Forever Together

by Naughty Aphrodite

  Steve beamed at her. “Great! We can go to my place. I’ve got some new craft beers I’ve been dying to try. A friend’s started importing them from Canada.”

  “Your place? Right now?” She glanced down at her scrubby work clothes.

  “Of course. You’ve been working all day, Selena. It’s time to relax.” Steve held out his hand to her and, tentatively, Selena took it.

  Steve’s penthouse apartment took Selena’s breath away. The view alone was priceless. Steve cracked open two of the new Canadian beers and gestured for her to sit. Selena looked at the leather sofa and hesitantly sat.

  Steve laughed. “It’s not going to bite, Selena. Just relax.”

  “My clothes are all grungy,” she said as she took a beer.

  “Trust me,” he smiled. “It’s seen worse. Couches are for sitting. Enjoy it.”

  So Selena sank back into the cushions with a sigh. Steve joined her, propping his feet up on the coffee table and clinking his beer against hers. “To new beginnings,” he said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” she said, sipping her beer.

  Steve eyed her over his bottle. “You’re from the streets, aren’t you, Selena?” he asked suddenly.

  Selena looked down at her beer. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

  He nodded. “I thought so. You remind me of someone I used to know, actually.”

  Selena laughed bitterly. “I bet she wasn’t a druggie and car thief, though.” It was a relief to say it out loud, even though the consequences terrified her.

  Steve’s eyes widened. “A car thief? Wow. I always thought those guys were so badass when I lived in Camden.”

  Selena gaped at him. “You lived in Camden?”

  “Born and raised,” he replied with a smile. “I was on my own from sixteen. But I was lucky and I got out. That’s why I want to help the center.”

  Selena smiled. “One such center actually saved my life,” she said.

  “Then I owe it big time,” said Steve with a grin.

  Selena laughed and, to her surprise, blushed. “I was in a really bad place when one of their outreach workers found me. She’d been on the streets as a kid too and she knew what to say. It took me two years to get off coke but they never gave up on me. I would never have guessed that you…” she trailed off.

  Steve winked. “It’s like I said. Just act like you own the place and one day you will. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  Selena shrugged. “It’s not exactly something you want to admit to every passing millionaire. I thought you’d be scared off by it,” she admitted.

  Steve smiled. “On the contrary,” he said. “It just makes me like you more.” He put his beer down on the table and reached over, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “You’re one of a kind, Selena.”

  Selena smiled, leaning into his hand. “I could say the same about you,” she said softly.

  They looked at each other for a long moment before Steve leaned in, drawing Selena into a deep kiss. His lips were warm against hers and she moaned as his tongue explored her mouth. Her whole body shivered with anticipation.

  When Steve pulled away, Selena followed. Straddling his lap, she pulled his work shirt over his head, admiring his muscular torso. He smiled and cradled her face in his hands, bringing her into another kiss. She felt him undo her bra behind her and, when they parted, he lifted it and her T-shirt off in one go. Selena smiled to see him openly admiring her full, golden breasts.

  He looked up, already stroking one nipple with his thumb. “You sure?” he asked.

  Selena looked at him through heavy lidded eyes. “If I weren’t, you’d have a broken jaw by now,” she replied, her voice husky with desire.

  “Duly noted,” said Steve as he lowered his mouth to her breasts.

  Selena gasped as his lips closed around a nipple, his tongue swirling along the sensitive skin. His hands cupped her ass and he lifted her, trailing kisses along her breasts and stomach until he had her balanced on his shoulders. Selena bit her lip in anticipation while Steve grinned, enjoying the sight of her silky, tanned pussy ready and waiting for him. Delicately, he drew his tongue along her slick lips, making her moan. Steve chuckled, pulling her labia into his mouth and sucking, enjoying himself as he slowly worked his way up to her clit.

  Selena dug her fingers into the leather, her body convulsing with pleasure as Steve played with her. All thoughts of the couch’s welfare had gone out the window as he sucked and licked her into a frenzy. When his mouth finally closed around her clit, she gasped, bucking against him, desperate for more. In response, he drove two fingers into her, pumping in time to his tongue and lips. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, his knuckles stroking her g-spot until, moaning and panting, she came.

  Licking Selena clean, Steve felt very self-satisfied as he watched the beautiful woman mewl and gasp above him. Slowly, he lowered her back onto his lap, trailing kisses up her body.

  But Selena was hungry for more.

  She tore open his fly, pushing his jeans down and freeing his enormous hard-on. With a grin, she pulled his enormous penis to her lips, sinking it as far into her mouth as she could. Steve groaned, one hand grabbing her hair as she swirled her tongue along his thick shaft. She looked up at him through her lashes as she worked and the sight of her watching him was almost more than he could bear.

  “Condom…in my…jeans,” he managed.

  She smiled, her mouth never leaving his cock as she freed the condom. Balancing it on his bobbing head, she pushed it along his length with her mouth and he groaned.

  “Come here,” he gasped. “Now!”

  Pouting, Selena released his erection and returned to his lap. “But I wasn’t done,” she said.

  “But I will be soon if you keep on like that,” he replied, gripping her ass in both hands as he lowered her dripping pussy onto his eager cock.

  Selena moaned as his impressive length filled her. Working fast, she pumped herself along his length, sending waves of pleasure through them both. Steve groaned as she arched her back, balancing her hands on his knees and thrusting her breasts into the air. He grabbed her hips and drove himself into her, watching her breasts bounce in time to his thrusts.

  Selena swore as his cock stroked her upper wall again and again, the sensation shuddering through her. Coming back to him, she buried her fingers in his short curls, driving herself down onto his frantic thrusts. Steve panted, feeling his orgasm nearing. Leaning forward he kissed her, their mouths desperate against each other’s as they both gasped and moaned.

  “Fuck,” said Selena. “Oh fuck, I’m going to c—oh God!” she screamed as her orgasm flooded through her, her body bucking wildly against Steve’s as her pussy clenched around his dick. The added pressure was too much for Steve and, swearing, he joined her, burying his cock deep inside her as he came.

  Panting, Selena collapsed on top of Steve’s heaving chest. “Oh God,” she gasped as her orgasm faded. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Yeah,” said Steve, gently pushing her sweaty hair off her forehead. “Want to go shower in a minute?”

  “Yes, please,” Selena replied. “Just as soon as I can breathe again.”

  He laughed, his head falling back against the couch. Watching him, Selena felt warmth flood through her and she knew this was the man she’d been missing her entire life. Leaning forward, she kissed his chin.

  Steve looked up, caught off guard by the tender gesture. “Stay for dinner?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “And breakfast?”

  Selena smiled at him and kissed his nose. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

  She could feel Steve’s laugh rumble through his chest and she smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll be here for a while, then,” he said.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she replied.

  THE END

  A Very Sexy Voyage

  Chapter 1

>   The white linen table cloth hugged the table top and flowed down in romantic cascades. The antique candelabra that Peter’s mother had passed down to us on our wedding day held six long, tapered candles, each alight and dancing in the light breeze provided by the open bay window. The table was set with our wedding china and good silver, each piece gleaming and placed with care. The lights were dim and romantic, the dining room glowing a rosy gold. A glass of red wine sat at each of our places, breathing, awaiting Peter’s arrival home from work. A greasy bucket of fried chicken and biscuits sat waiting in the wings of the kitchen, ready to be served-- an homage to our first date, 14 years ago today: A picnic in the park at sunset.

  But Peter was late. Again.

  Watching the clock, I thought back to that first day of our romance. It was a blind date made through mutual friends who insisted for months that we simply had to meet. Neither of us was keen on the idea--friends always think the best way to give you what you need is to give you what you absolutely don’t want. But when I finally agreed, when I finally saw Peter in the flesh, waiting for me under a big oak tree, lean, dark-haired, handsome, a bit over-dressed, nervously pulling at blades of grass and checking his watch, I found him immediately endearing, and couldn’t help but smile. He looked up, saw me, and smiled right back, taking me in. That moment of recognition had been electric. So this is what all the fuss was about…

  It’s hard to remember the details of that first encounter--but the feeling is one I’ll never forget: hard to describe, but something akin to ecstatic. We talked fast, pouring over one another, wanting to take each other in as quickly as possible, both grinning like idiots and knocking over our wine glasses with excitement for each other. I had never before felt so in sync with someone.

  He made some dumb joke I don’t recall, but that we both found hysterical at the time, and we cried with laughter, our cheeks hurting from expressing so much sheer happiness. And then we looked at each other as the laughing subsided, having nothing else to say except sentiments that would be too much too soon--were simply too big to express with words. And so, I let him take me in an embrace instead. I let him kiss me deeply, let his big hands grab at my flesh roughly, let him lift my skirt and feel the expression of my excitement between my legs, let him tear my panties in his haste to remove them, let him enter me right there on the grass as the sun went down, voicing my pleasure loudly in a strange, primitive language. He buried himself deep inside of me, filling me up, making me whole, without a care for what should happen if anyone were to walk by. It was so utterly right, and neither of us could deny it.

  That was fourteen years ago. Over the years, Peter had continued to be a good man, a caring partner, a dear friend. But as the years wore on and the banalities of keeping up a house, a marriage, a life wore on us, we somehow lost hold of the vital spark that brought us together in the first place.

  I wondered if he even remembered how he used to need my body, how he would sneak up on me from behind as I chopped vegetables for dinner, would make me aware of his presence with a throaty whisper in my ear, “My God, what are you doing to me in those pants?” would slide his hands between my legs and press into me, saying, “I have to have you…” as he dug his hands into my flesh, and made love to me on the kitchen floor, our dinner ruining as it sat on the table for the hours we took to explore each other fully.

  Did he ever think about it? Did he miss it like I did? Was I still the woman he loved--or was I just his wife?

  I heard a key in the door and sat up, coming out of my trance. Peter was home. He threw his key on the entryway hutch and stomped heavily past the dining room and into the living room, clutching his briefcase, talking loudly at me from the other room.

  “So now Johnson is restructuring our commission, which means we’ll all be working twice as hard to get the same rates!” he yelled as a greeting, continuing what had been a week long tirade against his boss. “Dammit, why the hell is your quilting material still all over the coffee table?”

  “Because I did more quilting today, that’s why.” This was not how I wanted our anniversary to begin.

  “I’m sorry--I’m still worked up from work. I’m not trying to yell at you. But can you please move it? I have to go over my contract and see if there’s anything I can do about this,” he said, clearing my fabric scraps and materials into a pile, making room for him to pop open his briefcase.

  “How about I clean it up after dinner? I have the table all set for us.”

  “Thanks, Hon, but I’ll just make myself a plate when I’m done with this.”

  “No, that can wait. You’ll have dinner now.”

  “I know you went to a lot of trouble, Hon, but this really can’t wait. It’s not like your job--I can’t just move my responsibilities around according to my whims--”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Olivia, please!” he cried out. “Please don’t fight with me right now. Please--this is important.”

  “I know. I know how important it is. Your job has been more important than your marriage for quite some time.”

  ***

  There was a time when Olivia was turned on by my ambition.

  There was a time when she wasn’t resentful of being a housewife but relished it. She stayed home at her own insistence, wanting to focus on her crafting business, on making the home she’d always dreamt of. Olivia had a talent for the sensual, and she knew it: The right fabrics, the right fragrances, the right ambiance.

  My house became a home when she came into it--it was her domain and she ruled it proudly. And when I would come home at the end of the work day, told her my troubles, she would say, “I know what will make it better…” She’d put on just the right music, she’d adjust the lighting to a soft and sensual glow. She would kneel before me, smile, cock an eyebrow and unbutton my pants.

  She would manipulate my body until all of my stress and work troubles came tearing out of me in a rushing stream, which she swallowed down to prove they were no match for her healing powers. She was turned on to see me in the heat of battle--to see me working hard to provide for her. She gave me a reason to fight the good fight. She was my Helen of Troy.

  She still was--she was a wonderful partner, a wonderful wife, and she kept a wonderful home for me. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to give her the best. But somewhere along the way, the burning desire she had for me had dissipated.

  Our home was lovely, but no longer electric.

  Somehow, some way, I didn’t seem to have the same effect on her. I wondered if she even remembered how things used to be--how she couldn’t get enough of me. I wondered if she missed me the way I missed her. I wondered if I simply wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

  “You’re right,” I conceded. I’d been fighting all day. I didn’t want to fight with her. “This can wait--let’s eat.”

  I sat down at the table, my eyes still drawn to my briefcase across the hall. We had plans for retirement--I was determined to get us there comfortably. This recent change in policy at work had to be dealt with. But I tried with all of my might to focus on the moment. My wife has slaved over a delicious meal.

  I’m going to enjoy it with her.

  Olivia disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared, smiling, with a bucket of chicken.

  A bucket of chicken. Our future was a ticking time bomb, waiting to be diffused in the next room, and she had demanded I put it aside for a bucket of chicken?

  “Are you serious?” I couldn’t contain myself. “You’re making your big stand with me over a bucket of chicken you just picked up from the store? Do you think my job is a joke? Do you really think when I say that what I’m doing is important, that I’m just spouting bullshit? Jesus, Olivia--do you appreciate what I do at all?”

  “It’s what we had on our first date fourteen-years ago. Happy anniversary.” She sat down angrily and grabbed a leg out of the bucket, biting into it like a cat with a kill.

  The blood drained out of my face a
s the situation dawned on me.

  She hadn’t sprung this on me--she’d mentioned our upcoming anniversary in passing all week. I simply hadn’t listened. And now her eyes were lethal.

  “I...I’m sorry, honey, I forgot.”

  “Why don’t you want me anymore?” her angry eyes were tearing up.

  “Of course, I want you--why do you think I’m working so hard for you, for our future?”

  “Why don’t you want me anymore? Used to be, if Johnson was giving you a hard time at work, do you know what you’d do? You’d come home to me. You’d come home and be with me. You’d let me make it better. What you would do is bend me over this table and fuck me until you felt better!”

  She was crying now, tears streaming down her face, every one of them a knife in my heart.