From that day forward, I approached post-hookup etiquette with civility and honesty.
The next morning, our eyes met when Jasmine walked into the war room. My cock jumped in my pants, remembering how she'd looked when she came against my mouth. I fired off a text message saying that I enjoyed the evening, and I couldn't wait to do it again.
Four hours later, Jasmine had leaned against my desk with her skirt bunched at her waist, and my face buried in her pussy. Her head had turned from side to side as she quietly moaned my name. After she came twice, she gave me a long, sensuous kiss, slipped from my arms and sprinted to the airport shuttle. I'd immediately regretted not driving her to the airport. That's what boyfriends do, right?
Saturday and Sunday crawled at a turtle's pace. Jasmine had continually crept into my thoughts. We'd texted off and on through the weekend, but it only made me want her more. I'd tossed and turned all night. Jacking off with her panties had done nothing to curb my desire. So, I'd worked out. I ran further and faster than I'd ever run. I lifted weights the size of boulders and did sit-ups until my abs were ripped into shreds.
By Monday morning, I was a ball of unspent energy, which dissipated the moment she walked into the war room. I'd exercised considerable restraint because I'd wanted to sprint over and kiss that mouth. Before we could sufficiently say hello or even catch up on our weekends, we were separated by blocks of meetings and responsibilities.
Mid-August was the start of the annual budgeting process. I worked with Hunter and other direct reports to review department road maps and develop a fiscal strategy and forecast. I spent the week rushing from meeting to meeting and working late hours. One night we attended a dinner hosted by Parker Wallace. During the dinner, Jasmine and I sat at opposite sides of the table and pretended to be nothing more than pleasant coworkers. To be so close and not able to caress her made it impossible to concentrate that evening.
For four days, our chaotic schedules prevented us from spending time together. We were finally alone.
Three years ago, I'd purchased a condo on the twenty-fourth floor of a towering building. The floor to ceiling windows with front and center views of downtown Chicago sealed the deal. I'd worked with a designer to select the dark woods and leather décor and the best finishes and appliances that money could buy. I had premium bedding, plush towels, and high-end cookware. All the things that make a house a home. Yet, now that Jasmine was in it, I realized the house had never felt complete.
"This view . . . it's gorgeous. I can't believe you live this high above the city. What a beautiful building." Her eyes wandered the space in apparent approval. She walked over to the window and stared off into the distance. I stood behind her, and she melted into me. I inhaled her scent before I rested my chin on her head and pointed out buildings of interest along the skyline.
"The fridge is fully stocked. I ordered your favorite cereal, cut fruit and sparkling water. You'll sleep in my bedroom, and I'll sleep in the guest room.
"Oh." Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I assumed we would sleep together."
"Remember, we said we'd take it slow. This is me taking it slow. I think you'll find my bed comfortable."
"Thank you for inviting me."
I lifted her suitcase and led her to the master bedroom. She walked into the space and exhaled a small gasp that pleased me, reminding me of when we'd shared the hotel room. A week had passed since I'd pleased her, and I wanted to do it again. She spun around.
"I have an incredible weekend planned—dinner and sightseeing. Tonight, we'll hang out around here. I ordered in Chinese food. We can watch movies. Or if you'd like, you can take a bubble bath or a steam shower. I bought Hermès body products specifically for you."
"Thank you. That sounds like the perfect plan. I'll change out of these work clothes."
"I'll give you space."
I walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle from the wine fridge. When Jasmine returned to the living room in a long-sleeved, gray t-shirt and leggings with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, mischief was written across her freshly washed face. She looked down at the words on her shirt—Duke University.
I can do better than that.
I excused myself. In my master closet, I quickly located a navy blue Michigan t-shirt. I slid on a pair of gray sweatpants emblazoned with Michigan down the side. I returned to the kitchen with a smug smile on my face. On the countertop, a bottle of wine breathed, and I poured the red into the wine glasses and walked to the sectional sofa where Jasmine sat. She was reading something on her iPad, and she was so engrossed that she didn't notice me standing in front of her. She startled ever so slightly when I ran the stemless glass over her hand, but she took it, smiling gratefully.
Her eyes widened as she looked at me from head to toe, her gaze landing on my crotch. Catching herself, she met the bright gold letters on my t-shirt and laughed. I whipped out my phone and navigated through the music app until I found chill-out lounge music. The languid tones reverberated against the living room walls. I sat next to her and pulled her closer.
Between our proximity, her clean, feminine scent, and the wine, the week's stresses washed away. Raising the glass to my lips, I took a long sip of the red.
"The Seven Deadly Zins is good. You have excellent taste." I leaned in and kissed her cheek. Her body relaxed as I moved my lips along her soft flesh. "You taste good too."
"I'm glad you like it." She downed the rest of the glass and sank back against my chest.
Which one? I chuckled and pulled away from her. My hand massaged her shoulder before tracing my thumb up and down her spine. Lips parted, a soft moan escaped her lips as she nodded.
"Don't stop." Her voice was so seductive. My hand crept from her waist to her hip and moved along to her inner thigh. My fingers paused at the heat coming from her warm and tempting pussy. She opened her legs wider, a silent encouragement to continue the trek. I adjusted in my seat to accommodate my growing cock.
Take it slow, Garrett. You've got to be honest with her. I pulled my hand back and administered two light pats to her thigh. "The food should be here shortly." Groaning, I pulled away and returned to the kitchen with our wine glasses. I filled my glass to the brim and took another big gulp. I closed my eyes and let the liquid flow down my throat. When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me with a quizzical expression.
Thankfully, the doorman called to alert that the takeout had arrived. I rushed out of the condo and rode down the elevator to pick up the bags of carryout. I tipped the delivery guy and slowly walked to the elevator. I needed the moment alone to steel myself for what I was about to confess to Jasmine. She would be okay with it, or she would hate me.
I stacked the containers of beef and broccoli and General Tso's chicken on the dining table. The spicy aromas wafted through the dining area.
"I'll get the plates," she offered.
"Top cabinet to the right of the sink."
She returned to the table with two dinner plates and peered over at the Styrofoam containers and cardboard cartons.
"Mmm. Crab Rangoon, egg rolls, and garlicky green beans? Garrett, I like your style."
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything."
"Good, because I like it all."