Like It Was The Last Fuck of Our Lives (page 2)
She started unbuttoning her blouse, stopping just below her breasts. But she pulled the shirt open so that he could see her bra and a bit of her tummy. He smiled slyly at her.
“You take off your top,” she shot back.
“Okay,” he shrugged.
She watched him strip off his T-shirt and she felt herself swoon a little. He had such well-defined pecs, almost like two perfect rectangles. And he was hairless, which she liked. He didn’t have a six pack, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his stomach. He was older than she was, by about eight years, which was old enough for her to indulge her daddy fantasies, something she was still at odds with. What does that say about me? It had nothing to do with her own father, of course, more to do with a desire to be overpowered. She enjoyed the feeling of relinquishing control to someone stronger than she. Paradoxically, the more power she gave a lover, the more in control she felt she actually was. All the while the man still thought himself the one in charge. Let them have their fantasy. When the truth of the matter was, she could end everything at any second. And then where would he be?
He grabbed a glass from underneath the bar and poured a generous serving of wine. He brought it to her, his bare feet pattering across the stone floor: another plus. She wasn’t a fetishist by any means, but she thought he had very pretty feet. He was, in every other way, such a manly man, she hated to say. On most men, that wasn’t a positive. But he wore it well. On him, it wasn’t brutish or rude, it was comfortable and attractive. She still couldn’t picture him getting a pedicure, but she appreciated it was a practice he followed. And there was something in their different modes of dress tonight that she found appealing. She, dressed in an expensive silk blouse, tight black skirt, Miu Miu heels and him so casual in a T-shirt and jeans. He handed her the wine.
“Aren’t you drinking anything?” she asked him, accepting her glass.
“Drinking you in,” he said. Then he nodded his head at her. “One more button.”
She handed him the glass and unbuttoned one more button, then the next, the blouse parting fully when she did. He handed her the glass and now, free-handed, he cupped her breasts with his palms and gently squeezed. His fingertips found their way to her nipples. He moved his mouth to her ear.
“I’m glad you came over,” he whispered.
Suddenly, it seemed like things were getting sexual too fast. She wasn’t ready. Why, she didn’t know.
“What was I going to do? Tell you no?” she asked lightly, walking away from him. “I never tell you no.”
“You don’t,” he said, thoughtful. “You never do. That makes me think you really like me or that I’m the only one.”
“The only one what?”
“The only one who fucks you.”
How he said it! And the way he looked at her! God, it drove her crazy. His eyes were so brown they were almost black but they had a gleam to them. When he smiled he looked like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing but didn’t feel guilty about it in the least. What did that say about him? That he was a boy who liked being caught.
“If I told you you weren’t the only one, would that change your opinion of me?”
He walked back to the kitchen to get his drink. He paused a moment. Was he thinking about it? she wondered.
“You’re not fucking anyone else,” he told her. “Just me.”
She was staring at the yard now, through the wall of glass that made up the back of the house. There was the glowing blue circle of the hot tub, the soft emerald shine of the accompanying pool. Sometimes they’d make love in the hot tub. Never the pool, though. She would lean against the wall of the hot tub, facing the neighbor’s house. What would happen if the neighbor came out and saw them? Would it turn him on? That someone was watching him fucking her? If a neighbor did appear, she fantasized that she would just offer a casual wave. But she knew in reality she would be completely embarrassed and sink into the water. She might never come up.
He came to stand behind her now. She could see him in the reflection in the glass. She watched him take a drink.
“Because I’m enough for you,” he said confidently. “Kiss me.”
She liked it when he told her what to do. For one, it took the guesswork out of everything. She didn’t have to angst over what would be the right move, what would turn him on more, even though they’d been lovers for so long now she knew exactly what to do. But once it took away the fear that she would do something he wouldn’t like, and in the first months of their relationship, making sure she didn’t do that was crucial.
She turned around and kissed him.
Then she took her free hand and placed it on his chest. She smoothed it down slowly until she stopped at the waist of his jeans. Then she walked to the couch and sat down. She crossed her legs and stared at him. Like it was a job interview. Like he was there to entertain her.