by Muffy Wilson
MUFFY WILSON
Copyright © 2016 Muffy Wilson
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
.I met my husband on Valentine’s Day under similar circumstances. I was angry with anyone pumping testosterone let alone having testicles.
But, he was a charmer.
Thirty years later,
He still is.
So, to my funny Valentine, Vince.
Every day is Valentine’s Day.
Not, but almost!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Consenting Hearts
“A Very Special Valentine”
Copyright © 2016 by M. Wilson
Author: Muffy Wilson
Editor: John Hudspith
Cover Art and Design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
http://bookcoverbydesign.com.uk
All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by Muffy Wilson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER: Muffy Wilson Books
“A Very Special Valentine”
She could not resist the temptation, no matter what she told herself. Yes, commute traffic was a bitch, but then, so was Sailie—not the reason. She was pissed at her boyfriend and all men truth be told—not the reason. And now she was hot under the collar, burning bad in her guts and dry-to-the-bone thirsty—also, not the reason. All that was fact and fed into her temptation but not the real reason she was going to Blu’s.
On impulse, she lied to herself as more the reason, she pulled into the parking lot and made a mad dash through the pouring rain. She opened the etched glass front door to Blu’s Piano Bar. It was black as the Devil’s soul inside—sultry, smoky, and secretive—seductive. Add a smart dash of pissed heat to the lure and that was just the way Sailie felt. She strode into the lounge looking exactly that way: dry on the inside, mean as a wet cat, thirsty for a dirty Martini, and in no mood for testosterone games. She stood in the doorway, shook her wet coat, and continued dripping still. Her clothes clung to the steaming curves of her body, accentuating, even in the dim lighting, every nuance. She pushed some errant curls off her face while she got her bearings, and though it seemed longer, it was only for a minute. The door closed softly against her ass and her vision adjusted as she threw her eyes in the direction of her real temptation and reason for being here. But the dim spotlight only illuminated an empty bench. There were no open seats at the bar, which pissed her off even more. Her mood couldn’t be more foul or less attractive. And that was just the way she wanted it right about now.
She walked over to an open spot in the crowd and leaned over a military hunk at the bar so she could get the bartender’s attention. The Navy Seal stood up to offer her his stool. She was mildly impressed by his kindness and manners. He waved at the bartender and let Sailie settle in while the bartender took her order. The seat was hot under the fabric of her suit. She inadvertently wiggled her appreciation as she settled.
“A dirty Martini—bone dry with a twist…stirred not shaken,” she told the bartender.
“Happy Love—” he began with a smile.
“Are you talkin’ to me?” Sailie shot back.
“Why, yes’m! I was gonna say ‘Happy Lover’s Day’—It’s Valentine’s Day and Happy Hour: two for one,” he replied.
“Oh, yeah, so it is—sorry. Even better,” she told him. “Bring ’em on and keep ’em coming until I ask you to stop.” Sailie turned to the Seal and said, “Thank you for the stool. After today, I thought chivalry was dead,” while she fished for her wallet in her briefcase.
When the bartender brought her drink, she put out a twenty-dollar bill and nodded at him. She closed her eyes, inhaled the aromatic fermentation of the gin garnished with lemon rind. Sailie took her first sip, feeling the warmth of the drink claiming her body, inch by inch. She savored that very first sip luxuriously. It was like a lover’s hands sliding down her body, igniting every inch as they felt their way to her toes. She was beginning to feel quite sublime, though still wet in her suit and silk blouse. Her one private indulgence, beyond her scarlet peek-a-boo platform sling-back-come-fuck-me pumps, was matching red silk undies that made her feel like the real woman she was beneath the staunch IBM-clad exterior of her Brooks Bros veneer. She loved ‘dressing for success’. It made her feel superior to all men and most women—except one.
It was her professional armor—her warrior wardrobe. And she ran hot beneath the calm cool exterior…whenever she saw the piano player.
Aware that people looked at her as if they wanted her made her feel stronger, in control, and gave her an emotional intellectual edge. It also made her feel more womanly, more vital—more alive. There was a swagger to her step, a snap-click to her heels, and an attitude unmistakable in an independent woman of confidence as she felt the flair of her suit hem sway against her thighs. Used to getting whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it, Sailie slid her eyes in the direction of the standing Navy Seal. The first sip of the Martini rolled a burn over her parched lips.
“I’m sorry, I forgot my own manners. May I buy you a drink, Frogman?”
He looked her full in the face, blushed slightly while extending his hand and said, “Sure, thanks. Dylan Jansen. My friends call me Dylan. I’m enjoying the smooth pleasures of a Southern Comfort Manhattan.”
Sailie waved to the bartender to get Dylan another drink and she warmed. They both laughed.
“You recognize the branch of service?”
“That was pretty funny, ‘my friends call me Dylan’. Navy Seals? Yes, I do. Are you a Frogman or a Leap Frog? I have a family tree full of military men and women who served proudly over twelve generations.” Sailie felt flush with pride or was it anticipation?
“Leap Frog, ma’am,” his eager smile and bright eyes were five-alarm charming. He was strikingly good looking in his uniform—narrow at the waist, broad at the shoulder, thick strong hands. She was a sucker for a hunk in uniform, going weak at the knees whenever she met a one that appealed to her. And he surely was and he surely did. No doubt about it. He was a big hunk of heaven in combat boots. Immediately, Sailie felt conspicuous about her appearance. She was soaked to the bone, her hair still dripping in wet corkscrew curls as it dried. And…she was getting wet between the thighs, just watching him finger his cigar. She downed another one of her drinks and excused herself to go to the ladies' room. She slid against his form as she stood, catching him slightly off guard. Sailie smiled demurely and made her way to the restroom.
She immediately removed her wet trench coat and salvaged what she could of her clothes. Her silk shirt was shrinking as it slowly dried against her warm flesh. She loosened another button and her breasts cleaved and bulged through the v-neck, her nipples raw against the silken fabric. Able to breathe freely again, Sailie went into one of the stalls. She could feel her mounting excitement claim her passion. It could have been the result of a culmination of things, but it was there nonetheless and it was undeniable: unshakable. She flashed over her day before that first burning Martini.
Sailie’s father had had a heart attack and she wanted to be closer to him, particularly during the Holidays. She had thought it out and decided that a move to the up and coming Atlanta office would be the best place for her career to flourish and she could spend more quality time with her failing father. That day, she had lunch with her stockbroker boyfriend—a big piec
e of creamy cheesecake that fucked like a dying man had a great job with a six-figure income and indulged her in any and every way. It didn’t get any better’n him. In the restaurant over pre-lunch martinis, she laid out her proposal. She loved him, she loved her father, and suggested that they both move and start a life there together. He could transfer with his company or start with a new, whatever he wanted. Atlanta was theirs for the taking—however they wanted it—a fertile playground for the up and coming entrepreneurial nouveau business guard.
“All the more reason to stay here; he’s not going to live forever,” and that’s when the bastard palmed her inside thigh, sliding his hand, finger first, upwards for her glory hole. Sailie thought not, as her blood pressure blew right through all her self-control.
“That is not quite the reaction I anticipated from you.”
“Aw, come on, honey. You know I’m right. We were just here last year! And your step-mother looks at me like we should be married or something already and I’m a loser ’cause we aren’t.”
“Enough said.”
“Sailie, say we move there. Then what? After your dad dies, ’cause he is gonna die, what do we do then? Move back here where all our friends and my family are? You can’t be serious!”
Sailie smiled but her eyes and her heart were cold. She was serious; dead serious.
Sailie controlled her anger, finished lunch and excused herself because of the hour, begging a meeting. She resisted the urge to slap the shit out of him. That passion welled up again as she thought of the torch singer at the piano bar and the hot Navy Seal at her side.
Passion was passion no matter the origins.
It was a fiery feeling that needed expression and release. In the stall, Sailie raised her skirt. She moved her red thong to the side as she searched for her pussy, now hot, wet, and eager. She knew this would not take long; so much had happened to her already tonight that charged her with emotion. Her head relaxed against the wall and she began to finger herself rapidly as she thought about the Navy Seal at the bar holding his cigar and the size of his hands. God, but he was handsome, tall and virile. She wondered about his cock. Was he circumcised or did he have a turtleneck sweater? She smiled and released a slight giggle. Was he long, thin, short, thick, wide and flat, bushy or trimmed? How did he smell: like a warm musky pine forest after a light rain or like boot leather? He was a Seal, after all. Sailie giggled again. He must love the delicate aroma of fish.
Did he prefer briefs or boxers? Oh, God, maybe a thong…Was she going to be able to get her hand in his pants tonight? Oh God, oh God, she could feel the earlier anger redirecting energy to her clit as she became more and more aroused at the thought of Dylan in his Navy uniform. She was adept at fingering herself and she wasted no energy now. Her eyelids drifted half-closed. She began to moan softly and move with the rhythm of her hand and fingers. She released her neck muscles and her head rolled to her shoulder, then to the other shoulder. She could feel it all over now, everywhere. She was getting more wet with each stroke. Damn, she wished she had her finger vibrator, but she only carried it when she travelled. She would have to rethink that strategy another time.
She moaned, gyrated, clenched and quivered. She moved in harmony with her passion, her eyes closed, imagining Dylan naked and erect, and then she raised her foot to the seat in the stall. Her thong and garter belt allowed her full access to her clit and her soft velvet petals now flush with eagerness. She spread her legs giving her hand full open access; oh, what a vision she must have been. She was hot and rolling; coming fast. She began to come in her hand; two fire-red tipped fingers plunged inside of her pussy and her scarlet thumb found the pearl of her existence. She worked herself into frenzied hot passion as she imagined Dylan kissing her and holding her breasts, pinching her nipples, bending to suck her aureole and bite her nipple. Her hardened nipples made an erect appearance under her silk blouse.
God! Oh, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, God! She released a moan as she gripped her thighs tightly together, pushed, quivered, contracted and came. She stood like that for a few seconds then relaxed as she rotated her head and released her neck muscles. She felt like a new woman; a woman that could devote some quality time to the man at hand. Her hand, she smiled. The anger brought on by her boyfriend’s ill-timed remark and unwelcome touch was a distant memory. Sailie emerged from the ladies’ room, flushed, confident and feeling defiant—like a redheaded goddess.
Dylan had taken Sailie’s stool when she left. She saw Dylan’s head swivel as he turned to look in her direction when she emerged from the muted shadows. He stood. She smiled to herself as his eyes reflected surprise at what a woman could do to herself in a few short minutes. She had walked away looking much like a soaked kitten and came out looking like a prize jaguar: stealthy, confident, dry but dewy and beautifully put together. Her attitude buoyed, along with her alabaster breasts against the tightening silk, Sailie practically floated across the room to her stool at the bar beside the man in uniform. With each step, her thighs rubbed rhythmically with the cadence of her mounting desire. She returned his smile as she closed ranks, If he only knew, she thought.
Swish, swish, swish…and her thong bit into her tender folds as a poignant reminder.
Dylan did not take his eyes off her as she approached. Finally he turned, cast his eyes shyly down, and took a drink from his Manhattan. She was beginning to think he might need a few more of those to muster up the courage to talk with her at any length or for her to find her way into his trousers. When she arrived, he returned the stool to her to be seated. She blushed at her thoughts and brushed strategically against him as she began to sit. She stopped abruptly, mid-descent, so close to his body, Sailie felt his body heat. This time, she anticipated the hot leather seat against her eager bottom. It was almost too much—almost.
As she spoke, she smelled his scent, the manly blend of aftershave, cigar smoke, Southern Comfort, and musky male sex. She hoped he felt the rising chemistry between them. But, of course, he could not have known she had just finished fingering herself to orgasm in the ladies’ room and the glowing blush she wore was the remains of her heat. She lowered her head and hid her knowing smile. If he had known the reason for the blush on my cheeks, he would have blushed, too. Wanting to move—needing to feel the silk and satin of her lingerie rub against her flesh more—Sailie suggested they take their drinks to the piano bar where there’d be a stool for Dylan to sit, too, beside her.
Dylan collected his money clip along with their drinks in reply and followed her as she stood and turned to walk deeper into Blu’s. She felt Dylan’s gaze on her hips, burning a tattoo of desire on her natural sashay as she straightened her shoulders and unhesitatingly put a little more bump into her grind. She smiled at the torch singer seated behind the ebony and ivory keys as she settled like a feather onto the stool. Seated on the bench with a sweating glass of cold Chablis and a burning cigarette next to an over-sized brandy snifter full of tips, was the musician singing ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco’. The piano player smiled back at Sailie, a silent witness to the law of attraction unfolding every night with each song and cocktail.
Sailie turned her attention to Dylan as he settled beside her. She nonchalantly placed her hand on his thigh. He felt tight and hard as his muscles tensed in reaction, rippled, and flexed. Sailie smiled as he straightened and puffed up just a little under her gaze and took a breath. She wondered if the torch singer noticed or even cared.
“What do you do for a living? Pretty obvious what I do…” His voice was deep and husky.
Sailie ran her tongue across her lower lip before responding. “I’m a Regional Director for IBM.”
“Really? Forgive me but you seem a little young to be a Regional Director. That’s pretty damned awesome. But then, I am pretty impressed by everything about you.”
“You flatter, but then I’m a sucker for a good-looking military man. All you need to do is tell me you have your Trident tattooed on your pec and I’m yours; I am so impressed,”
she added smiling and she took another drink. Over the rim of her dirty Martini, she looked squarely with unmistakable intent at Dylan, her gold-flecked hazel eyes suddenly piercing and purposeful.
“I do like strong women, but I really love confident women.”
Sailie felt the fabric of his pant leg beneath her hand pull a little as Dylan’s cock grew between his hard thighs right before her eyes. Oh God, I better cool this down or he’s gonna come in his dress uniform. Sailie felt hot and she could smell her sex. Oh, JesusMaryandJoseph, it has been a while…she thought as she dove, virtually, into the blue pools that were his eyes…and yet only minutes ago.
“Looks like you have the right woman, then.”
On impulse, he swiftly put his fingertips to her long elegant neck then moved the lush, still wet curling hair aside fully revealing the object of his desire. He clasped the back of her neck and pulled her to him swiftly. In one smooth movement, he pulled her to his eager mouth, planting his full, wet and hungry lips on hers, devouring her, his tongue searching for hers.
Sailie did not resist. Her lips tingled in response and those tingles ran down to her breasts. Oh God, she wanted him.
She did not care where they were or what other’s reaction might be. She could apologize later, if need be. She wanted to be kissed, comforted, to taste him, and touch him. His cock responded accordingly as she moved in closer; a move for which he was clearly unprepared. But, his right hand quickly found the small of her back, pulled her even closer and up off the stool as he stood so that she felt his hard cock against her taut, curved belly. Her knees buckled in surrender.
It seemed like slow-motion as Sailie savored every aspect of his embrace. The waitress arrived, cleared her throat, and asked if they wanted another round, to which they broke apart and both responded with a quick and nervous, “Yes!”
