37 JANIE
JANIE
“Still feeling fine?” He says as he walks me backward into the apartment. His hands push on my hips and I reach out to grab his tie.
“Uh huh,” I think I say.
He’s edged me all night, touching me under the table, his hand tracing under my skirt, but never all the way.
He pretended to whisper in my ear but sucked on my neck and earlobe instead.
When we were dancing he waxed poetic about the kind of orgasm that was waiting for me at home.
When we kissed for the paparazzi on our way out, he grabbed my butt and I thought I might implode on the spot.
The sexual tension in the elevator ride up to his apartment was deliciously brutal.
But those doors opened and he took over, hungry and focused. Like a hunter zeroing in on his prey, to which I say yes please.
“Well, I’m not,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“No?”
“No, it was cold in that ballroom.”
I frown, “It was wh—”
Suddenly his hands are at my neckline and then he’s throwing his hands open in some sort of WWE move that rips the top of the dress in two.
“Ben.”
“I needed to finally see them,” he looks at my chest, hard as a rock. Then his warm hand is there, gripping. I lean my head back and moan. But his hand is gone. “Tsk tsk tsk, you’re already close, I know. So I better take my time.”
“Ben,” I plead with him.
“Fine, quick one to get us started but then it’s back to the torture,” he says and then his hands grip the fabric again, pulling but it doesn’t rip.
“Damn it.”
I can’t help but laugh and he does too. I tease him, happy to be back to our normal, “I guess you already had your hulk moment, Boss. You don’t get two.”
“Well, it served my purpose,” he chuckles too, “Was it good for you?”
“It was so hot,” I say as I find the zipper at my back and help him out with my dress.
Once it’s all the way off, a silky puddle at my feet, he hums in appreciation and bites his lip.
His hands slowly trail up, his index fingers tracing a line up my thighs.
He snaps the side string of my silver thong and licks his mouth.
Then his hands are on my ribs and his gaze shifts from my body to my eyes. I know what he wants to say.
“I’m begging,” I offer freely. Then he mutters a blur of praises and curses into the skin of my neck and works down.
I think he’s leaving hickeys on purpose and I’m so here for it.
He licks my sternum then adds a hickey there too.
I arch my back, another plea. Without hesitating he gives me exactly what I need, sucking, licking and pinching.
Again, I’m able to climax just from his mouth on my chest.
“Unreal,” I sigh.
“I agree,” he says, picking me up off whatever I was sitting on? Oh. His entry table.
“Not sure you can top those super hero moves, husband,” I say as I wrap myself around him.
“Hmm, for my next act, let’s see if I can get you off from not getting you off.”
“Don’t love the sound of that.”
His eyes are dark and stormy as he carries me through his penthouse to his bed. “Oh, I think you do.”
“I’m so screwed.” I laugh.
“That’s the idea.”
Then he lays me down on his bed and steps back, admiring.
I want to admire the view too, so I say, my voice breathy, “Your clothes.”
He strips quickly, watching me watch him.
Holy crap, he’s beautiful. His face, of course, chiseled and symmetrical and perfect. Then his tanned neck, built shoulders, wide, cut chest. He admitted he’s been killing himself on the weight bench and it shows.
“See something you like, my darling?”
“A few things, but you’re holding out on me.”
“You first.”
I roll my eyes and pull off my panties. He pulls his boxers off too.
“Those damn eyes. My favorite foreplay.” He grips himself and I watch. “Let me see you,” he grits out as he spreads my thighs. He stares for a beat and my skin pebbles, then he starts to bend over.
“Ben,” I stop him from destroying me with his tongue like he’s done a few wonderful times before. “I want you.” He freezes and I can see his brain short-circuiting. “C’mon, I know you have a whole cupboard full of condoms around here somewhere.”
He sits back on his heels, “It’s just a drawer, cheeky.”
I roll out from under him and sit up to check the top drawer of his nightstand. I have to jiggle to get it open because it’s stuffed completely full. Of condoms.
I can hear the wince in his voice, “Listen, I haven’t touched that drawer in ages, I…”
“Ben. You like sex, I get it.” I say, meaning it.
“I, yes, I did, did but,” he stammers adorably. I can’t believe he’s nervous.
I push him onto his back, “Did? Excuse me?”
“Do! I do. But Janelle, listen, I know you haven’t wanted…”
“Ben,” I say as I reach down and grip him. His frown starts to melt as he watches me roll the latex down. “Do you not want to?”
“No, no! Yes, I do.” I position myself over him, ready to sink down, “Yes, I want to but—”
“Then this is happening, Boss, get on board.” I start to settle onto him, but just barely. He hisses, watching.
I hiss too, feeling the stretch, “Give me a second.”
“Mhm,” he says and I can see him straining, holding back.
“What’s that?” I say, barely sinking another inch.
I’m breathing, still adjusting, eyes closed as I try to relax.
I open my eyes expect to see him staring down at us, together, but he’s staring up at me, at my face.
His eyes are melting, his expression awed, like he can’t believe this is happening.
I see a muscle twitch at his temple, though, so I smirk, “How do you like the edging now, husband?”
“I love it, I love—” he stops himself from…I can’t think about that. So I sink all the way down and both of us moan. After a deep breath, I start moving. “You are spectacular,” he says, his voice a garbled mess. With lust, probably. Not emotion. This feels amazing. That’s all.
…Right?
I close my eyes and fall back on my signature charm, “Enjoying the show while I do all the work?”
He huffs a laugh and flexes up into me at the same time that he tucks his hands behind his head like he’s laying on a pool lounger or something.
“Absolutely I am.”
“I bet,” I say while slowing my pace.
He grabs my hips, somehow knowing I want to be on top. That he and I both need for me to be on top. If he flips me, if he pulls in and out of me while making melty eye contact and forcing sweet words back into his mouth…
“May I?” He asks.
“I guessss—oh!”
He thrusts the snark right up out of me along with maybe some of my vital organs and…I…I’m weightless. He moves me up and down like I’m his personal toy. I’m going to be sore tomorrow with the way he’s pounding into me, even though he’s on the bottom.
“Ben. So good,” I groan involuntarily.
He stops, “Say it again.”
“So good. Don’t stop,” Another insides-rearranging thrust. I cry out, “Please don’t stop!”
And he doesn’t. Not until I am detonating around him which makes him immediately let go inside me. It is…everything. He is…I…
“Just to be clear,” he pants. “If I want to get shagged again, I just need to flirt with—”
“Finish that sentence while I have a grip on your dick, I dare you,” I sass back.
He laughs and I ease myself off of him.
He sits up while I search for my thong.
His voice is soft when he talks again, “I hadn’t even remembered that about her, to be honest. I wasn’t thinking about her at all. Even when I was standing there talking to her, I was just worried about you. We’d gone all weird.”
“We did. You were polite. I hated it.”
He laughs as he heads to his bathroom, “What, are manners too British? You hate when I’m polite now?”
“I didn’t like when you were polite to me.”
“Noted. I’ll try to be an asshole from here on out.”
“Please do,” I say, grateful that he’s playing with me again. He starts to clean himself up in the bathroom and, for reasons I don’t want to look at too closely, I decide I desperately need to leave, to shower. Alone.
“Goodnight!” I call out. Then I bolt.