, “I don’t have time to have you the way I want, and I made you a promise.”
Closing my eyes, I pull my lips away from his, burying my face in his neck. He smells so wonderful, I lose track of my thoughts for a second, and I can’t recall which promise he’s referring to. Then his hands skim up my back, gently holding the nape of my neck, and my heart swells in remembrance.
I’ll never get myself off and then leave—that’s not what this is.
Nodding my head in understanding, I take a deep breath, kiss the underside of his jaw, and then force myself to let him go.
“Let’s eat. What’d you bring me?”
While he reaches for the bag beside us, I try and ignore the throbbing between my legs. It’s not easy, especially not when he tells me that he brought me a salad—in an attempt to keep it healthy—but that if I wanted part of his sandwich, he’d happily share.
“Half and half?” I ask hopefully.
“You got it.”
He steps out from between my legs to grab us some plates. I hop off the counter to open the salad and unwrap the sandwich, trying not to think about how much I like that he remembered where my plates are stored. When our lunch is divided, I set the food on the breakfast bar, and he takes a seat on one of the stools while I get us each a small mason jar of water. As soon as I sit beside him, he rests a hand around my bare thigh, affectionately earning my attention.
His perfect irises seem a tad bit lighter today, reminding me of a calm, deep blue sea, and I can’t help but lean toward him a little as he looks at me. Speaking through a panty-melting smile he says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I murmur in reply.
He pecks my lips with his own before picking up his sandwich and explaining, “I believe I rudely skipped over that before.”
I laugh, reaching for my fork as I assure him, “If that was you being rude, feel free to show up on my doorstep and be rude as often as you’d like.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he chuckles.
“So, how’s your day going?”
“Busy, as per usual,” he mutters, speaking around a mouthful. He chews and swallows before he goes on to say, “Some days it feels like I’m being pulled in a million different directions. This morning was a lot of meetings. The forecast for the afternoon doesn’t look a whole lot different. Then again, it’s Monday.”
“Why do you do it? I mean, what is it about politics that makes you excited to get up and go to work everyday? Well, assuming you are excited to get up and go to work everyday.”
“Most days I am. I consider it an honor and a privilege that people have put their trust in me to fill my office. It’s not without its challenges. Actually, I think that’s what I like most about it—by nature, the job is a multitude of challenges that must be addressed head on every day. That’s the beauty of democracy. Opinions matter, and it’s my job to try and make sure that the people are heard. I’d like to think that this is the most effective way for me to express how much I care about my fellow citizens. I know people have their doubts about democracy, about our government as a whole, and the way that it’s run; sometimes, I can’t blame them. No system is flawless, but it’s a politician’s jo
b to make it the best it can be.”
I can’t contain my grin as I listen to his reply. Hearing the passion in his voice reminds me of the first couple of times that he came to the Lounge. It’s quite apparent that he’s doing what he was made to do.
“What are you smiling about over there?” he asks before taking a bite of salad.
Giggling, I confess, “I like how geeked out you get whenever you talk politics.”
“Yeah? And what makes you geek out? What’s your dream job?”
I shrug, looking down at my plate. In all honesty, I hate it when people ask me that question. At twenty-four, I feel like I should know the answer by now, but I don’t. After mom died, it was all I could do to finish college. I did it knowing that she’d have wanted me to. She always taught me to never quit, and I wasn’t about to let her down. Then I started working at the Prohibition Lounge, and it felt like a good enough place for me to settle while I got my shit together. Apparently, I haven’t quite worked it all out yet.
“Hey,” Michael says softly, reaching over to playfully pinch my knee.
I force a smile as I look at him, and he creases his brow at me. I can tell without him having to say a word that he’s not impressed with my liar’s smile, which makes me laugh a little.
“It’s kind of annoying how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“See through me,” I murmur with a slight blush. He smirks, and I pretend not to be affected by it as I try to offer him an explanation as quickly as possible. “Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t know. I’m sure I’m not the type who could be happy sitting behind a desk all day. Hospitals freak me out, and I don’t think I could survive anymore school, so anything in the medical field is a no. Kids are great, but trying to teach a classroom full of them sounds a little bit like torture, so teaching isn’t my thing either. I can figure stuff out on the computer easily enough, but I’m no techy. I just—” I shrug once more, shaking my head as I repeat, “I don’t know.”
“I think that’s okay,” he replies nonchalantly.
Surprised to hear him say such a thing, given that he’s the freaking governor of Colorado, I lamely ask, “You do?”
“I do,” he reiterates. “When did you graduate from college? A year ago?”
“Year and a half,” I reply, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. “I finished early.”
“That’s not so long ago. You have plenty of time to figure out what it is that makes you happy and then go after it. There’s no rule that says you have to graduate from college with some master plan. Hell, these days, even if your generation does have a plan, the workforce spits it out without batting an eyelash.”
“My generation, huh?” I ask teasingly, nudging my knee against his. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like my dad.”
He scowls at me playfully before he grunts, “I’m not that old.”
Giggling, I lean toward him and press a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to convince me,” I whisper into his ear. “I’m well aware of how virile you are.”
He sucks in a slow, deep breath, turning slightly to press his cheek to mine as he whispers back, “Don’t start, Blaine. Finish your lunch.”
Pursing my lips together in an attempt to hide my grin, I straighten in my stool before I murmur, “Yes, sir.”
Michael
I’M NO STRANGER to the term sir. People have been calling me that for years—as far back as when I held the office of District Attorney. Yet, for unexplained reasons, Blaine is certainly the first person who has ever made my cock swell when using the term. Polite is not how I would describe her intentions—neither would it be an appropriate way to articulate the things I want to do to her when I hear the word pass her lips.
It’s not long before our lunch is gone. When we’re both finished, Blaine gets up and clears our plates. After rinsing and stowing the dishes in the dishwasher, she props herself against the counter, biting on the inside of her cheek before she asks, “How much time do we have?”
I flip my wrist to check my watch, noting that our borrowed moments are slipping away faster than I’d like to admit. “Twenty-five minutes,” I inform her. She nods, looking about as disappointed as I feel, and I jerk my chin as I insist, “Come here.”
She’s quick to respond, walking around the counter as I stand from my stool. When she’s in reaching distance, I take hold of her hand and lead her to the couch. I sit in the corner, lifting my arm in invitation for her to join me on the other side, and she snuggles against me without hesitation. It boggles my mind how natural this is—how good it feels, and how she seems to fit against me like she’s been burrowing herself in my arms for years instead of days.
“Can we do this again?” she asks on a whisper, tilting her head back to look at me.
“I’d like that.”
Sliding her arm around my waist, she relaxes into me further as she murmurs, “Soon?”
“I could make Friday work.”
“Just tell me when and I’ll make sure I’m up.”
I assure her that I will, and then dip my head to seal my word with a kiss. I don’t mean to linger, aware that we’re running out of time, but then she sneaks a taste of my lips and I can’t resist. It doesn’t take long for us to escalate from light, teasing affection to hot, fervent touching. Remembering what it feels like to have her naked body beneath mine makes my hands greedy, and I’m all over her—but it’s her all over me that has my throbbing dick pressing against the seam of my pants. I groan when she shifts and straddles my lap, grinding down on my erection as she sighs into my mouth.
“Blaine,” I warn.
I know my tone means nothing when I’ve got a hand molded around one of her breasts, my lips leaving a trail of wet kisses along her bare shoulder, but it doesn’t hurt to try.
“I want you so badly,” she whimpers, pressing down on me again.
Sure that I won’t be able to hold on to my self control much longer with her on top of me, I grip my hands around her waist and move her to the cushion beside me. Before she can protest, I shift my body and plant a knee between her legs, leaning over her until she’s laying flat on her back.
“Me provocas más allá de los límites de mi control,1” I mutter, reaching for the buttons on her shorts.
“What are you—what are you saying?” she asks breathlessly.
Once I’ve freed the last of three buttons, I grab hold of the hem and tug. She lifts her hips, helping me to rid her of the garment as I semi-translate, “I can’t deny you.”
She grins, wiggling her legs as I strip her panties off, and then she starts to sit up and reach for me. I brush away her hands, shaking my head at her as I remind her, “We don’t have time, angel. Lay back.”
Capturing her plump, lower lip between her teeth, she does as I say immediately. After I sit, I take hold of her legs, lifting her hips as I hook her knees over my shoulders. She gasps as I bring my face to her bare, naked pussy, and I smile down at her before I take my first taste. The second my tongue glides over her wet entrance, she moans, and I know I’ll never be the same.
She tastes good. Amazing. Better than anything I’ve ever had before, and I can’t stop myself from devouring her. I thrust my tongue inside of her, lapping up her arousal, and then lick my way to her clit. She rolls her hips as she whimpers, her legs locking around my neck, and I love every second. I don’t pull my mouth away from her as I blindly reach underneath her shirt and unhook her bra. Understanding what I want, she rips the thing off, tossing it onto the floor, and I take each of her breasts into the palms of my hands.
“Fuck, Michael,” she pants, arching her back and bucking her hips.
A deep growl reverberates from my chest, my cock now painfully hard as I suck on her clit and pinch her nipples. She mewls softly, taking hold of my wrists and holding on tight.
“Don’t stop,” she begs as I flick her sensitive nub with the tip of my tongue. “Please, don’t stop! I’m—” She loses her words as a dee
p groan spills from her lips. She arches her back, pressing her thighs down on my shoulders for leverage as her body trembles with her climax. I suck her harder, drawing out her orgasm until she shudders, her hands frantically feeling up and down my arms.
I gaze at her face while I lazily lick the evidence of her release. She sighs contentedly, her eyes closed and her lips parted as her muscles start to relax. When I’ve had my fill, I gently lift her legs and lower her body onto the couch. She sits up instantly, reaching for my face before crashing her lips against mine. She kisses me ardently, tasting her own arousal while simultaneously making my balls ache.
As if she can read my mind, one of her hands leaves my face to find my groin. She squeezes the bulge in my pants, and I groan as I sever our kiss.
“I have to go,” I mutter reluctantly.
“How much time do we have?” she whispers, her hand still at my crotch and her lips still grazing mine.
I lift my wrist and look around her, sighing in defeat as I inform her, “Five minutes.”
“Okay. Be ten minutes late.”
“Blaine—”
“Let me take care of you,” she pleads, pressing her forehead to mine. “Let me taste you, baby, please?”
“Mierda,” I curse, reaching for my belt.
As I work to quickly free myself, she stands to her feet and tugs off her last piece of clothing. My dick jerks in my hand at the sight of her, and I regret that I don’t have time to bury myself inside of her the way I’ve been fantasizing about for days. That regret is shoved to the side when she kneels between my legs and replaces my hand around my shaft with her own.
My jaw goes slack when she licks the pre-cum from my head, her hazel eyes staring straight at me while she does it. I lose sight of them when her lids fall closed as she slowly takes me into her mouth.
“Angel,” I moan. Her hot, wet mouth is heavenly, and I can think of nothing else but the beautiful woman before me as she begins to suck and lick me to her heart’s content.
She starts off slow, as if to get a feel for my length. Gradually, her confidence begins to surface. She sets the perfect pace—bobbing her head and pumping her hand in tandem. I sweep some of her hair from out of her face, and she’s quick to tuck it behind her ear, giving me full view of her profile. I know I’m not going to last long, not with the sight of her nakedness before me and the sexy as hell sounds she makes as she consumes my cock.
