2. Small, Small World （Melissa） #3
“Oh, how small can you make it?” I whispered back, enjoying the direction this conversation was headed.
“That depends on the ammo you give me,” Ryan said. “For instance, how old are you?”
“I turned twenty-three last month.”
“Happy belated birthday. We should have Mrs. Lieberman bring out some cake.”
“How about you?”
“I’m thirty-nine, but like a young thirty-nine. I mean, I don’t look like I’m about to be forty, right?”
“You don’t look a day over thirty-eight.”
Both of us were giggling now. A ticklish feeling was fluttering in my stomach, making me feel all giddy.
“Okay, then tell me where you went to college,” Ryan demanded.
“Berkeley, but I’m going to Harvard next fall.”
“See, there’s your small world. I did my bachelor’s from Harvard and then went for an MFA in Music from Berkeley.”
“No way.”
“Way, way.”
Right at that moment, Mrs. Lieberman, through a display of miraculous strength, came walking with two trays balanced on each arm, loaded with fries, burgers, hot dogs, a larger-than-life brisket, cool bottles of beer, and two slices of cheesecake.”
“How did you….?” I asked, my face aghast.
“I have the ears of a fox, dear. I heard Ryan here mention cake and I knew that I had to get you two some of my signature cheesecake.”
“Mrs. Lieberman, you’re the best,” Ryan said, while voraciously eying everything that Mrs. Lieberman was laying down on the table.
For the rest of our time at the deli, we did not talk much. I had no idea that Ryan was just as hungry as I was. We ate like lords and drank like sailors; by the time every plate was empty on the table, we were stuffed turkeys.
“You didn’t have to drop me off. I could have walked,” I remarked, standing in front of my apartment building. Ryan was standing at a respectable distance across from me, arched against his car.
“I didn’t have to, but after the good time that we had, I kind of wanted to,” Ryan said.
“You really mean that?”
“Of course, we discovered that we have shared history, and it’s not often you do discover that, is it?” Ryan said.
“You’re right, boss.”
“Knock that off, won’t you?”
“You are my boss, though.”
“I don’t really see myself as anyone’s boss after hours.”
“In that case, Mr. Hellerman, would you care for a nightcap?”
Ryan stood there with his back against his car, his suit looking immaculate in the pale white glow of the street lamp, his tie slightly loosened at the collar, and his face no longer that same tired shade it was back at the office.
“I’d love a glass of whiskey,” he hinted.
“Then I have a bottle in there with your name on it,” I said, unlocking my door.
“You know, you gotta stop putting names on things, especially if you live alone. That’s just weird,” Ryan said. He didn’t wait for me to invite him in. He just stepped right in, making himself at home, looking around the living room with interest.
I saw him looking at my Fender guitar, resting against the amp, at the shelf full of vinyl albums, and the forty-inch black and white poster of Bob Dylan with his diatonic harmonica in his mouth, hands deftly plucking his acoustic guitar.
I felt vulnerable, almost naked, as he walked up from one wall of the living room to the other, taking in everything. He looked like he was at a museum exhibit, the way he was walking up to things and just standing a few inches away. His mouth hung slightly open as he took things in.
“You play?” he asked, his finger pointing at the Fender.
“I’m no Hendrix, but I do know my barre chords from my open ones,” I said, my back turned to him as I took out a bottle of Ballantine’s from the kitchen bar.
The part of me that knew he was probably going to ask me to play something on the guitar was feeling nervous.
The part of me that had painstakingly, over the course of five months, learned every note of Tim Henson’s Playing God solo, wanted him to ask me to play so I could show off.
“Thanks,” Ryan said, taking the glass quarter-full of whiskey from me, then clinked it with mine. “To music, the language that ties us all together.”
“Salud,” I said, then downed my double shot of whiskey. That immediate buzz still did nothing to dispel the sense of disbelief regarding this whole situation. Ryan Hellerman was in my apartment.
“Listen, I had a nice time tonight,” Ryan said, putting the glass down on the shelf. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re going to be one heck of a valuable addition to our company.”
“That means the world coming from you,” I muttered, pouring more Ballantine’s in both our glasses.
Now that the buzz had settled into a nice, smooth sense of drunkenness, undoubtedly facilitated by all the beers we had at the deli, I could feel the nervousness ebb away.
It allowed me to look Ryan in the eyes, notice those hawklike features again and that sharp yet stunning visage that spoke of his regality.
In another life, he must have been a lord or even a king.
In this one, he was still the equivalent of royalty, rich beyond the wildest dreams of most men — accomplished beyond belief.
Somehow, despite all that, I had him all to myself tonight.
There was no mysterious million-dollar buy-in poker game with Clooney and Robert Downey Jr. that he would be attending, no exclusive gala graced by the likes of Kimmy K and Ariana Grande, where he was a guest of honor, and no billion-dollar deal that he was busy making.
Tonight, this elusive, handsome, powerful man singlehandedly responsible for setting the musical taste of an entire generation was all mine to do with as I pleased.
This time I did not fight the visions as they came, and they came on strong — our nude bodies coiled around each other in a heated sexual embrace on the sofa.
Our lips were tenderly exploring each other’s bodies as we lay in each other’s arms on the futon in my second bedroom, my hands cradling his taut shaft as I sucked his inner thighs atop the silky sheets of my bed.
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
This was no vision. His face really was so close to mine, his gentle hand resting on my shoulder, his eyes studying my eyes.
“I’m…just…”
His warm breath was all over my face, his lips in kissing distance to mine.
“I think you need to get to bed. Sleep it all off,” Ryan said, retreating slowly.
“No, don’t go,” I insisted, holding onto his forearm, stopping him from receding further.
“Listen, I like you, but we’re both drunk, we’re both alone, and this is how mistakes happen,” Ryan said, freeing his forearm from my grasp.
“Would it really be a mistake?” I asked, knowing full well that some hours later, when I’d be sober with a hangover, I’d regret everything. But the good thing about alcohol was that it didn’t let you regret anything while you were still drunk.
“Wouldn’t it?” Ryan asked, now no longer struggling to break free. “We work together.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Are you sure you want this?”
“Just get over here.”
He came closer in his own time, not prompted by my insistence but by his own will.
This might have been my apartment, and it very well might have been my desire, but I felt that I was under his control, from the way he closed the distance between us to the sure and firm touch of his hand on my chin, tilting my head up.
He leaned in silently, his eyes closed; it wasn’t until his lips touched mine that I closed my eyes as well. The disbelief of it all was dispelled by his touch, by the tentative motion of his tongue skirting around the edge of my mouth, waiting for the kiss to deepen so that he could slide it in.
A moan escaped me instinctively as he grabbed my face and pulled me closer.
I held onto his shoulders and felt his tight, hard chest press against my breasts.
Now his tongue was no longer just tracing along my lips; it was deep within my mouth, clashing with my own tongue, the collective wetness moistening the insides of our cheeks.
“I want you,” I whispered in that brief moment when our lips parted.
“I want you to want me,” he whispered back, his hand sliding between my thighs, sliding up my skirt and finally coming into contact with the dreaded Hello Kitty panties. With his other hand, he was busy unbuttoning my shirt.
I was involved in a similar endeavor, pulling off his coat and throwing it on the sofa behind him.
I began loosening his tie, sliding his shirt off so I could see and feel his impeccable torso underneath.
Just as his hand cupped my breasts, mine latched onto his abs, running over their rough firmness.
We hadn’t done anything; yet both of us were already out of breath, panting into each other’s necks before remembering to kiss each other as we took off the last of our clothing.
I had some notion about how he’d look, but in no way had I imagined how buff his body would really be: how ripped each muscle was and that the natural tan on his face spread all over his body.
He still had on his boxers, but they left little to the imagination as to the exact nature of his massive bulge, now struggling to be let out from underneath the thin cotton fabric.
A Muay Thai fighter would wish he’d have Ryan’s physique. Seeing as how it was a cold night, I wondered how that soft liquid sheen had gotten on his skin, reflecting the dim yellow glow of the overhead lamps.
Standing in front of him with my peach-colored bra’s wire digging into my midriff and my yellow Hello Kitty panties.
I felt like I’d come up short, but then I caught my slender reflection in the mirror across the wall.
I realized that I hadn’t come up short of anything.
My physique might not be as athletic as his, but I’d been going to Yoga classes every Wednesday and Friday for the past ten years, and it showed.
My lithe form complimented his brawny one.
“Well, don’t wait all day,” Ryan said, a mischievous grin on his face. I grinned back, reflecting the same mischief.
I slid my hand into his boxers and grabbed hold of his thick, hard, and surprisingly warm cock.
I wasn’t about to play with him just yet.
I yanked him by his cock as I strode across the lounge and into the master bedroom.
I could feel his length stiffening in my hand, a feeling that reminded me that I hadn’t lost my touch.
Once we were standing at the edge of the bed, I loosened my fingers around his cock and let it go full mast. It moved on its own to hang over his lowered briefs, hypnotizing me with its to-and-fro motion. I fell on my knees, my face very near to it.
With one hand cupping his balls and the other softly stroking his cock, I began kissing his inner thighs, making my way up by first kissing, then slowly licking…and then coming face to face with the shiny and smooth tip.
I closed my eyes as I took it in my mouth.
I slobbered my spit all over it, which made it easy for me to slide the rest of it in my mouth inch by inch.
My eyes might have been closed, but my ears were perked up.
The moment he sighed for the first time, something primal happened inside.
I took his cock deeper in my mouth, cradled his balls in my hand, and felt a sexual energy surge down my body, wetting me down there.
Ryan moaned as I flicked my tongue under his shaft while sucking on his cock. Whatever I lacked in terms of oral expertise, I more than made up for with raw passion.
I was never one for casual sex; and in the short time since I’d turned eighteen, I only had the one boyfriend who’d stuck by my side while I was in college.
We drifted apart after graduation, and the relationship hadn’t been strong enough that we felt the need to pursue it.
We broke it off politely, mutually on a phone call. No muss, no fuss.
Suddenly, Ryan’s cock throbbed against the back of my throat, bringing me back to reality with a salty tinge and gag reflex.
I retracted my head, awing at the sheer amount of length that kept coming out of my mouth.
With all that slobber dripping from his cock, I stroked it, making it wetter, driving pleasure along its entire length.
Overhead, I could hear the sound of his breathing turn into shallow pants.
It wasn’t until he lifted my entire body and plopped me down on the bed that I realized the only reason I had been sucking him was because he’d been letting me. Now, the niceties were over, and, from the way that his nude form was towering over me, it was time for him to dominate me.
He did it with gentle authority, parting my thighs with his hands and crawling between them.
I saw him chuckle as he slid off my panties.
I was aroused beyond the point of caring about such trivialities.
I was all ready for whatever pleasure he was about to serve up, lying naked with my thighs apart and my pussy dripping wet.