by Alexis Angel
When he unlocks his front door, though, he looks at me, and for the first time since we’ve met, he looks nervous.
"You can’t judge me by what you see inside, okay?" he asks.
I nod. "I don’t really know if there’s anything to judge you on, already. You seem pretty perfect, to be honest."
"That’s the type of thing I’m talking about," he says.
I blink, not understanding. "Okay."
He pushes the front door open and lets me walk in first.
As soon as I walk through the doors, I realize what he's trying to say to me. The apartment is bigger than anything I’ve ever been in, and everything practically drips with luxury. I walk into an entrance hall with a chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. All the rooms are tiled with large, marble tiles, and the walls are painted a coffee color to match. The dining room is through the next door with a glass table and suede chairs. Full-length windows look out over Manhattan.
To the left, I see a living room with leather couches facing the windows with a monster television to the side. I can just imagine what the rest of the place looks like.
"What do you think?" Thomas asks, coming up behind me. I spin around.
"I don’t even know what to think," I say, honestly. "This is nothing like what I expected. I mean, I knew you had money. The restaurants and the carriage ride and everything told me that. But this?"
I look around again, unable to find the words. When I look at Thomas again his eyes are on me. They're deep and dark and full of mischief.
"Do you want me to show you the rest of the apartment?" he asks. "I can give you the exclusive tour."
"An exclusive tour?" I ask. "Sounds serious."
He steps closer to me and puts his hand behind my neck. His forehead presses against mine, and he looks down at my lips.
"It is," he says. I know exactly what he wants, and in a snap, my body reacts as if the elevator had never happened. Whatever Thomas had done to me, it was good. I'm now insatiable.
I knew there was no way he was going to let me get away with bringing him to the brink like that in the elevator. In some ways I think he likes when I take control, but he also hates it, because it makes him feel weak. I absolutely love making him love control; it turns me on so much because I’ve always looked at him as a powerful man.
Being in his apartment I'm certain that he’s even more powerful than I anticipated. This is like something you see on television. I’ve lived in New York my entire life and never seen an apartment that looks anything as extravagant as this. I was worried he lived in a slum when he was so apprehensive about showing me his place.
Talking to Lisa made me worry a bit, thinking he might be hiding some things from me, but more important, he might be hiding them for a reason. I assumed he had money because of his car and the restaurants, but this is New York City, sometimes people rent a shack in the Bronx to look rich in Manhattan.
Either way, I figured he wasn’t poor, but I had no idea he was dripping in wealth. I don’t think I’ve seen him as nervous as he was walking in here since he was constantly on edge before I gave him my virginity, always afraid I was going to kick him out.
He still makes fun of me for that, but I didn’t know how to tell him. I guess we both have our secrets a bit, and I doubt his can be much bigger than mine. At the end of the day, I trust Thomas, so I can’t imagine him keeping something from me that would make me view him in a whole different light.
I feel a way that he thought I might change the way I felt about him because he had money. I’m not a gold digger or after his money, but then again, like I said, this is New York City, so his apprehensions are definitely warranted. I bet women all over this country would throw themselves at his feet – he’s handsome, rich, sexy, confident, and hung.
I’ve been shocked that I could keep his attention for so long, but he’s assured me that I’m all he can handle, and from the elevator I guess I can see why. He’s turned me into this super freak, doing and saying things I could’ve never imagined, but turning him on is my vice and I’m completely hooked on him.
Lisa calls it sprung, the way I talk about him all the time, but I don’t care. He’s special to me and so I want to treat him that way. I like talking about him all the time, missing him the moment he leaves, and pining over him whenever we’re in the same space. Besides, it isn’t like I’m alone in this obsession; he can’t keep his hands off of me either. It’s most definitely a two-way street.
We’ve never talked much about his past. I guess I’m just getting around to asking him questions tonight. While I’m sure he has had women before me, I don’t think it's been many, because if that was the case I doubt he would put them all on hold for little ole me. He’s my perfect man, although he seemed a little uncomfortable when I said that earlier. I can imagine not wanting the bar set that high, but I can’t help myself.
My feelings for Thomas seem to grow by the second, and regardless of what Lisa thinks I know it's deeper than some physical attraction or infatuation. The sex is merely icing on the cake; I was sprung before I ever felt his glorious cock.
Walking through his apartment, as he leads me through the immaculately decorated home that looks like it could be right out of an interior design magazine, I feel like I’m in a dream. Thomas may not like me calling him perfect, but he’s been nothing short of a fairy tale since he came into my life. I’ll be sure not to tell him, but he’s undoubtedly my prince charming.
"How can I miss you when you’re right in front of me?" He wraps his arms around my from behind. I know exactly how he feels, because I do the same thing often.
We’ll be at dinner together and I’ll dread going home before our appetizers have even arrived. Trying to focus on the present, I’ve forced myself to limit the amount of time I focus on the future and what’s to come or what I want to come from us.
Thomas is obviously a busy and successful man, he’s got a lot going on and the fact that he wants to spend so much of his time together with me should be enough, at least that’s what I try to tell myself. There’s never been a time when I wanted him and he rejected me or told me he was too busy, so I think I’m as high of a priority to him as he is to me.
"You’re talking to the girl who asks you for more while you’re still inside of me," I remind him and his eyes grow dark, as I glance at him over my shoulder.
"I could never get enough of you," he whispers in my ear and I felt my heart skip a beat.
Who says things like that? I may not have the experience level of Lisa, but I know romance, and I know New York men, or American men in general, are lacking in that department altogether and Thomas isn’t at all. He is kind, he showers me with gifts and attention, the man pays more attention to my body and what it likes than I do, and he says things that leave me speechless, before doing things that leave my breathless.
"You’re such a romantic," I beam, turning around to drape my arms over his shoulders, holding my chin up to off him my lips, which he takes slowly and gently, to my surprise.
I never know what I’m going to get with Thomas; he has such a repertoire with sex. Sometimes he’s soft and smooth, really sensual and slow. Other times, he’s rough and aggressive, just tearing me apart. While I like them both, I enjoy the versatility more than anything. With just one of those options I imagine I would be bored by now.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, pulling on a wooden cabinet that turns out to be his refrigerator.
"I’ll just have some water, if you have a glass," I motion towards his kitchen sink and he furrows his brows together before reaching into the refrigerator, returning with a clear bottle of Fiji water.
"Oh, you’re fancy," I purse my lips together in a mocking way and thank him for the water.
"So you think I’m romantic?" he quips, opening a bottle of water for himself.
"Yep, a regular prince charming," I smirk, taking a hug gulp of water.
Thomas almost spits out his water and looks at me li
ke he’s seen a ghost. Shit! I forgot not to say that to him, after his warning not to treat him any different, I don’t want him to think it has anything to do with his apartment.
"It isn’t because of your apartment, Thomas. I honestly think it’s fabulous," I glance around the chef’s kitchen before continuing, "but I don’t really care, baby."
Holding my hands in the air, I shrug my shoulders before taking another sip of my water and watching him closely. He seems to relax, but I know that something about that bothered him so I’ve got to try to never call him that again.
Turning slowly, he opens the refrigerator again and then turns back to me with a conspiratorial look in his eye, and a mischievous grin on his face.
"Close your eyes," he says while squinting his eyes devilishly.
Without hesitation or seeking an explanation I do as I’m told. I can hear him moving around, the sound of glasses clinking together, and different containers touching the countertop beside me. Then he’s right in front of me, I can sense him although he’s silent, and my legs spread, hoping he comes closer.
"How’d you know I was in front of you? You’re peeking!" he shrieks like child before moving away quickly.
"No, I didn’t I could sense you." I try to explain through giggles.
Before I can say anything more he’s back, and this time he steps between my legs before wrapping a soft fabric around my head, covering my eyes.
"Ooh, this is soft," I reach up and touch the smooth fabric.
"Like you," he says so low I’m sure he was only speaking to himself.
"Am I allowed to touch, I reach my hands out to my sides and he quickly clasps them in a tight grip.
"No! You can only do what I tell you," he places my hands on his shoulders, and I interlock my fingers on the nape of his neck while wrapping my legs around his midsection.
"Can I have a kiss?" I ask, poking my lip out.
"You can always have a kiss, baby," he kisses my lips softly and tugs on my bottom lip. I love when he does that.
"You could sense me in front of you?" he asks. I guess he did hear me through the giggles.
"Yep! I always sense you before I see you. When you have me meet you somewhere, I can feel you watching me, or I just get a pull, like I’m supposed to be near you," I’m a little embarrassed by my admission. Without my vision its difficult to remember I’m speaking to someone else, and I’ve basically admitted my private thoughts.
"You’re always blushing," he whispers before kissing my cheeks.
"You have an effect on me, Mister," I bite my bottom lip to halt my grin from spreading.
"I can feel when you walk in the room. I swear it. Earlier at dinner you left to use the ladies room, and when you returned from behind me I could just feel it," he says as if my saying it makes it makes sense for him.
"What do you think that means?" I whisper, his face is close to mine, I can sense it and smell his aroma.
"I think it means that I’m crazy about you," he whispers on my lips, the sensation gives me chills.
"I think I like you crazy about me," I smirk.
"Oh yeah? Why is that?" He asks.
"That way I’m not out here on the island by myself," I say, again being more revealing, but still without regrets.
We sit in silence for an awkward long time, so long that I begin to worry I should be regretting what I’ve said. Not being able to read his body language has me at a serious disadvantage, but this is his game and I want to have an open mind about playing whatever it is he has in store.
"You don’t have to worry about being anywhere alone, Nicole," he begins and without seeing his eyes or facial expression, I know he’s serious because of his tone and the fact that he used my real name. "We’re in this together, okay?" he adds while placing his hands on top of mine.
"Okay," I whisper, overwhelmed with emotion, making it hard to speak clearly, so I’m more than relieved when I hear him messing around with containers as he moves about beside me, presumably preparing his game.
"Are there rules to this game?" I wonder aloud.
"Uh… Yes. The first rule is you have to do what I say," he says curtly.
"Well, that’s the regular," I sass and I can hear him smiling.
"The second rule is you have to taste things and tell me what it is," he explains excitedly.
"Okay, and then what’s my prize?" I ask.
"Prize?" he asks confused.
"Yeah, if I guess correctly, what do I win?" I clarify.
"Me," he says flatly like that should have been obvious.
Before I can begin to argue that I would’ve gotten him regardless, I decide that’s the best prize I could get, so I smile and prepare myself, ready for his game.
"Is that sufficient enough of a prize?" he asks, his lips close to mine, and then he tugs at my lip.
"I love when you do that," I breathe.
"Do you?" he asks before again tugging my lip.
"You know I do," I lean forward, over-estimated how far away he was and our lips crash together.
"What makes you so sure I knew that?" he asks after laying three soft kisses on my lips.
"Because I know that you know what I like," I bite my bottom lip as a grin threatens to spread.
"And how do you know that?" he asks.
"Because you’re the one that taught me what I like," I whisper.
I can hear the breath escape him, and although I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, I can sense that he’s staring at me. Knowing that I’m under his glare makes me blush, of course. And then I feel his legs on mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, but there’s something in his mouth. My tongue explores, tasting the creamy flavor, and he pulls away.
"What is it?" he asks excitedly.
"Hmm…" I lick my lips, savoring the flavor.
"Peanut butter?" I guess.
"Good job!" he kisses my lips.
Although I’m not technically seeing him, I’ve never seen him be so giddy and childlike. It's such a privilege to have him relax around me and show me a different side of himself, even if I am banned from watching it unfold.
I hear what sounds like a plastic container beside me, and then the sound of a drawer opening and closing.
"When did you put that peanut butter in your mouth?" I question. I was not expecting that when he leaned in to kiss me.
"I’m an excellent multi-tasker. Now, open up," he move on to the next item and I hold my mouth open until cold metal touches my tongue. Closing around the intrusion, I slide the contents off the fork and swirl my tongue in my mouth to taste the flavors.
It’s definitely chocolate, and airy, yet creamy. It’s actually quite divine.
"Can I have another bite?" I twist my lips and feel a swift kiss from him.
"Umm … No. That’s against the rules," he answers and I giggle softly.
"Baby, are you making up these rules as you go?" I challenge.
"Umm… Yes," he admits, and we both laugh. I can feel him between my legs, his hands rested on my thighs as he leans in to kiss my neck, his tongue moving in circles, as his hand lifts to massage my breast.
"Mmm…" I hum, lifting my hand to rest on the back of his head.
"I know what you like, huh?" he asks.
"Wouldn’t you say you know what I like?" I turn to his voice.
"Yeah, I would say that," he answers after a pause.
"You own my pleasure, Thomas," the words fall out of my mouth.
"What did you say?" he asks, I can hear that his throat is dry.
"Did you mishear or me or do you want to hear me say it again?" I ask, leaning forward seductively.
We sit there in silence, and I refuse to break the awkwardness, so I wait him out, knowing he's only inches from my face.
"I want to hear it again," he says lowly.
"You own, my pleasure, Thomas." I repeat, this time slowly and definitively.
"The way you just made my cock jump, I’d have to say you have the same power
over me," he leans in and kisses me, but I could never say I have the same power as he does, and I don’t think he actually believes that either. Before I came along Thomas had experienced sex; he’d been pleasured by other women.
I, on the other hand, have a limited experience, only knowing sexual pleasure from Thomas, which is much different. I know he’s thought of it before, the power he has over me being the only person that’s ever felt the insides of me. I love what Thomas does to me, and in some ways I’m grateful to his girlfriends that came before me, because they’ve taught him all he knows, and he knows a lot. But it is much different to know that he’s done some of these things with other women, never knowing what is unique to the two of us.
"What was it?" he asks, returning his attention to his impromptu game.
"Chocolate mousse." I smile, knowing I’m right and he kisses me, slowly and deeply. The remnants of peanut butter are still on his tongue as he slides throughout my mouth.
