by DM Davis
“After I die from humiliation, I will.”
“That might be a bit dramatic for spanking the bishop.”
Her lightheartedness eases my discomfort. “It’s bashing the bishop, not spanking him.”
“Bash…spank…is there really a difference?”
“No, I suppose not.” I exhale the stress of the last few minutes. “I really am sorry, Lauren.”
“It’s okay. It’s a bit freaky, don’t you think?”
“It seems par for the course with this thing between us. And weirdly, I’m not freaked out by the event itself, but the fact that it happened to you at work. You could have been anywhere, with anyone. I’m messed up over the idea of you being vulnerable like that, and me not being there—that I did this to you.”
“You didn’t know—we didn’t know. How could we have expected this? You didn’t do it on purpose.”
I chuckle. “No. God, no. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Maybe next time you can give me a heads up.”
Damn, she’s being such a good sport about this. “There won’t be a next time.”
I’m met with silence.
Silence.
“You there?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to figure out why there won’t be a next time.”
“Because…I think I’m meant to save it all for you.”
“Save what for me?” Her tone is wary, like I just said I’m going to save my cum in a jar for her.
“My pleasure, our pleasure. It’s meant to be shared—together. Not wasted on self-gratification.”
“Maybe we should test that theory when I’m not at work.”
“No. I’ve learned my lesson.” The memory of the pain edging out the ecstasy is enough for me to refrain.
I kiss her goodbye over the phone with the promise to discuss this further. But in my mind, whatever it is that connects us demands that we be together as much as possible, and there is no seeking pleasure apart.
Let it not be said that this old dog can’t be taught new tricks. This dog has learned not to howl at the moon—alone.
WHEN LIGHTNING CRASHED INTO MY BODY, consuming me from the inside out, for a split second I thought I was dying. Fear of losing control and terror over what was happening had me gripping my chair, praying no one walked into my office. The razor’s edge of pain mixed with the brilliant roll of pleasure consumed me, had me seeing white, and seizing in my chair like a fish out of water. Once my motor functions returned, I gripped my phone and called Theo. The moment I heard his voice, I broke down, unable to hold back the emotional onslaught over whatever the hell had just happened. Pleasure with the mix of pain was scary, but his voice released the fear and brought me calm. I don’t know how he does it, but I’m thankful for it all the same.
Tyler and Silvy had only left my office a few moments earlier, stopping by for nothing more than their normal morning hellos. It’s a conspiracy on their part—a pact formed after my attack—to check on me daily. Usually one, or both, will pop in on their way to their desks, or on the way to or from the kitchen for coffee. My priority falls somewhere between dumping their laptop bags off at their desk and the need for caffeine.
I don’t mind. I actually look forward to it. I even bet on who it’ll be each day. If I’m right, I get my Diet Coke an hour earlier than my standing noon minimum timeframe allowance—in my head, if I wait until noon to get my caffeine fix, then it’s not really a habit, it’s a drinking preference, a choice…not a habit…nope. If I’m wrong, then I push that little DC fix to one hour later. But, really, who’s counting? The Caffeine Police have never shown up to slap my wrist if I fudge that one-hour delay. Besides, hello, coffee drinkers drink that sludge all day long. I wait until noon. It’s a choice. Not a habit.
Today, I won the bet with myself. They both showed up. So, yay for the hour-early Diet Coke celebration. Except, the whole having a mind-blowing, slap-your-ass-until-you-scream orgasm kinda sidetracked me, along with the text I receive from Theo moments before his first class.
Theo: I discovered I have a student conference with Susan James at 2pm. Any advice?
Theo: I want to apologize again for this morning. I’m all wonky because of it. I need to see you and make it right.
My heart breaks a little. It’s embarrassing to be sure, but besides the weirdness of it, really, it’s a normal thing a guy would do, and most women. He shouldn’t beat himself up about it.
Me: Don’t stress about this morning. It’s hot. Weird because I felt it too, not because you did it. Okay? Regarding Ms. James… Honestly, I’m a bit jealous. I don’t like the idea of you alone with a woman who wants you. But I know she’s your student. You can’t avoid her.
His response is quick, and I feel possessed by his words.
Theo: Jealous? You have nothing to be jealous of. I only have eyes for you. I only want you. I’ll make up some excuse and cancel. Tell her to email me her concerns.
Me: No. Don’t cancel. I’m only telling you how I feel. I’m not asking you to disrupt your life to accommodate my insecurities. Maybe I’ll show up and show her that you’re taken.
Theo: Show her how?
Me: I could throw you on your desk (hypothetically since you’re entirely too large for me to man-handle) and rip your clothes off. Or perhaps a subtler approach – I strut into your office, sit on your lap, and rub all over you like a cat in heat.
Me: OR, I could simply call you at 2:05 p.m. You can answer if you want or let it roll to voicemail.
Theo: As much as I love the first two options, what we have is for our eyes only. I don’t share, even to make a point. But feel free to do either of those things when we’re alone. I look forward to your phone call.
I add a reminder to my calendar, tell him I’ll see him soon, and most importantly to not stress about this morning or his meeting with Susan James—the tramp.
Taking advantage of Tyler’s flexibility in letting me work from home occasionally and a meeting-free afternoon, I leave at lunchtime to finish my day at home and start on dinner.
After setting up my laptop in my spare bedroom, I slip off my boots and don an apron to protect my black wrap dress from tomato stains. I’m tempted to change into something more comfortable, but I want to look nice when Theo comes, instead of wearing my lounging clothes he’s seen me in so often.
The bolognese sauce simmers on the stove while I mix the brownies, then slip them in the oven and set the timer. I jump when the reminder sounds on my phone.
It’s time to call Theo.
The phone rings only a few times before he answers. My pulse races like a giddy schoolgirl’s.
“Lauren.” His voice is low in that come hither I want to sex you up kinda way he has. Lord, he’s so hot, and I don’t even think he’s trying.
“Jeez, you make my nipples hard.”
“Bloody hell,” he murmurs low enough that I doubt Ms. James could catch it. “Really?” His volume returns to normal, but the sexy rasp in his voice is stronger. “I’ll have to check them out when I get home.”
Home. I couldn’t like the sound of that any more if I tried. “Yes, they most definitely need your attention.”
“Vixen,” his nearly imperceptible murmur is back. “Is there anything else that needs my attention?”
“My panties seem to have sprung a leak.” My boldness over the phone knows no bounds apparently. I could never say such things in person.
His burst of laughter is surprising. I can imagine Ms. James is thinking how sexy he is when he lets loose and laughs with abandon. I’m sure she’ll catch the twinkle in his chocolate eyes. She might even think it’s for her.
“Then I would recommend you take them off. Let them breathe for a while. I look forward to investigating further—discovering the cause.”
“Did you ever think I’d be so brave?” It’s my turn to whisper, my emotions showing plainly for him to hear.
His laugh is replaced with tenderness. “I had no doubts. You make me proud.”<
br />
“I’m home, by the way. Don’t make me wait too long.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I’ll be there shortly, as soon as my last class ends.”
“Hey, Theo?”
“Yes, Dove?”
Dove? That’s a new one. “You make me proud, too.” My voice breaks, and my eyes water. I shake my head and blink them away. “How’d I get so lucky?”
“It’s not luck, Lauren. It’s fate, but if it were luck, I’d be the lucky one.”
Look at us. Having a heart-to-heart with Susan James listening in. Take that, Ms. James. He’s mine. You can’t have him.
“You’re mine.” I’m not comfortable saying I love you with her in the room. I’m only willing to go so far. Besides, we haven’t said it again since the first time.
“And you’re mine.” The possessiveness in his declaration has me forgetting all about little miss somebody or other sitting across from him.
I arrive at her apartment a little before four, three and a half hours before we’re supposed to be at Dan’s. I knock, feeling nervous all of a sudden, or maybe it’s anticipation. The door opens, and I’m greeted with a shy smile and blue eyes that pierce through my nerves like a soothing balm. I’m amazed at how she does that—her presence, a glance, a simple touch, a reassuring word—I’m putty in her hands.
“Hi.” She steps aside, waving me in.
“Hullo, Dove.” I kiss her blushing cheek as I pass, liking my new pet name for her more and more, especially if it makes her blush.
She closes and locks the door behind me—always attentive to her safety, even with me here. Moving into the kitchen saying she needs a sec, she leaves the security alarm off. That’s a first. Did she forget? Is she trying to make a statement?
The fact that I noticed leaves me with the need to arm it—so I do. Forgetful or not. Statement or not. It’s done. Now, we can both breathe easier knowing that an additional barrier exists between her and the evil in the world that could harm her—even in the sanctity of her home.
At the cusp of the kitchen, I glance at her bare feet, and bare legs that end mid-calf where her black dress begins. My eyes continue their slow journey upwards. The dress hugs her curves, cinched at her narrow waist with a colourful sash of some sort. She turns and catches me staring, her eyes shining with mirth. Upon further inspection, I now see she’s wearing an apron with vibrant purple flowers—so, not a sash at all.
She moves towards me, close but not close enough. “Is that a loaf of bread, or are you happy to see me?”
“Yes,” I reply to both, elated to see her boldness is not relegated solely to the phone.
She laughs and relieves me of the bread. “Thank you for getting this.”
“My pleasure. May I be of assistance?” I note the two pots on the stove and a rectangular casserole dish of brownies on the counter. The mix of sweet and savoury smells are tantalizing.
She stirs the sauce, tapping the spoon on the edge of the pot before placing it on the spoon rest. “Everything’s in a holding pattern until we’re ready to eat.” She salts a large pot of water, replacing the lid and adjusting the temperature. “Why don’t you get comfortable.” Her eyes hit mine over her shoulder. “Take your jacket off, your shoes, whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” My mind fills with all kinds of dirty thoughts. It’s only a dress, panties, and a bra between her and nakedness.
She blushes. “Yes?” Still so brave.
Moving to the dining room, I empty my pockets. “So, I can remove anything I want?” My jacket slung on a chair, I slip off my shoes, roll up my sleeves, and unbutton one button at my collar. I’m sans tie today.
She eyes me speculatively. “Within reason.” Her bottom lip gets tangled between her teeth.
Joining her in the kitchen, I slip my arm around her waist, holding her cheek as my thumb runs across her bottom lip, releasing it from its prison. “That’s mine.” I kiss that captive lip ever so gently, breathing her in. “So, I can take your dress off, then?”
Her doe eyes flit between my mouth and my eyes. “I meant on your body, but I could be persuaded. Perhaps.” She looks up then, and I see desire in her bluer-than-blue eyes. “Are you going to undress?”
My wicked grin presses to her lips. “I could be persuaded.”
On a cleansing breath, I step away, slowing things down. “It smells good in here. When do we eat?”
“It’s up to you. I need, like, twenty minutes to finish it up.”
“How about we eat around six?” That gives us approximately two hours to get in a world of trouble.
“Sounds good.” She tilts her head. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
Vixen. “Come with me.” I lead her to the living room. “Turn around, please.”
She presents her back, peeking over her shoulder as I untie her apron from around her waist. She pulls it over her head, and I set it on a chair. I press into her back, sweeping her hair off her shoulder as my lips connect with her neck. Her weight settles into me, my arm around her waist ensuring she stays there.
Her soft moan amps up my arousal, my cock stiffening in my trousers. “It’s forecasted to snow this evening.” I back off from our zero-to-one-hundred race to get naked. I want this to be a special night, not a sex-induced haze of regret if I move too fast.
“Maybe we’ll get snowed in.” She’s teasing, but from the latest newscast, it’s a real possibility.
“Here’s hoping.”
She turns in my arms, her eyes earnest and wanting. “If it’s bad, will you stay?”
My resolve weakens with her desire to keep me close. All bets are off, at least for the next thirty seconds. One…my mouth joins hers. Two…it’s a slow glide. A flick of a tongue—mine—then hers. Five…her lips part on a gasp, and I move in, paying homage to her dress, her scent, her soft curves against my hard edges. Fifteen…fuck. My hands slide down her back, over her arse and squeeze, holding her against me, my cock pressed to her stomach. Twenty…I grind. The swivel of my hips meets the swivel of hers. Twenty-five…horizontal. I need to get this woman on her back with me buried between her milky thighs. Thirty…bloodyfuckinghell.
Breathless, I break our kiss, and loosen my grip. “Snow or not, I’m staying.”
Her giggle reverberates through my bollocks, causing my cock to twitch with hope.
Not now, arsehole.
I step back, taking her all in from the front, sans apron. Her dress has long sleeves and a deep neckline that comes to a point between her breasts, then wraps and ties at the side of her waist. Her cleavage is modest but highly effective.
“God, I missed you today.” My breath is still laboured.
“So much so, you had to…you know.” Her eyebrows wiggle teasingly.
“Don’t remind me of that debacle.” I pull her to the couch, sitting side by side, her legs swung over mine. “I’m sorry about that.” I smooth out the hem of her dress.
“Hey.” Her fingers touch my chin. Our eyes lock. “I’m flattered.” She shivers. “It was me you were thinking about, right? Did I get that wrong?”
“God, no. Yes. It was you I was shagging in my head.” Crass but truthful. I can’t leave her with any doubts.
“Shagging?” She smiles, not put off in the least.
I pounce, laying her on the couch, her legs still draped over mine. My lips tease hers as my hand parts the slit in her dress. “Yes, shagging. Having sex. Making love.” I graze her clit over moist silk panties and then hold her pussy in my palm, moving slowly. Her whimper urges me forward. “In my mind I was here while I stroked my cock.” My fingers breach the edge of her knickers. Fuck, she’s so wet. Her panties did spring a leak. One finger slips inside, pressing slowly in and out. “Imagining I was buried deep inside you.”
Her head falls back with a gasp. Her hips move, searching for purchase. On the next stroke I slip in two fingers. Unable to remain a spectator, my needy cock has my hips moving against her thigh in sync with my digits.
&
nbsp; “Theo.” She clutches my arm with the fingers inside her as her other hand squeezes my shoulder.
“Are you going to come for me, Dove?” My strokes quicken as I press against her bundle of nerves.
“Yeeesssss,” she moans, nearly there, so ready, so responsive.
I brush my lips over hers, sucking her bottom lip before whispering, “Come on my fingers as I envision it’s my cock.” I pinch her nipple, teasing it between my finger and thumb. “Come.”
She blows, her hips grinding so fiercely against my hand, she swipes my cock with each gyration, and I nearly fucking join her. I hold off, watching her shatter in my arms. Glorifying her beautiful abandon, my shy, chaste girl, vulnerable and sensual as the vixen within comes on my fingers until she’s spent and glowing like the sun.
WILL THIS REVOLVING DOOR OF AROUSAL, coming, and then crashing embarrassment ever end? Will I forever want to slink away after letting loose and blowing a gasket like Old Faithful?
“You need to stop.” His commanding voice is gentle yet firm.
I can’t even look him in the eye. “You didn’t even—”
“This isn’t about me.” He pulls me to his chest. “Well, maybe it is a bit about me, as I enjoyed it thoroughly.”
Slipping his fingers from my body, I gasp in horror when puts them in his mouth, sucking them clean. I bury my face in his chest. “Did you have to do that?”
He chuckles. “Yes.” He maneuvers to hover over me. “I need you to get over this embarrassment. You in the throes of ecstasy is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. Hands down, you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, known, kissed, or touched. And I plan on giving you orgasms at every turn.”
His mouth is on mine before I can avoid his me-flavored lips. I protest on a moan, but his persistent tongue wins when he squeezes my breast, his thumb skating across my beaded nipple. Pleasure surpasses the mortification of tasting myself on his mouth. “You taste better than I imagined. I can’t wait to drink directly from its source.”
