She whirls on me, fingers playing in the fabric of my shirt. “I’m famished. Take me to the food.”
I lead her to the table that’s now laden with a variety of covered dishes. Not for the first time I find myself marveling at Laurence’s magic — I look under the lids to find it’s all still perfectly hot.
“Whoa,” Emmy says, taking in the scene before her eyes fly to my face, “did you do this?”
I raise my hands in surrender. “I have something to confess.”
She cocks her head to one side. “Oh really?” Intuitive as she is, Emmy knows that I’m not being exactly serious.
“I am a terrible cook. Sorry.” I offer a pretend wince. “So I hire help. This is all Laurence’s doing, my chef.”
Her mouth dangles. “You have a personal chef?”
I shrug. “It sounds more impressive than it is. I’m just lucky that I don’t have to fend for myself because I’d certainly starve. Shall we see what he’s made for us?”
She answers by plunking herself into one of the upholstered chairs. I take the other, marveling at how comfortable this feels, sharing dinner like we’ve known each other far longer than a few days.
Together we remove the warming lids from the food, both of us voicing our appreciation for Laurence’s creations.
There’s a beet salad with goat cheese and prosciutto-wrapped shrimp as the starters. Then comes a main dish of seared salmon with a garnish of tomato jam and a side of buttery roasted asparagus that almost literally melts in our mouths. Apparently Laurence thought we’d be extra ravenous, because there’s a second main course, this one a bacon and butternut squash risotto. For dessert we feast on cheesecake.
Laurence always makes a mean meal. But he must have had an inkling that I wasn’t having just anyone over for dinner, because he’s outdone himself.
“Well,” Emmy says when she’s had the final bite of her cheesecake. She sets down her fork and rocks back in her chair, hands on her belly. “That was incredible. And now I may never move again.”
“I’ll definitely never need to eat again,” I nod, weighing how uncouth it might be to loosen my belt before deciding against it.
“Why would you want to, after that amazingness?” She reaches a hand for me and I take it, our fingers interlacing. “Thank you.”
“Thank Laurence, this is all him.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to make love to Laurence.” She leans over, taking my face in her palms and giving me light kisses that taste of sugar and cream.
“Thank goodness,” I murmur, tangling my hands in her hair and turning her feathery kisses as hard as my dick.
“Will you let me?” Emmy whispers, exploring my face with her fingertips. I shiver under her touch.
“Let you what?” I ask, distracted and confused.
Her lips curve into a smile that drips lascivious promises. “Make love to you.”
I shake my head and she pouts, which possibly only makes her more beautiful. “No,” I say, a teasing lilt entering my voice, “let’s make love to each other.”
Emmy
If you’d asked me three days ago if I thought a life-long relationship was in the cards for me, I wouldn’t have answered.
I would have laughed.
And now here I am, naked in the four-poster bed of a man who should be a stranger but instead is everything I never thought love could be, his fingers thrusting inside me while his thumb circles my clit.
Our first time was deliciously rough and wanton. This time, we tried to take our time.
Really. We did.
But it didn’t take long for us to peel the clothes off each other after the foreplay that was Laurence’s sumptuous cooking and fall into each other’s arms.
Now we’re tangled in Oliver’s sheets, my hand wrapped around his eager cock, both of us voicing our pleasure in the master bedroom that rivals the size of my entire apartment.
It’s tempting to compare myself to Cinderella, but I’m really Princess Aurora. I didn’t need to be rescued from my life, I needed to be awakened.
Oliver has opened my eyes to how much I’ve been missing — and how much I truly wanted it, despite everything I ever said to the contrary.
And sure, his financial situation is a shock that I’m still wrestling with, and probably will for some time. But I know one thing for damn sure — that the real prize hidden within these walls is Oliver himself.
He shifts his position on the wide mattress, tugging his length from my hand as he moves lower, fingers still sending pleasure rippling through me in ever stronger waves.
Resettling, he rests his head on my lower belly, just above my thatch. His eyes rove between my face and the sight of his fingers pumping in and out of me, my nether lips grasping at his digits as if begging them to stay.
“Beautiful, love,” he murmurs as his fingertips nudge a particularly sensitive place within me, sending my head thrashing from side to side as I moan. I feel my orgasm building, and my hips dance as Oliver increases his pace.
“That feels so good,” I croon, barely able to utter the words with anything resembling coherency.
I feel his eyes on my face and raise my head to meet his face. Those slat orbs turn hard as he speaks. “Come for me, darling woman.”
I open my mouth to say that I can’t, that I’m not ready — only to gasp as my interior walls clamp, obeying his command, and my pelvis rolls like the turbulent ocean. I fist the sheets at my sides and hold on for dear life, sounds pouring from my mouth that I did not realize I was capable of making.
“Good girl,” Oliver croons, tilting his head to take in the sight of my spasming labia. His head feels somehow heavier at this angle and it escalates my orgasm so shockingly, so exquisitely, that my head spins.
I never want this moment to end.
Unless it means that I get to have his cock inside me.
I’m still convulsing with the aftershocks of my climax, but I sit up, reaching for Oliver with shaking hands.
“I need you,” I gasp. “Now. Please.”
His grin is iron as he instantly withdraws his touch from within me only to replace it with a new kind of contact — his shaft aligning with my opening, hard and angry and looking like everything I need.
I arch my hips off the bed, inviting him to come inside me. “Please,” I say again, but this time it’s a dare.
Oliver rises to the challenge and, with a decisive advance that I feel reverberate through my belly and down my legs, he is inside me.
My knees find my ears as he takes a few long strokes to wet himself with my juices, his breath heavy in my ear.
“More,” I growl, lifting my pelvis again.
Fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips, it’s his turn to follow my command. He pounds me with aggressive, adamantine thrusts that set my core aflame. I clutch at his low back, crying out, demanding more closeness, more friction, more of everything he has for me.
He lowers his torso to be nearer to mine. Oliver slides his arms beneath me, fingers gripping at my shoulders, embracing me as he plunges into me again and again.
I feel cherished.
I feel thoroughly fucked.
Tears pricking at my eyes, I am equally grateful for both.