by R. C. Martin
Taking me by surprise, she eases up a little before carefully taking me deeper. My balls start to draw up when the head of my dick hits the back of her throat. It feels so good, I lose the grip on my restraint. I fist a hand in her hair and buck my hips, fucking her mouth as I chase after my release. She sucks me harder, hollowing out her cheeks, and I don’t even have time to think about pulling out before I’m coming down her throat.
After I’ve spilled my release, she pulls away from me, licks the head of my cock, and then tucks me back into my boxer briefs. While I’m still trying to catch my breath, she wipes her mouth off and then crawls back into my lap, straddling me before bringing her lips to mine. Instead of kissing me, as I expect, she murmurs, “I don’t want lunch on Friday—I want you. All of you.”
I sit up, wrapping my arms around her as I palm one side of her naked ass. Her mouth smiles against mine, making me grin. “You got it,” I mutter before delivering one more kiss.
She doesn’t protest when I pull away, but hops out of my lap and begins putting on her clothes. I stand to my feet, closing my pants and tucking my shirt back in, watching her as she dons her shirt without bothering with a bra. I decide to hold onto that image to carry me through the rest of my day.
“Thank you for lunch,” she murmurs as I take her hand and walk her to the door.
“You’re welcome.”
“Call me?”
“I will,” I promise, leaning down for one last kiss.
We exchange our final goodbyes, and I hurry out of her apartment and down the five flights of stairs. Checking the time as I emerge from her building, I note that I’m ten minutes late—on the dot. Mentally sorting through what I can remember of my afternoon calendar, I’m sure I’ll be paying for my tardiness for the rest of the day.
As I slide into the backseat of the town car, and Clay shifts to reverse out of the parking space, I’m certain that I don’t regret it. Not even a little.
* * *
1 You tempt me beyond the limits of my control.
Blaine
I SIT ALONE, nervously waiting to see Simone walk through the door. Of course, it’s not Simone herself who has me feeling anxious, but the decision I’ve made to finally confide in my friend. For the last couple of weeks, it hasn’t been something that I was ready to do. Then, three days ago, when Michael left my apartment to head back to the Capitol, all I wanted was to tell someone about this amazing guy that I had in my life. It was then that it hit me—I hadn’t told anyone about Michael because we were new, not because we were a secret.
Sure, I’ve always been well aware that we’re keeping our affair unknown for obvious reasons, but I hadn’t thought about keeping the truth from anyone other than his wife, his family, and my dad. Now, our relationship may still be in the beginning phases, but what exists between us isn’t fleeting. I’m not a fling, and he’s not a rebound. I can feel it in my heart. I can sense it in the way that he kisses me—in the way that he touches me—in the promises he makes me.
Nevertheless, the nature of our secret hit me in a way that it hadn’t before. The reality that our situation makes it pretty difficult to acknowledge that he exists in my life, at least where other people are concerned, it’s crippling. I know how dramatic that sounds, but it’s true. As the days have passed, my feelings have grown too much for me not to confess them. I can’t tell Simone everything; and for Michael’s sake, I don’t want to. I would never purposefully compromise him or his career in any way. Yet, at the same time, if I don’t tell someone—not one soul—that I’m falling for him, I’ll question whether or not it’s actually real.
I jump, startled out of my thoughts at the feel of a hand on my shoulder. Simone smiles at me suspiciously, and I stand to greet her properly. She returns my hug, adjusting her purse on her shoulder as we pull away from one another.
“You sounded good on the phone. You seem…preoccupied in person. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Let’s get lunch.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, eyeing me studiously.
“Come on. What are you going to get today?”
I link arms with her, and we make our way to the register together. She orders The Greek, and I opt for The Club. While we wait for our order, I ask her how she’s been since I saw her last. As usual, she indulges me, telling me about work and how she spent her Fourth. By the time I’m all caught up, we’re seated at a table with our food making my mouth water.
I’m just savoring my first bite when she asks, “What’s going on, darling? You’ve never been good at keeping things from me, and your conscience is showing.”
Holding up a finger, I stall while I finish chewing. It may be true that I’ve made up my mind in regards to telling Simone about Michael, but I haven’t exactly figured out the best way to do it. By the time I’ve swallowed my mouthful, I’m no closer to having a game plan, so I start with the easy truth.
“I’ve met someone.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “So soon? Do tell.”
And here’s where it gets awkward.
“Actually, I kind of met him before—I mean, before I broke up with Mateo.”
She pops a tater tot into her mouth, cocking an eyebrow at me, and words start spilling from my lips.
“He came into the bar about a month ago. At first, it was nothing, you know? I served him and we talked a little. Then we sort of ran into each other one night when Mateo was—being Mateo. Anyway, I didn’t have a ride home, and he walked me to the Light Rail. We had a moment of sorts and, one thing led to another, and we went on a date two weeks later.”
“While you were still with Mateo?”
Tucking my hair behind my ears I admit, “I’m not proud of it, but, yes.”
Another tater tot is tossed into her mouth before she says, “Go on.”
“He kissed me.” Just saying the words takes me out onto that pitcher’s mound, and I don’t realize how wide I’m smiling until I start to speak again. “That’s all it took. One kiss and I knew that regardless of what happened between him and I, Mateo wasn’t enough for me anymore.”
“I like him already,” she murmurs, her face proving her sentiments true. I relax a little, and she points at my forgotten sausage. “Take a bite, I’m going to need a lot more.”
I do as she says, and we both fall silent for a moment as we eat. No sooner have I swallowed, and she insists I go on. “What’s his name? What does he do for a living?”
“His name is Mike,” I reply, deciding that the abbreviated truth is good enough for now. It’s his occupation that has me pausing for a second. “Um—political science,” I blurt out, proud of myself for being quick on my feet. “He teaches political science.”
“Wow. Impressive. I’m assuming he’s…older?”
“Yup,” I nod. She doesn’t get a chance to pose her follow up question before I shove another bite of my lunch into my mouth, but it’s unescapable nonetheless.
“How much older?”
“He’s thirty-seven,” I mumble around my food.
Her eyes bug out of her head as she leans against the table and whisper-shouts, “Thirty-seven? Darling, he’s two years younger than me.”
With my mouth no longer full, I smile at her teasingly before I ask, “You aren’t calling yourself old are you?”
“We’re not talking about me, Blaine—we’re talking about him. That’s quite an age gap.”
“Age is just a number. Simone, if you were on the receiving end of the sexiest smile you’ve ever seen in your life, and he was thirteen years older than you, would you care?”
“No,” she concedes. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t. It’s just my tendency to be protective. I worry about his intentions.”
“He’s a good guy,” I assure her, beseeching her to hear my truth. “He’s kind and funny and romantic. He’s good at what he does, and he’s passionate about it. He’s worked really hard to get to where he is today, and he’s
smart. So smart. He’s got a big family, and he loves them dearly. I just—I like him a lot already. He’s sweet to me, and intentional and—I can’t stop thinking about him, Simone. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this before.”
“This is good. I like what I’m hearing.” She extends her arm across the table, offering me her hand. I slip my fingers around hers, and she holds on tight as she goes on to say, “I’ll admit that it seems fast, but I would never hold your moving on against you. I want you to be happy. Your mother would want you to be happy—and if he makes you—”
“There’s one more thing,” I interrupt, not wanting for her to finish her well wishes if in the end she’ll have to take them back. “Before I tell you what it is, I need you to promise not to look at me any differently than you are right now.”
Squeezing my fingers, she declares, “I love you, and I would never think ill of you.”
I draw in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh before I confess, “He’s…married.”
True to her word, her face doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she simply asks, “How married?”
“Married to the point that I can’t tell anybody about him, except you. And he can’t tell anyone, either.”
“Take a bite, dear,” she insists, letting go of my hand. “Give me a moment to swallow this.”
I give her longer than a moment. While I consume two more bites, chewing slowly, she processes what I’ve told her. My stomach is in a knots as I try and get a read on her—but her face gives away nothing. I hold my breath when her brown eyes meet mine and she prepares to speak.
“You’re glowing.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe that she’s about to say whatever it is that’s on her mind. “I have my concerns. It’s my responsibility to hold such concerns—but you’re glowing. I remember when you first met Mateo. I remember thinking how relieved I was that you were interested in taking that step in your life after the passing of your mother. I remember you telling me about your fist kiss. Darling, I remember it all. If life has taught me anything, it’s to remember as much as possible and cherish every moment.
“If Mike is responsible for your glowing smile—a smile I’ve not seen since your mother walked this earth—then I will not be the voice that condemns your relationship.”
“Seriously?” I breathe, my whole body slumping in relief.
“Seriously. But Blaine, I need you to tell me that you understand your future with this man has special obstacles it’s up against—variables that you wouldn’t have to face if the situation was different.”
“I know. I know that this could all blow up in my face and break my heart—but, honestly, that could happen with anyone.”
“Yes, but—”
“I hear you. I do. I also understand your concern. If I thought he was someone I could walk away from, I would have done it already. I can’t. It’s hard to explain, but he’s a risk that I’d always regret not taking—and if life has taught me anything, it’s to live with no regrets.”
She smiles at me softly, reaching across the table to cup her hand around my cheek. I lean into her palm, silently pleading with her to understand.
“I hear you too, dear.” Pulling her hand away from me, she reaches for her sausage and murmurs, “Tell me about your first date.”
I grin, grabbing a tater tot and dropping it into my mouth before I begin.
Something came across my desk that won’t wait. I’m sorry, angel, I can’t do lunch today.
I’ll make it up to you.
I CHECK MY phone one last time, confident that I haven’t missed any new messages, but still holding onto hope that I’m wrong. I’m not. As I return my phone to my back pocket and exit the employee lounge, headed for the bar, I try to perk up a little. When I initially got his text, informing me that he wouldn’t be joining me this afternoon, it felt like a reality check. All the excitement that came with telling Simone about him yesterday, as well as her acceptance of us, it didn’t change the fact that I can’t see Michael whenever I want.
Given our interrupted plans, I don’t even know the next time I’ll get to see him. It’s frustrating, but I can’t conceive any way around it. It’s like Simone said, what’s going on between Michael and me comes with a different set of obstacles than what’s normal. He’s worth it, though. Every moment we’ve ever spent together has proven that to be true, and there’s so much more that I want to know about him and experience with him. I just have to put my big-girl pants on and deal.
“Hey, you good?” asks Dodger as I walk by him on my way to the register.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I reply, keying in my code to clock in for the night.
“We haven’t really had a chance to hang since you and Mateo split. You’ve seemed cool, but I know you were together for a long time.”
The smile that pulls at my lips is genuine, and I reach out to give his elbow a squeeze. “I’m good, Dodge. I promise. Thanks for checking on me.”
“Yeah, well, I kinda like you,” he teases with a shrug. “Say, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Uh—no plans yet. You?”
“I get off at seven. Hope and I were going to check out this new pizza place downtown. I guess it’s been pretty wild over there, and people are raving about it. You should come.”
I scrunch my face, totally reading into his pity invite. “Dodge, I don’t want to be the third wheel on your date. I appreciate the invite, but—”
“Oh, come on. You wouldn’t be the third wheel. We’re all friends. Just come—eat pizza, have some beer; I think there’s even a live band there, too. It’ll be fun. If it makes you feel less awkward, I’ll tell Hope to invite some tagalongs.”
“Ah, so I’m a tagalong now?” I joke through a grin.
“Shut up. You’re coming. I’ll text you the address.” He abandons our conversation to go help a customer, and I laugh softly as I get to work myself.
Being that it’s a Friday, the night passes by pretty fast. I’m grateful for the distraction, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that I don’t hear from Michael during my shift. When Dodger walks me to my car after closing, we say our goodbyes and I drop into my seat behind the wheel before checking my phone one more time. It’s stupid, but I can’t help myself. I read our short text exchange from earlier and contemplate sending something to let him know I’m thinking about him. It only takes me a second to think better of it. As I drop my phone into my purse, I admit to myself how bad it would be if his phone went off at two in the morning. He’s probably in bed with his wife, and waking her up is not a good idea.
All the way home, I try not to think about Veronica, or the fact that she gets to sleep beside Michael tonight. It’s a struggle, but I manage to make it to my destination without getting lost in jealousy. I then hurry into my building, hoping that after a night of rest, tomorrow will look brighter.
My steps slow down when I reach the top of the stairs and see a thick, padded envelope leaning against my door. The postage on the front leads me to the assumption that the mailman must have been late today—though, I don’t recall ordering anything. I knit my eyebrows together in confusion when I bend over to pick it up. Sure enough, my name and address are on the front. As I work to unlock my door, I try and figure out what the return address says, but that yields no clues, either.
I flick the lights on when I enter the loft, absentmindedly closing and locking my door behind me before I head to the kitchen. I drop my bag on the counter and immediately rip open the top of the package. When I realize what’s inside, my jaw falls open as a laugh bubbles out of me. Pulling out the cords of navy, satin rope—complete with fancy tassels on each end—I’m suddenly awash in giddiness. I hug the envelope to my chest, my eyes flitting about my apartment before I look up at my bed. Instantly, my imagination is running rampant with images of me tied down—Michael having his way with me. Blushing, I take the ropes up to the loft, threading them through one of the links on my headboard, all the while hoping that I get to u
se them soon.
When I fall into bed a few minutes later, I do so knowing that even if Michael isn’t here with me, he’s still thinking of me. For now, that’s enough to make the wait bearable.
Michael
WORKING ON SATURDAYS is something I usually try to avoid. I don’t, by any means, think that my job falls into the category of your typical nine-to-five, but every man needs his downtime. However, lately, it’s been a good excuse for me to get some alone time. I’m in the mansion’s office looking over some numbers when I’m alerted to an incoming text on my phone. After I see Blaine’s name lit up across the screen, a pang of disappointment hits me square in the middle of the chest.
Canceling our lunch plans yesterday put me in a sour mood for the entire afternoon. Aside from the fact that I think about her frequently throughout my day, stirring a longing within me the likes of which I’ve never known, we hardly get to see one another as it is. Backing out of any precious time with her is frustrating—to say the least. Not knowing when I’ll have another opportunity to see her makes it even worse.
When I open her message, a victorious smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. I stare at the picture she sent—nothing more than an image of her ankles bound together by the satin ropes I had mailed to her. Her feet are bare, save one of her toe rings, and the implications behind her message makes my dick twitch in excitement. As another text message comes through, I have to stifle the groan I feel deep within my chest.
Can’t wait to play. Missing you.
