28. 28
28
Tilly
D exter’s mouth…
I don’t know how he does that—how he wants to do that. Constantly .
“Why?” I ask him as he positions me on the table like I’m a place setting of priceless Royal Albert china.
He kisses my inner thigh, trailing his tongue along the soft skin teasingly. “Why not? It’s my favourite thing to do.”
“This?” At forty-five, I still don’t know what to call it. Oral sex has always sounded too clinical to me, but I can’t wrap my head around the slang.
Not that I’ve ever talked about it.
“This.” Dexter strokes a finger between my fold, making me shiver. “Making you come.”
“You like it?”
“I like it a lot.”
And then he bends his head, using everything in his arsenal to bring me to a quick and entirely satisfying climax.
He groaned when his tongue was deep inside me and the vibration…
I’m going to have to sanitize the table. And remembering the position he put me in—ass on the edge, with one foot hanging over and my other leg stretched up and open—will probably still make me blush five days later.
But after it’s over, I slide off the table and onto the chair. Onto Dexter seated in the chair.
We do it sitting in the chair. Me astride him, tiptoes barely touching the floor, so I have a hard time moving against him. It’s not the most comfortable, but the way Dexter arches up into me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
I’m proud that I instigated it. I want to show Dexter how much I want him.
How much I want this.
He makes me sit with him fully inside me as he uses his fingers to bring me so close and then he takes my own hand and makes me rub myself as he thrusts up into me until I come.
And then he bends me over the table, thrusting so hard that his legs slap against the back of mine.
I’m not sure how I’m going to sit at that table again.
I’ve also never been so grateful that Carlos let me take the dining room set because I’m not sure IKEA furniture would have been able to handle such activities.
Dexter stays the night.
I sleep curled up next to him, like Jordan cuddles her stuffed animal. When I wake up, my head tucked into his chest, I take a moment to enjoy it. His scent—a masculine smell of spice and sandalwood wraps around me. I’ve slept naked, a first in a very long time and I have no doubt I will smell like Dexter. He sleeps on his back with an arm under the arch of my hip and another curled around my breast.
Soft snores lift his chest.
When was the last time I woke like this? Or fell asleep with a man, arms and legs tangled, bare skin pressed against skin.
It’s a lot.
And yet, not enough. Despite last night’s activities, I wake up wanting Dexter. Needing to touch him, taste. Feel him inside me again.
It’s never been like this before.
Lifting my head, I shift slowly, pressing kisses along Dexter’s chest as I move downward. His body is a revelation. Carlos kept himself in shape, but he was nothing like Dexter.
Dexter is nothing like Carlos, and I shouldn’t waste my time comparing the two. Or even let Carlos drift into my thoughts… especially since this isn’t the most opportune time to think about my ex-husband.
The snores stop as I gently take him in my hand. Dexter doesn’t wake up, but his body begins to. The tip of his cock is velvety soft as I take him in my mouth.
It takes a few moments to find a rhythm, but by then, Dexter is fully hard. And I start to enjoy myself, mouth moving up and down his length, hand gripping the base.
“Tilly?” Dexter mutters in a sleepy voice. His hand finds the back of my head. “Stop.”
I raise my head, tonging the tip. “But I like this.”
“I like it too, but—Jesus.” I bob my head, adding a little suction. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up.”
I play for a few more moments before I pull up and crawl astride him. “I like this, too.”
“Let’s see what we can do for you to like it even more.”
There’s something about a man who puts my pleasure first. Who puts me first.
There was foreplay with Carlos, but there was also a sense of obligation to do so from him. He was happy to have me play with him, but wanted to get to his pleasure as quickly as possible.
Dexter draws things out and teases, plus he has amazing control.
He makes me come with his cock, and a little help from his fingers at the end, and it’s one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had.
When I lie beside him, trying to catch my breath, Dexter leans over with a grin. “You like that?”
I kiss him instead of responding. Because, truthfully, I can’t find the words. This thing between us is intense and exhilarating. But it’s terrifying as well.
And it’s fun. And comfortable, and exciting.
How can being with a man be all those things?
“I need a shower,” Dexter says, pulling away with a rueful expression. “And then food.”
“I can make you something when you have a shower.”
“When we have a shower,” he corrects with a gleam in his eyes. “You’re not getting off that easy.”
Add taking a shower with a man to the list of things I’ve now done. When I was married, I never gave Carlos a chance to see me shampoo or shaving my legs.
Dexter doesn’t give me a chance. He climbs right in there with me, grabbing my body wash to lather me up.
All the soap and warm water make sex difficult, but we manage. Another first.
And then I make him breakfast and we talk and laugh like I’ve known him for years. Dexter is kind and smart and funny, and considerate. He’s a good man.
He’s an amazing lover.
There must be something wrong with him, but I can’t seem to find it. Other than the obvious problem.
“I don’t want you to get fired.”
We don’t mention the topic until Dexter is leaving. He stays with me for most of the morning, because he doesn’t have a class until the afternoon.
He’s a professor.
I’m one of his students. The realization takes away some of the fun and adds a fissure of pressure.
“I won’t,” he assures me, and I take a relieved breath. “We just have to keep it quiet.”
“I thought you didn’t like me to be quiet.” How can I make a joke about this? But Dexter loses the worried expression and smiles.
“I like it when you moan,” he says. “And I love how embarrassed you get when I mention it.”
I touch my cheek, which is warm and pink. And then I rest my hand on his chest. “But Dexter, maybe it’s not a good idea. We could wait until the semester is over, at least. And then I won’t take any of your classes…”
“I don’t think I can wait a day for you. Two months would be hell.”
“But if it makes sure your job is safe—”
Dexter cups my cheeks as he leans down and kisses me. Kisses me so thoroughly that my toes curl into the carpet. “Maybe you can wait,” he mutters. “But I can’t get enough of you.”
“You’ll have to,” I tell him, my tone surprisingly firm even after that kiss. “My girls.”
“I want to meet them,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head.
“Not yet. Not for a while. I can’t—it would confuse them.” It would confuse me . How can I tell my teenage daughters I’m sleeping with a man ten years younger than I am, and who also happens to be my teacher?
How can I tell them I’m sleeping with a man—period?
That’s what would be so difficult. As much as my body feels satiated, satisfied, and so much like a woman, Jade and Jordan wouldn’t understand.
Not yet. It’s one thing for Carlos to move on. I’m their mother and they wouldn’t understand.
Especially if it doesn’t work out with Dexter.
But it’s clear I can’t tell him that. Not when this morning, and last night, has been everything .
“Soon,” I promise, and even though Dexter looks like he wants to argue, he respects my decision. “I can’t just throw this at them. Not yet.”
“Do what you need to do,” he tells me, resting his forehead on mine. “What are the rules?”
“I have them for the weekends.”
“So I can’t have you Saturday or Sunday.”
“Friday nights, too,” I say apologetically.
“Painful,” he groans. “But all right. You make the rules, even though I can’t wait to come over and set the table with you again.”
“Dexter.” My cheeks pinked.
“Does that embarrass you? It shouldn’t.”
“It…”
“Does it tempt you? Do I tempt you?” His fingers slide over the swell of my breast, finding my nipple through the fabric of my shirt and my bra.
My insides curl with pleasure. “Yes.”
“Good. But Tilly…” Dexter looks at me seriously. “When we’re in class, and I can’t touch you, just know that I’ll want to. When I can’t talk to you, or even look at you, just know that I’ll be thinking of you.”
“I will be too.” I have no idea how I’ll be able to stop thinking about Dexter. Stop thinking about how it feels when he touches me.
“I don’t know what this is between us,” he says, cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking. “But it already means something. It means a lot. And I like it.”
“I like it too.”
“I like you.” He kisses me again, his lips moving against mine as urgently as his fingers scramble down the waistband of my pants to find my wetness.
Moments later, Dexter wraps a strong arm around my waist as I dissolve around his hand. “I love that you’re so quick,” he says, dropping a soft kiss on my forehead. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s you,” I confess. “I’ve never been like that before.”
“I like that even better. I’m going to go now before I push you up against the door.”
“That would be okay if you want to do that,” I offer with a weak laugh, my pulse still racing.
“I’ll save it for Monday,” he promises. “Text me when it’s okay to call you.”
“I’ll miss you.” The words pop out, unbidden. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll miss you, too. This is good, Tilly. We can make this work.”
Dexter kisses me one last time.
And then he leaves.
It hurts when he leaves.
It shouldn’t hurt, because it’s just sex.
Only, I know that’s not true. Dexter talks to me like I matter, like he cares about my answers and my thoughts and my opinions. He’s funny and sweet and smart.
And the sex is off the charts.
Maybe we can make it work. But how, when there’s already so much against us?