She checked her appearance in the mirror and grinned. The last four times he'd asked her out, on the last four Saturday nights, dressed to kill at eight o'clock sharp had gone exactly like the first one. He'd kissed her and dinner had been forgotten. They'd made love, eaten and then made love again until dawn when he left her. Tonight she was dressed to kill and it was almost eight o'clock sharp. But tonight there it was going to be difference.
It was the perfect night for it. A warm and soft summer night, the sort of night that made your throat go tight and your heart ache. The sort of full-mooned night that defined romantic and she'd opened the apartment to it, letting in the scent of fresh mown grass and the flowers in the garden to mingle with the flowers she'd added inside, with rose petals scattered in the living room and the bedroom. Candlelight and soft romantic music. Dry champagne and caviar. Smoked salmon and steamed, spiced shrimp already peeled. Crusty french bagettes so fresh they were almost still warm. Fresh, ripe berries, dark, rich chocolates and pungent cheeses. Egyptian cotton sheets, 1000 thread count and softer than silk on the king size bed. But the main course she was offering was her, in a black lace bustier shot with glints of metallic red thread, stockings and the highest black spikes she could find. Her hair was down, in tumbling cascades of curls, her nails and lips scarlet, and her perfume musky and seductive.
When he knocked she smiled and moved to the door, no lights but the candles and a soft lamp in the kitchen. She opened it and leaned against the door jamb, her smile inviting and promising, her lips gleaming, a hand on her hip and the other stretched above her head along the lintel. "Hello," she breathed.
He was, as usual, dressed in a tux. He'd been smiling, but it faded, as he took her in. He hadn't got past her, to notice the rest of the apartment, his eyes traveling the entire distance, head to high-heeled toe, and then back again, stopping at her eyes the second time round. Finally he moved, wrapping her up in his arms, bending down to meet her lips. Somehow he managed to get her and himself inside and close the door behind him.
One hand wrapped itself in her soft curls, the other was on her butt pulling her in as close to himself as he could get her. His interest was, after a mere second or two, entirely, burningly hotly apparent.
She laughed, deep in her throat, a husky sound of delight and surrender and gave him everything he demanded, everything he wanted and then found things he hadn't thought of, all in a single kiss that made her melt. When he freed her lips to move his along her jaw and down the column of her throat she laughed again. "Perhaps, this time, you should cancel the reservation," she whispered, her lips scorching across his shoulder.
"The hell with it," he replied. "I'm busy." He was backing her up toward the bed. "You do know how to get and keep my attention."
"That was the plan, honey," she said, letting the southern drawl loose, using the cadences of it like a hand to stroke him with molten, wanton desire. When he lifted his lips from her neck she claimed his mouth and made it her own, exploring every bit of it, while stripping his tie away and then ripping his shirt apart. He was already burning under her hands when she laid them on his skin and swept them up to his shoulders pushing his jacket and shirt together off his shoulders, trapping his arms, restricting his reach. Then leaving him like that she freed his mouth and claimed his chest, branding him hers with her tongue and teeth and fingers. The ragged sound of his breathing was the first reward, the first trophy she had her sights on; the first involuntary moan the second. She had plans for many more.
"You're killing me," he moaned. "Is that the plan?"
"Yes," she said and reached for his belt, slipping it open then skimming her hands down over his hips and back, lingering as his muscles clenched and then relaxed when she drew her nails down and over the curve of his butt, then the tops of his thighs. Pleased with the result, the growing tension in him, she brought her hands back to his belt and undid the button, and then, making it a caress, drawn out, explicit and deliberate, she lowered the zipper, and equally slowly smoothed his trousers off, over his hips and downward, to pool around his ankles on the floor.
His hands toyed with the laces of her bustier, his breathing even more ragged, his head dropping down with the avowed and obvious purpose of putting his lips to her breasts.
She arched towards him, her hands clenching on his hips to steady herself. "I wasn't finished," she said. "It's not your turn."
"Ah, I see. By all means, then, continue. I'm at your service entirely."
She laughed, soft and low, her teeth teasing his earlobe, her tongue swirling over his ear. "Tell me what you want," she whispered. "Whatever you want," she promised.
"You. All of you. Every delicious inch of you," he replied, his hands going round to her butt and pulling her in to him.
"That's already yours," she said and maneuvered him around and then backed him against the bed, toppling him on to the mattress. She put one knee between his legs and her hands on either side of his head, leaning forward over him and lowered herself slowly downward, using the tips of her breasts to caress him and traced his lips with her tongue. "What else? Or should I just experiment? Extrapolate based on your response?"
"Hmmm.. That sounds like a plan," he replied as he ran his hands along her hips and down onto her thighs. "I like experiments."
"Me too," she said and shifted to straddle him. "Let me know if there's an experimental result I miss," she instructed and then set herself to explore every inch of him, to touch and taste it, with endless care and attention, as slowly as she could, savoring every second of it. She moved down his body, caressing him in every way she could imagine, using her hair to tease him, her nails to drawn along his skin and rasping the hair on his legs, her fingers sometimes soft and sometimes firm and demanding, molding him to her specifications, her tongue and lips to brand him with her passage and to soothe, to let the fire smolder until the next time she fanned it anew, rubbing his legs with hers, pandering to her own senses by writing her name on him with her nose. Then she reached his foot and took the first toe in her mouth. She paid each digit meticulous attention before turning to the next, lavishing herself on all ten of them before retracing her route up the other leg and towards his groin, losing herself in the musky male scent of him. And there she paused, lingered, slowed and then stopped, with him in her mouth, his hands buried in her hair, clenching on her skull and collected a number of new trophies before he broke and stopped her.
"Wait, no," he begged. "Not yet, you on top. I want to watch you climax."
She lifted her head and smiled, then drew herself up, along him and settled herself, her knees gripping his hips and her hands back along his head. She lowered her mouth to his, kissing him and gave him what he asked for, taking him, all of him, inside of her in fluid downward motion. Then she let him set the rhythm, matching her movements to his pleasure.
He kept his eyes on her, one hand massaging her as the other helped to steady her. As she began to arch back, he thrust harder upwards and put both hands on her hips so she could concentrate on her orgasm as he took over control of the movements. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, beautiful woman. Reach for it."
She gasped as he thrust upward, powerful and hard, impossibly deep inside of her and then shuddered as he did it again, and then again, driving her higher and higher until screaming his name, never taking her eyes from his, she convulsed around him, on him, giving him what he wanted.
She heard his own breathing change and felt the first shudder as he began to orgasm. She found the last bit of strength she had left and squeezed her muscles and drove herself up and down on him as he orgasmed into her. He held her onto him, his eyes locked on hers.
As his orgasm ended he pulled her down to lay beside him, kissing her mouth and her eyes and wrapping her up in his arms. She molded herself along him, nestled there and listened as his breathing evened out in time with hers, his heart slowed with hers.
"How did I ever get so lucky," he asked. "Look at you. You've no idea how you make me feel."
"I only know how you make me feel," she said. "Crazy, insane, wanting you."
"Maybe it's contagious," he said with a chuckle. He buried his face in her hair.
She sighed. "You terrify me, you know."
He lifted his face from her hair and met her eyes. "Why is that?"
"I know your name, I know everything about you physically available to my senses and nothing else. I'm in love with you and I don't know where you live or what you do from dawn on Sunday to eight o'clock sharp on Saturday night."
He rolled over onto his back and laid his head on the pillow. "Shit."
"Which does that apply to?" she asked, staying still, her voice quiet. "The I don't know anything about you, the I'm in love with you or both?"
He lifted his head and rolled over so he could prop his head up on his arm. His other hand reached for hers. He played with her fingers as he thought, his eyes hidden from hers.
"I promised I wouldn't lie to you. So not talking about me is the only safe way I can see to manage that. I suppose you could ask me what you really want to know, but I'm going to have to not answer some questions."
"Because what you do from Sunday to Saturday is something that would cause me problems?"
"Bobbie... Really. It's easier if you don't know. Better for you."
She rolled to face him, propping her head like his and traced his mouth with her other hand. "How long do you think this will last if you don't trust me?"
"As long as we want it to?" he suggested.
"And if I want you for forever and as far past that as there exists?"
He closed his eyes, and was silent for what felt like a very long time. Finally, he said, "I'd have to make some changes then."
She sighed and pressed her fingers to his mouth. "Someday, when you're ready," she said. "I'm stuck. I adore you and I can wait."
"Look, it isn't that I don't trust you. I just don't want to put you in an impossible position. Also, it isn't just me. I can't burn others. I just can't."
"Hush," she said and shifted closer, kissing him. When she lifted her head she was smiling. "Would you like a drink?"
"Sure. I never said how fabulous you look."
"You showed me," she said.
It was the perfect night for it. A warm and soft summer night, the sort of night that made your throat go tight and your heart ache. The sort of full-mooned night that defined romantic and she'd opened the apartment to it, letting in the scent of fresh mown grass and the flowers in the garden to mingle with the flowers she'd added inside, with rose petals scattered in the living room and the bedroom. Candlelight and soft romantic music. Dry champagne and caviar. Smoked salmon and steamed, spiced shrimp already peeled. Crusty french bagettes so fresh they were almost still warm. Fresh, ripe berries, dark, rich chocolates and pungent cheeses. Egyptian cotton sheets, 1000 thread count and softer than silk on the king size bed. But the main course she was offering was her, in a black lace bustier shot with glints of metallic red thread, stockings and the highest black spikes she could find. Her hair was down, in tumbling cascades of curls, her nails and lips scarlet, and her perfume musky and seductive.
When he knocked she smiled and moved to the door, no lights but the candles and a soft lamp in the kitchen. She opened it and leaned against the door jamb, her smile inviting and promising, her lips gleaming, a hand on her hip and the other stretched above her head along the lintel. "Hello," she breathed.
He was, as usual, dressed in a tux. He'd been smiling, but it faded, as he took her in. He hadn't got past her, to notice the rest of the apartment, his eyes traveling the entire distance, head to high-heeled toe, and then back again, stopping at her eyes the second time round. Finally he moved, wrapping her up in his arms, bending down to meet her lips. Somehow he managed to get her and himself inside and close the door behind him.
One hand wrapped itself in her soft curls, the other was on her butt pulling her in as close to himself as he could get her. His interest was, after a mere second or two, entirely, burningly hotly apparent.
She laughed, deep in her throat, a husky sound of delight and surrender and gave him everything he demanded, everything he wanted and then found things he hadn't thought of, all in a single kiss that made her melt. When he freed her lips to move his along her jaw and down the column of her throat she laughed again. "Perhaps, this time, you should cancel the reservation," she whispered, her lips scorching across his shoulder.
"The hell with it," he replied. "I'm busy." He was backing her up toward the bed. "You do know how to get and keep my attention."
"That was the plan, honey," she said, letting the southern drawl loose, using the cadences of it like a hand to stroke him with molten, wanton desire. When he lifted his lips from her neck she claimed his mouth and made it her own, exploring every bit of it, while stripping his tie away and then ripping his shirt apart. He was already burning under her hands when she laid them on his skin and swept them up to his shoulders pushing his jacket and shirt together off his shoulders, trapping his arms, restricting his reach. Then leaving him like that she freed his mouth and claimed his chest, branding him hers with her tongue and teeth and fingers. The ragged sound of his breathing was the first reward, the first trophy she had her sights on; the first involuntary moan the second. She had plans for many more.
"You're killing me," he moaned. "Is that the plan?"
"Yes," she said and reached for his belt, slipping it open then skimming her hands down over his hips and back, lingering as his muscles clenched and then relaxed when she drew her nails down and over the curve of his butt, then the tops of his thighs. Pleased with the result, the growing tension in him, she brought her hands back to his belt and undid the button, and then, making it a caress, drawn out, explicit and deliberate, she lowered the zipper, and equally slowly smoothed his trousers off, over his hips and downward, to pool around his ankles on the floor.
His hands toyed with the laces of her bustier, his breathing even more ragged, his head dropping down with the avowed and obvious purpose of putting his lips to her breasts.
She arched towards him, her hands clenching on his hips to steady herself. "I wasn't finished," she said. "It's not your turn."
"Ah, I see. By all means, then, continue. I'm at your service entirely."
She laughed, soft and low, her teeth teasing his earlobe, her tongue swirling over his ear. "Tell me what you want," she whispered. "Whatever you want," she promised.
"You. All of you. Every delicious inch of you," he replied, his hands going round to her butt and pulling her in to him.
"That's already yours," she said and maneuvered him around and then backed him against the bed, toppling him on to the mattress. She put one knee between his legs and her hands on either side of his head, leaning forward over him and lowered herself slowly downward, using the tips of her breasts to caress him and traced his lips with her tongue. "What else? Or should I just experiment? Extrapolate based on your response?"
"Hmmm.. That sounds like a plan," he replied as he ran his hands along her hips and down onto her thighs. "I like experiments."
"Me too," she said and shifted to straddle him. "Let me know if there's an experimental result I miss," she instructed and then set herself to explore every inch of him, to touch and taste it, with endless care and attention, as slowly as she could, savoring every second of it. She moved down his body, caressing him in every way she could imagine, using her hair to tease him, her nails to drawn along his skin and rasping the hair on his legs, her fingers sometimes soft and sometimes firm and demanding, molding him to her specifications, her tongue and lips to brand him with her passage and to soothe, to let the fire smolder until the next time she fanned it anew, rubbing his legs with hers, pandering to her own senses by writing her name on him with her nose. Then she reached his foot and took the first toe in her mouth. She paid each digit meticulous attention before turning to the next, lavishing herself on all ten of them before retracing her route up the other leg and towards his groin, losing herself in the musky male scent of him. And there she paused, lingered, slowed and then stopped, with him in her mouth, his hands buried in her hair, clenching on her skull and collected a number of new trophies before he broke and stopped her.
"Wait, no," he begged. "Not yet, you on top. I want to watch you climax."
She lifted her head and smiled, then drew herself up, along him and settled herself, her knees gripping his hips and her hands back along his head. She lowered her mouth to his, kissing him and gave him what he asked for, taking him, all of him, inside of her in fluid downward motion. Then she let him set the rhythm, matching her movements to his pleasure.
He kept his eyes on her, one hand massaging her as the other helped to steady her. As she began to arch back, he thrust harder upwards and put both hands on her hips so she could concentrate on her orgasm as he took over control of the movements. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, beautiful woman. Reach for it."
She gasped as he thrust upward, powerful and hard, impossibly deep inside of her and then shuddered as he did it again, and then again, driving her higher and higher until screaming his name, never taking her eyes from his, she convulsed around him, on him, giving him what he wanted.
She heard his own breathing change and felt the first shudder as he began to orgasm. She found the last bit of strength she had left and squeezed her muscles and drove herself up and down on him as he orgasmed into her. He held her onto him, his eyes locked on hers.
As his orgasm ended he pulled her down to lay beside him, kissing her mouth and her eyes and wrapping her up in his arms. She molded herself along him, nestled there and listened as his breathing evened out in time with hers, his heart slowed with hers.
"How did I ever get so lucky," he asked. "Look at you. You've no idea how you make me feel."
"I only know how you make me feel," she said. "Crazy, insane, wanting you."
"Maybe it's contagious," he said with a chuckle. He buried his face in her hair.
She sighed. "You terrify me, you know."
He lifted his face from her hair and met her eyes. "Why is that?"
"I know your name, I know everything about you physically available to my senses and nothing else. I'm in love with you and I don't know where you live or what you do from dawn on Sunday to eight o'clock sharp on Saturday night."
He rolled over onto his back and laid his head on the pillow. "Shit."
"Which does that apply to?" she asked, staying still, her voice quiet. "The I don't know anything about you, the I'm in love with you or both?"
He lifted his head and rolled over so he could prop his head up on his arm. His other hand reached for hers. He played with her fingers as he thought, his eyes hidden from hers.
"I promised I wouldn't lie to you. So not talking about me is the only safe way I can see to manage that. I suppose you could ask me what you really want to know, but I'm going to have to not answer some questions."
"Because what you do from Sunday to Saturday is something that would cause me problems?"
"Bobbie... Really. It's easier if you don't know. Better for you."
She rolled to face him, propping her head like his and traced his mouth with her other hand. "How long do you think this will last if you don't trust me?"
"As long as we want it to?" he suggested.
"And if I want you for forever and as far past that as there exists?"
He closed his eyes, and was silent for what felt like a very long time. Finally, he said, "I'd have to make some changes then."
She sighed and pressed her fingers to his mouth. "Someday, when you're ready," she said. "I'm stuck. I adore you and I can wait."
"Look, it isn't that I don't trust you. I just don't want to put you in an impossible position. Also, it isn't just me. I can't burn others. I just can't."
"Hush," she said and shifted closer, kissing him. When she lifted her head she was smiling. "Would you like a drink?"
"Sure. I never said how fabulous you look."
"You showed me," she said.
The Seal of Solomon
Chapter Two