Chapter 32
Julianna
I’ve never felt this happy before, and I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it’s the winter giving way to endless sunshine. Living in the Northwest has its charms, but the constant rain weighs a woman down. Summer, though—that’s my time. The warmth of the sun, the bright skies, and, let’s be honest, getting to see my girlfriends strut around in next to nothing? Bliss.
Ah, I should buy more skimpy dresses for Alessa. She has a body born for them.
If you could see what I do, you would agree. All I do is step out from my bedroom to find her perched on the alcove in my living room, gazing across the Willamette River with one bare foot dangling down. She cocks her arm against her knee and gazes pensively toward the sunset, her chestnut hair glowing in the golden light. On top of that, she’s wearing what we agree is the best of all the negligees she keeps in my penthouse. Sheer. Milky white. A silk robe that falls off her shoulders and grazes the floor. If you took a picture of her and printed it in a magazine, it would sell out.
But I don’t want her image printed in magazines. Not like this. It’s one thing for carefully posed photos of us to appear on the society pages when we attend parties. It’s quite another for the world to see this intimate, sexual side of her that I do. That’s for me alone.
Mine. All mine.
She tilts her head enough to see me out of the corner of her eye. “Hello, beautiful,” she says with a confident smile.
Me in my slacks, shirt, and slippers? “That’s my line, lovely.”
“Don’t care. Sometimes I get to throw your lines back at you, madam.”
Have I mentioned what a natural this woman is in my life? I could not have ever asked for a better girlfriend. Patient. Beautiful. Smart. Gorgeous. Instinctive. Elegant.
I like how she looks, all right?
Most of all, however, she knows exactly how to fit into my life. We work together at the office and play outside of it. We’re to the point where all I have to do is glance at her and she’s making love to me, using everything I’ve taught her to bring me to my knees. I can’t pay for this kind of intimacy. I don’t care what Presley tells anyone.
When I first seduced Alessa, I never counted on her becoming the foil to my dominant tendencies. I’m not saying she’s fragile. I’m saying she knows how to support me and forge her path with me by her side. What else could I possibly ask for?
I’m positively on cloud nine. The best part? I don’t even have to think about it. I simply adore her and don’t worry about anything else.
“Lessa,” I whisper into her ear. Little shudders travel across her skin. “What say we take this to the bedroom?”
She looks me up and down. “You’re the boss, madam. You want some nookie before settling in for the evening? I live to serve.”
She always knows what to say.
I help her off the alcove and escort her to my bedroom, where I push her onto my bed and rip my shirt over my head. No need to unbutton it. No need to unhook my bra when it’s already on the floor. There is definitely no need to unzip my pants when Alessa’s already doing it for me.
One of these days I’ll ensure the pleasure train starts at her station. But today is not that day, because the moment I sit on the edge of the bed and she puts her mouth on my pussy, I’m done for. This quickly turns into the Julianna Marcon show, and I have zero issues with that.
What I do have issues with, however, is her going into overdrive with that eager mouth of hers. Does she want me to come before I’ve barely had the chance to touch her? I don’t think so. That’s not how this works.
What will happen? I’m overpowering her on my bed, legs spread open and tits spilling out of her negligee. That look of surprise on her face inspires me to surprise her even more. Always keep her guessing, yes? Especially I’m freshly groomed and her body weeps for me.
I want my bed rocking. I want her rocking on my bed, completely unable to take all of me, to deal with my strength, to process what the fuck I’m doing to her, to us. Every time we have sex, my only goal is to make her come as hard as possible. Today, I want her to come quickly as well. I don’t always do that. Sometimes I want such complete control that I tell her when to come. Not tonight. My only goal is to make those eyes roll back and that voice scream into infinity because I’m the best lover she’s ever going to have.
If I have things my way, I’ll be the only lover she has.
“Jules…” Her gasp of adoration strikes me right in the heart. No woman has ever whispered my name like that, let alone in bed. Perhaps it’s how raw it is that draws my hand into her body, my legs splitting hers apart on the edge of the bed and my fingers spearing her where she lays. Her body shoots halfway up my bed from how hard I take her. Good. It’s making me reel too. The moment her soft, wet, warm body is around my touch, I know I can’t let go. It’s almost too much to bear… for the both of us. “Juli!”
I pin down her shoulders, her hands grabbing at the air and her head flying back, breasts heaving up, cunt sucking me in. I barely have to touch her now and she’s instantly wet and open for me. She lives for me fucking her. What the hell strokes a dominant’s ego more than that?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. When we have sex, I forget everything else going on in my life. I forget Presley breathing down my neck about this deal, that project, this opening, that closing. I forget my mother calling me to demand I break up with Alessa and date someone more my station. Preferably a man. I forget the blasted bachelor party and wedding coming up sooner than I’d like. I forget everything. Sometimes I even forget who I am, and it’s the best feeling of forgetfulness in the world.
It’s not only about having a beautiful young woman at your sexual beck and call. Yes, I get off on her asking me how she can please me when we’re alone. Obviously. But it’s not about that. It’s about completely letting go whenever I need. And I know that she’s letting go too.
Doesn’t she have shit that she worries about? She doesn’t talk much about her classes, other than occasionally asking me to help her with her Economics homework, but I know that there are things that stress her out as well. So why not have sex to forget about those things for a while? We both benefit from this wonderful arrangement.
So here we are. Having sex. Making love. I don’t care what you call it. All I know is that I never want it to end, even as my desire builds and that look on her face says she’s on another fucking planet. Why don’t I join her?
“Come for me, Lessa.” I know she’s on the brink. Maybe if I thrust harder, deeper, faster, she’ll come good enough to inspire me to do the same. “Let me see it.”
And feel it, but that’s a given. A woman can’t hide what her body does when it comes. She can, however, mask the expression on her face, contain her voice, or otherwise lessen the experience. I’ve had girlfriends like that before. They were so self-conscious that I would find their orgasms deplorable that they couldn’t simply be themselves. Which is a shame.
At least I don’t have to worry about Alessa. She’ll never hide who she is from me.
Ah, there it is now. Her climax.
I’ve gotten good at seeing it before feeling it. That twitch of her lips. The squeeze of her eyelids. That slight thrash of her head as she tries to control her erratic movements. I see that now before I feel her body clamp around me and attempt for dear fucking life to end me. That’s the crux of biology, isn’t it? Women have tried to bond with me, to lock me down since I was old enough to fuck. I know what I am. A catch of a young woman who comes from excellent stock, both genetically and financially. Even heiresses would kill to trap me in marriage, especially if I agreed to have children with them.
I knew I was in trouble when I reached the point where I was excited by the thought of settling down with Alessa. A fantasy that dissipates once the sexual fog lifts from my brain, but it’s a fantasy I could see us living out a few years from now.
At some point, I will want children. Perhaps with her. She says she’s not opposed, only more interested in establishing her life before tackling motherhood. I respect that. So much so that I’ll give myself over to the more extreme fantasies the moment her inner walls beg for my fingers to fuck her with finality and she screams in ecstasy.
Her eyes always roll back in her head and her mouth always falls open when I make her come. That’s the definition of Heaven for this bitch.
“Juli…” She doesn’t realize she’s saying half my name as I give her a few final thrusts, my fingers delighting in how pliable every corner of her is now that she’s too relaxed to move. I want to make sure she’s done, after all. “Shit.”
I fall atop her. Her body beneath mine… delectable. Think I’ll kiss her pretty pink lips. Who knew that this would be our fate when I took Presley up on that bet two months ago?
“Can I tell you something, Julianna?”
I leave a large kiss in the crook of her neck. “Anything, lovely.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She’s so full of good feelings that everything sounds like a good thing to share.
“I think I love you.”
She thinks. But does she know? Does she even realize that she’s shared sentiments like that with me before? Maybe not so bluntly, but I’ve known of her genuine affections for quite a while now. To say I’m not shocked is an understatement. “As you should. I’m the only woman you’ll ever need, Lessie.”
“I’m serious.” Her eyes flutter open. All right. She compels me to pull away from her and tidy up. Not because I’m trying to avoid the topic, but because I’m a pragmatic woman. If Alessa is going to get wrapped up in these thoughts, then I need to take charge and do what needs to be done. I can listen while I work. “I’m not saying that to make you happy or because it feels like the right thing to say.” She sits up, robe falling off her body and legs slowly shutting again. Is she going to be offended if I go wash up in the bathroom? “I do think that I’m falling in love with you, Jules, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Why in the world would you feel upset about having nice feelings toward me?”
At least she’s still blunt. “Because I have no idea how you feel about me.”
I suppose that is a conundrum for most. I won’t pretend to understand everything people worry about in their relationships. It’s not my job to understand. Suppose it is my job to listen, though. Especially if I fancy myself having a serious relationship with such a woman… so if Alessa is expressing any kind of doubt, I must be right there listening to her.
Right?
“I feel many wonderful things for you, Lessa.” As tempting as it is to say that with a chuckle, I refrain. If my girlfriend is saying things like this, then I need to be so sensitive that no other respectable woman would take me seriously. “I’m fine if we don’t say any big L words right now. As long as you are too.”
“Jules…”
“We’ve got many potential years ahead of us.” That’s right, I said the Y word. Years. Together. Suppose that’s two words… “Just because we had sex right away doesn’t mean we have to rush through everything else. Although when your lease is up, I suggest moving in here.”
Alessa sits up, her tangled hair brushing against my skin. So soft. So… what’s the word for it? Delightful? Think I’ll go with that. “It’s not only about our pace, Jules. It’s the fact that you’re a relatively closed-off woman. You say a lot of nice things, you do a lot of nice things… but sometimes it’s difficult for me to ascertain how sincere they are. Are you saying and doing nice things because you genuinely want to, or because you know that’s what I want?”
With any other woman, I would have the perfect answer on standby. “I’m saying whatever will make you happy.” Alessa’s right. I’m a closed-off bitch. When I do feel emotions, I bottle them up. Redirect them through work, exercise, sex… I was raised to keep all my feelings to myself. For most of my twenties, that sage Marcon advice took good care of me. Now that I’m in my thirties? Perhaps it’s time to reevaluate what I want my emotions to do for me.
With Alessa, however, I need to change my tactics.
“Honesty is the best policy, yes?”
She narrows her eyes, exasperated. “Of course.”
“Then I’ll be honest with you. I enjoy spending my days and evenings with you, Lessa. I enjoy what we explore with one another. I enjoy waking up to see your beautiful face, and you make my damn day when you strut into my office. Even if it’s to talk charts and schedules and not to bend over with your ass in the air.”
My girlfriend rolls her eyes. “This is the closest to a love confession I’m ever going to get,” she mutters. “Typical Julianna Marcon.”
“Is it so bad? I don’t expect you to say that you love me right now.”
She rolls back onto her pillow and pulls the covers up over her breasts. So much for the view. “But you wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.”
“Lessie, if there’s a problem, please tell me.” I don’t want to play games. I also don’t want her angry at me because I misread her mood. The more peace exists between us, the happier we can be. And what’s the point of all of this if we’re not happy, damnit?
“No problem, Jules. Guess I’m as confused as you are, which is fine.”
“I never said I was confused.”
She sighs. “I am now.”
Soon, we fall asleep. I don’t know how my girlfriend feels, but I know how I feel.
Good.