“Not until I’ve dated other people?”
“Maybe.” I stroke the front of her thighs. Right along the edge of her panties.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I just want to rub against you.”
Need pools low inside me, her murmured words conjuring a filthy fantasy I can’t fully admit. Forbidden, dangerous thoughts that make me a bad man. She sounds so fucking innocent, a siren-by-accident. An unknowing temptress who will find herself full of cock before she knows it.
But this is Grace.
She does know it. She’s a sex connoisseur, and she’s tapped into something here.
“We can’t have sex,” I mutter again.
Her voice goes soft and dreamy. “I know.” Then she rolls her hips. “Is this okay?”
“Does it feel good?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“You can rub against me, as long as it feels good.” I’m going to hell. I roll us around so I’m on the bottom and she’s perched on top of me. I stroke her back with my fingertips. “Be a good girl for me and figure out what feels good.”
She mewls at that, a horny, wild sound I’ve never heard before, and her thighs clench down on my hips. Slowly, she rocks against my erection, and I whisper filth into her ear.
“There are two ways it can feel good. You have a perfect, wet little hole that wants a cock in it, and that will feel nice, if you rub that opening against my cock. Mmm. See how hard I get when you do that? That makes me want to do bad things to you. But I won’t. We can’t. You need to keep your panties on, okay?”
“Mmm hmm.” She shudders. “Oh, this feels so good.”
I drift my hands lower, to cup her ass and adjust her angle a little. “And there’s another spot you can rub against me.”
“My clit,” she whispers. “I like that spot. I touch it at night.”
Now it’s my turn to make feral, ungodly sounds. “Tell me about that.”
“That’s how I get to sleep at night. I rub my clit with two fingers, around and around, and think about bad men who call themselves Daddy touching me under the covers.”
Her words slide into my brain and push on live wires I have never consciously allowed myself to connect before. “Grace…” I gasp as she rocks her hips. “Yes. Fuck. Rub against me.”
She presses her face into my neck, her breath hot against my skin, and I jerk my hips, desperate to come with her, wishing we weren’t closed, wishing I knew how to do this without hurting, wishing I was touching her under a blanket and making her come on my fingers first, then my cock.
“You can always ask me for this,” I settle on, my voice cracking as her breath quickens, her hips flying now. “This is safe. This is just for us. Nobody else will ever know that we like this. God, you feel good. Yes. Come for me. Come on Daddy’s cock, Grace. Do it. Fuck. Fuck, you’re so little, so perfect, so hot, fuck I’m coming Grace…”
“Do you still want dinner?”
She looks at me wide-eyed. “Uh…”
“Fuck, was that too far?”
“No.” She whispers it. A single sound. Then she shakes her head. “That was hot.”
“I didn’t think—”
“I started it.” She kisses me, quickly, then glances down at my crotch. “Do you need to clean up?”
“Yeah.” Which is easier said than done in a single room loft. I get my, my pants a sticky disaster, and ignore that the best I can as I grab a change of clothes from the suitcase on the floor. Then I toss them on the bed, because fuck it, she’s my fucking wife, and I cross to the bathroom instead.
Leaving the door open as I strip out of my clothes, I wet a washcloth and scrub jizz off my belly. Then I stalk back to the bed and pull on boxers and fresh jeans. Good enough for now.
“You’re freaking out,” she finally says.
I shrug.
“It’s okay, Luke. It was just sex.”
That was not just anything. “Mmm hmmm.”
“Look at me.” She says it softly, and I blink down at her. She has a smile that matches the tone of her voice. Gentle.
I don’t want gentle, I want safe.
Maybe for the first time, I get the difference. She’s being gentle as fuck with me, but this doesn’t feel safe at all. “Those things I said…”
“Were fine. And hot. And what I needed to get off in a pretty spectacular way.” She stands and adjusts her halter top. “Now to answer your question, yes, I do still want dinner, but I’m going to have to change first, because there’s no way I’m leaving the building like this.”
24
Grace
We don’t do it again. I don’t know why. I don’t feel like seducing him again, probably, and he doesn’t initiate it, which irritates me for reasons I know I have no right to be irritated by. So after another week, I decide, fuck it, I’m going to try his dating plan.
Not with the P.O. Box. Nobody needs to know my husband is still pining for me, that’s weird. Not to me, it’s secretly starting to feel very sweet to me in a dangerous way, but it would be weird to anyone outside our relationship.
Instead, I download a couple of apps, and try my hand at internet flirting with strangers.
It’s not fun at all.
The first date is a non-event, a complete disaster of nothingness. I show up, I order a drink at the bar, and I people watch. No sign of the guy who I emailed back and forth with a bit. Nobody who looks anything like his picture. He finally arrives ten minutes after the hour, and it’s awkward and painful.
I give him twenty minutes, then my phone rings. It’s actually an alarm I set, but he can’t see my screen and doesn’t know that. I turn off the alarm, pretend to answer a call, and get the hell out of there.
On my way home, I pick up a bottle of expensive red wine and a takeout order of lobster mac and cheese. While it heats in my oven, I have a shower and wash off the failure of my first date in eighteen years, and think about all the reasons why I can’t just send Luke a picture of me in pigtails and see what happens.
At nine o’clock, I send a mean text message to Luke. Mean, because I purposefully leave a lot of doubt as to how my evening is going.
It feels good.
Grace: Had my first date tonight.
It takes him a few minutes to reply.
Luke: Okay.
Jackass. This was his idea. I don’t care if he doesn’t like it. Actually, I care a great deal. I don’t want him to like it.
I put my phone on do not disturb mode and flip to Tumblr. I’m having sex tonight, even if it’s just by myself. I’m going to have a lot of sex tonight.
Red wine and lobster fuelled sex, so it’s probably going to be weird.
The second date is five days later. This one smells good. A little spicy and warm. He smells like a stranger. He smells exciting. And when he touches me on the arm, guiding me from the bar to our table, it feels good. It feels a little wrong, too, but mostly it feels good.
This is a secret pleasure that's just for me. From the first inhale of his peppery cologne, I knew this date would only be one night, but it might be a very good night.