(Abigail)

It was hard not to notice Luke’s palm rested so low on my back, his pinkie edging the line between back and butt. His free hand opened the door and he smiled before ushering me inside, and I had to assume we entered almost looking like a couple. A small smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth at the idea.

‘Christ Luke, are you sure we’re in a bar?’

The first thing I noticed was the smell, and this place didn’t smell like a bar. No hint of vomit or Axe undertone, instead, this place was all fresh leather and vanilla. The room was designed for mystery at the edges, with subdued wall lighting cupped by semi-opaque shades and massive leather booths that could swallow me up whole.

But my eyes were naturally drawn to the center of the room, the mingling station at the bar. Housed behind the counter was an eight-foot tall rack with rows and rows of assorted bottles and a gargantuan, crystal chandelier illuminated the entire island. Let me repeat. There was a fucking chandelier in the middle of this bar.

This was a business meeting, but we both knew it was much more. None of my first dates ever took place in bars that looked like they belonged in Bond movies, but none of them ever involved Lucas Brimstone either. It was all new, and I couldn’t escape the unsettling flutter deep in my gut.

‘Ah, Monsieur Brimstone!’ a heavy French accent called out. A man who seemed to take facial hair inspiration from the Pringles guy floated across the room and shook Luke’s hand, dazzling both of us with a row of pearly whites. ‘We’ve missed you dearly sir!’

‘Hugo, it’s nice to be back,’ Luke said. ‘I trust my table is still available?’

‘Of course, it’s been untouched! Please, this way,’ Hugo said animatedly, gesturing for us to follow. Seemingly oblivious to the way his presence turning every woman into a hungry hyena, Luke kept his hand at the small of my back until we arrived at a corner table with a single U-shaped booth.

Luke unshed my coat, taking his time as if he wanted the process to last and making sure to graze as much of me as he could. He handed it along with our menus to Hugo. ‘We’ll take a bottle of the ‘66 Lafite, plea –’ Luke cut himself off as we sat. ‘Abigail, sorry for not asking. You’re alright with red?’

It’s been a while since I felt overwhelmed and underdressed. ‘Sure, red wine sounds great,’ I said as I eyed Luke’s chest. Those hairs were poking out of his collar again, and I wanted to taste him right there. Business meeting or not, I was still a woman with needs.

‘Good. We’ll go with the ‘66 then,’ Luke said to Hugo, who issued a soft smile and bowed before leaving.

I tucked a few loose strands behind my ear, surveying the crowd. They weren’t typical bar people, but I guess this wasn’t a typical bar. In fact, I’ve never even heard of Maison Diamanté before. Like Luke promised, background chatter was tempered and provided an endless cast of warm energy. Everyone was a three-piece suit or cocktail dress, definitely no tight shirt bros catching the game.

‘It’s an exclusive club,’ Luke said, gesturing to the attendees. ‘There’s a fifty-thousand dollar annual fee, and even if you have the dough, you must meet certain criteria before you’re allowed to buy in.’

I must have made a face because he gave me a look, a smug grin telling me he knew exactly how impressed I felt.

‘You’re not trying to show off are you?’ I teased, smirking innocently into him.

He leaned into the table. ‘And if I was, would that be so bad?’ he asked, looking me deadpan with those gorgeous green halos, and my smirk disappeared.

Oh, he’s good and he knows I know it.

I folded my arms underneath my chest, and his eyes didn’t miss that either. ‘Did you find this place yourself, or were you recruited into this rich kid club?’ I nudged, raising one brow.

He moved his elbows from his sides to the table top, studying me with that damn grin, while that open collar did things to my focus. ‘Neither. I helped the owner win custody of his kids with three days of preparation,’ he said with upturned palms, his dark smirk overruling his modest tone. ‘This table was just a side benefit that I couldn’t say no to.’

I choked out a laugh. ‘Okay Batman,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘You’re definitely showing off. I think it’s time for us to get to work.’

‘Batman?’ he mused. ‘You were calling me Mr. Brimstone just yesterday.’ He placed his hands closer to mine so that I could feel the heat of his fingers. They were lengthy and strong, and they looked no strangers to the salon.

‘That was in your office,’ I said, keeping my hands within proximity as Hugo returned with our bottle of something French. ‘This is not.’

‘No, you’re not going to find alcohol like this up there,’ he grinned as he filled my glass first, then his own, the entire time eyes never leaving me.

It was almost as if he thought I was going to disappear if he broke view, intense and smoldering, and I swallowed several times before the wine even touched my lips.

I had great wine before, but nothing like this. I didn’t give a shit about tannins or body, but it just tasted more satisfying. Like something that had been hiding from me until now to say, ‘Hey you’ve been drinking crap your entire life!’

Even more impressive was how efficiently we worked considering I constantly fell into mini-episodes of staring at his chest. And shoulders. And arms. Though his musculature showed through his blazer, it was hiding all the little details I wanted for vibrator hour.

I took partial credit for being a fast learner, but I found Luke to be a phenomenal teacher. He was patient at the right times, listening to all of my ideas and telling me what he liked and disliked without as much as a hint of belittlement. There was a natural rhythm to the way we worked together, his Ying fitting perfectly with my Yang.

Living up to his reputation, he was calculating and thorough, and by the time we both decided to wrap for the night, I felt like I was well on my way to writing the encyclopedia on Cheryl Wynn.

And there was just the right amount of finger-brushing to keep the conversation interesting.

Though there were no more professional ties for us to stay, the way his eyes smiled alongside of his mouth whenever he laughed at one of my weird comments and the way his shoulders filled that suit jacket kept me firmly glued in my seat, which, by the way, was one of the softest seats my ass had ever known.

I was on my fourth glass of red, and was having fun. Real, loose fun with this man I barely knew in a place twelve levels above my pay grade. But more than just fun, it was organic and felt so... easy.

Our conversation led to a natural lull, and he leaned over the table into my side of the booth while holding my eyes hostage, clearly something on his mind. ‘Abigail, the case notes only tell me so much. I’d like to know exactly what happened that day, that morning,’ he eluded, but I knew exactly what he was referring to. ‘If you’re comfortable enough sharing,’ he added, thumbs stroking my hand.

I gestured to the drained bottle. ‘If there’s more where that came from, I’ll tell you whatever you want.’ I preferred my senses as dull as possible before I relived that day again.

‘Of course,’ he called Pringles over. ‘Hugo, we’d like another bottle please.’ Hugo bowed and smiled wide to himself as he went to fetch our wine.

‘He seems happy about something,’ I pointed out, a few tipsy giggles escaping as I took another welcome sip.

A grin spread across Luke’s face. ‘He is. Do you know the kind of tip money he’s getting from two twelve-hundred dollar bottles?’

Twelve-hundred dollars!

I actually choked on the fluid in my mouth, and in a flash, Luke’s hand was approaching my face, tenderness in his eyes.

This was breaching non-platonic territory, but instead of batting it away I allowed it to come to me. I flushed as he cupped my jawline, thumb wiping away a dribble of wine that escaped from the corner of my mouth. Stretching out the moment, he kept his hand there while planting me with a heart-stopping look that made my ladybits very, very bothered.

I took a deep breath, breasts heaving upwards, and at that, his eyes darkened. The faint blips of electricity that was ever present between us grouped together into a raging, all-consuming thunderstorm that I couldn’t look away from and oh, dear, I was in trouble.

Breaking away first, his eyes moved from mine to my lips and that pigtailed slut was screaming yes yes yes, and I felt the desire pooling between my thighs, but Julia’s heeding messages slammed into my consciousness.

I knew that if I didn’t stop what was coming, there would be no turning back. I knew that if I allowed his lips on mine, I’d lose what was left of the self-control the wine didn’t already wash away.

I bowed my head, dismissing what could have been, and allowed his hand to slip off my face. ‘I had no idea, Luke, I’m sorry. You should tell Hugo we changed our mind,’ I murmured quickly, clearing my throat and avoiding his dangerous gaze.

His hands dropped to the table, but he didn’t seem affected otherwise. ‘I don’t think Hugo would be very happy about that,’ he said evenly. ‘Besides, you still owe me a story, and I’d rather have another glass or two while I listened.’

‘Why do you want to know anyways?’ I stabbed in a piecing tone, folding my arms across my chest. I knew I was being a bitch on purpose to find another way out; I didn’t have the power tell him no because I was one smoldering look away from pressing my foot against his crotch.

He leaned back, tilting his head forwards and said, ‘Because I want more motivation. More reason to fight for you. Abigail, what he did to you was horrible, and unless I know exactly how horrible, I wouldn’t be as effective as I could be.’

Hugo returned and before I could get a word in, the cork was already popped and my glass was filled again with what should have been the cure to freaking cancer.

Luke’s eyes never left mine as Hugo poured, and I suddenly felt embarrassed at the intensity of his stare in the presence of a third party.

He didn’t seem to mind the uncomfortable silence that followed. A patient smile settled on his face as he took periodic sips, boring into me. I shook my head – he was clearly not giving in.

Seeing as the wine was opened already, I decided to just tell the damn story, sighing as a validation of my submission. ‘We were discussing a possible raise,’ I began.

Luke didn’t move or speak.

‘Things were normal. Fun, even. He told me about his weekend with his kids and Six Flags and cotton candy. I thought I could inject my agenda into the conversation, and that’s when the creep came out. He asked me to lock the door, and like a good little girl, I did. I won’t – I can’t, forget that look he gave me. That look like he owned me. My body. I physically felt it.’ I stopped to down half my glass, but Luke didn’t say anything, drinking me in like the wine in his hands.

‘He kept himself between the door and myself, and I felt scared. I mean, I know now that it was an unreasonable reaction considering I could have broken his arm in six locations, but in the moment . . . I felt scared. Scared of what he wanted to do with me,’ I croaked, and I felt heat building behind my eyes.

I swallowed before continuing, and Luke opened his mouth to say something but I waved my hand no. I was only going to tell him this once, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to repeat it again.

‘As he made his way closer to me, he told me he knew the divisional manager very well, and that he could get me even more than what I was looking for.’ I pursed my lips together for a beat. ‘For the right favors. I remember way he kept observing different parts of me, like he was in a grocery store deciding whether to buy apples or bananas. He walked towards me until he was close. Inappropriately close.’

Luke put two fingers on his lips, and I saw the sinewy fibers of his jaw contract as he listened, a predatory look in his eyes. His other hand was balled up tightly around mine, a silent message of his sympathy.

‘Then... He slapped me there, and for the first six or eight seconds, I just – I just allowed his hand to freely fondle me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was frozen and... And oh god Luke, the feeling of being so supremely and entirely violated,’ but I couldn’t continue, and as much as I tried to hold it down, a lone tear ran down my cheek.

Luke was quick to whip out a handkerchief, and goddamn it, who still carried around a handkerchief? I felt a pang of shame, wondering what my mom would think of me crying during a meeting.

He slid around to my side of the booth to hold me, and the gesture was the last necessary force to break the dam I’d been trying to hold up over the past two weeks. It broke spectacularly and entirely as I cried and cried into his chest, eyeliner and tears proving too much for the cashmere cloth, smudging his dress shirt charcoal.

His long, hard arms surrounded me easily and his embrace felt safe, protective. He didn’t condescend my emotions with sarcastic pats on the back or overcompensate with uneven squeezes. He simply held me, firmly and softly altogether, and I lost any shame as I openly wept into him.

These tears were as surprising to me as to the handful of eyes I was drawing from the bar, and damn it, I thought I had my shit together but it turned out it was splattered all over. I was broken, and as much as I didn’t want to be affected, I wasn’t fully at peace with what happened.

Other than a few phone calls with Stacey and Julia, there was no one else I confided in. I was on good terms with all of my staff, but I didn’t dare cross that line, and if my parents found out, the TSA would find the shotgun in my dad’s luggage. My brothers would probably just murder Brett in his sleep – an attractive option that I’ve humored more than once.

I caught myself with my arms wrapped around Luke’s waist, and between the chaos of emotions I wanted to hold onto him tighter, closer. But as much as I wanted to lose myself in him, I knew better.

‘I’m going to the restroom,’ I sniffled as I rose abruptly. His hands came up with me, lingering in the empty space between us before dropping to his sides.

‘Of course. I’ll be here,’ he said so fucking gentlemen-like, and I quickly turned around before he could see how his courtesy brought fresh tears to my eyes.

I felt his gaze heavy on my back as I made a beeline for the restroom. It was in the far corner of the bar, and as I passed the edge of the island to get there, some drunk douchebag whistled and said, ‘Sugar tits, come – come over here. Fuck that guy.’ A few hurried steps and I was away from his grabby hands, trotting into the empty ladies room and occupying a sink.

I was a hot mess, hair tangled and wild, dried rivers of mascara branched out over my cheeks. Grabbing a rolled towel from the mound sitting between each pair of sinks, I wiped a mixture of several facial fluids off my upper lip, along with what pride I had left.

The restroom was quiet, as the path to get here involved several corners, multiple walls separating it from the main space. I used the silence to fix my face and flesh out my feelings.

Complicated was an understatement. My feelings were intertwined, cloudy and unclear. There was a shot of sorrow, a splash of regret, and whole lot of anger. My fingers gripped the edge of the counter, nails whitening. I was angry at Brett, but even more so, I was angry at myself.

I let myself down that day, and now, I was letting myself down again, ruining an otherwise perfect night. I wouldn’t be surprised if Luke had left by now and I’d wake up tomorrow to an impersonal email that started with “Sorry this couldn’t work out”.

‘Are you all alone in here, sugar tits?’

The hairs on my neck stood up. Swinging around, I was met with a mountain of a man. Glossy-eyed, he smiled at me like he knew a secret I didn’t, and that look told me he wasn’t here by accident. It was him – Grabby Hands. He fucking followed me.

I didn’t get an honest appreciation of how big he was sitting down. He stood a good foot taller than I was, and probably had a hundred-and-fifty pounds on me too. One lumbering arm on the doorframe, there was no getting out unless it was through him, and as much as I wanted to push my fist through his skull, I didn’t have the capacity, shaky and weak from emotion.

‘Get the fuck away from me. I wasn’t interested back there and I’m sure as shit not interested now,’ I tried to warn threateningly, but the crack in my voice represented the confidence in my gut.

He laughed a deep, haunting bellow that shook his rotund belly and reverberated against the marble walls. Stepping out of the doorway and closer to me, he said, ‘You don’t want to say no to me. Come home with me, sugar tits. I’ll even call you a cab afterwards if you give up your ass.’

Instinctively, I backed up, but there was no space left between me and the counter. I was stuck between the sink and his look. The same revolting look that pierced through me two weeks ago.

That look, and that’s all it took for my feet to plant.

Spasms of fear ran down my spine, penetrating every cell of my body and paralyzing me. My muscles tensed and jaw locked. My heart was beating furiously, as if warning me to do something, to move, to run but the rest of me had already shut down. A lead weight dragged on my heart, my soul as I recognized the precarious void I was in.

I felt utterly helpless as he stepped even closer, and I could smell the stench of vodka on his breath through his dense, labored exhales. He could reach out and grab me now, the distance he was from me. My feet each weighed a thousand pounds.

Pressing his palms onto the countertop behind me, I was surrounded by his massive frame. I held myself tightly with my head low, taking short, clipped breaths that pulsated in my chest.

He forced his balding head into my hair, inhaling deep and breathing out with a satisfied grunt. ‘Mm... Yes, that’s right little bird, surrender. Maybe I’ll have you right here,’ he grumbled orcishly.

Forcing my legs apart with his knee, he opened me up, and I closed my eyes, unable to do any more, just counting the seconds until the inevitable was to happen.

‘I’m going to fucking kill you,’ Luke’s voice rang out from somewhere in the vicinity.

Luke. Luke. He was here.

‘This whore is mi –’ Grabby Hands started but Luke swung, knocking the air of out him with a body blow. His form wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t going to complain. As Grabby tried to get up, Luke football tackled him, and the two ended up tussling on the floor of the ladies room.

I’ve seen plenty of men spar, but this wasn’t sparring – at least not from Luke’s side. That warmness in his eyes that persisted throughout the night was gone, and replaced by something cold, full of steel. Every punch he threw was with ill intent, and soon Grabby’s lip, nose, and ears were busted open, flowing freely and staining the floor a horrible maroon.

It was obvious that Luke wasn’t satisfied with simply defending me, or settling for a draw, and Grabby realized it. He called for help, but was met with a muting blow to the nose. He tried to scramble and run, but Luke grabbed his jacket collar with both hands and slammed his head back down onto the hard tile. This wasn’t just anger – this was a demonic possession.

Luke found himself on top, and issued a handful of glancing punches, but took a few coming from the bottom as well. Something ripped before Luke landed cleanly to the temple, dazing his opponent. Finally, a well-placed crack to the chin shut off Grabby’s lights, but Luke didn’t notice.

He hammered into him again, and there was something disturbing about watching a motionless face being struck. It was the reason why there were referees in the cage, so that someone could defend the sitting duck. As much as I didn’t care for Grabby Hands, I knew that part of his behavior tonight could be blamed on the ninety-proof.

As Luke wound up again over the limp target, I snapped out of my trance, reached out, and restrained his arm with both of my hands.

‘Luke. Enough.’

His arm was shaking, and he was breathing forcibly, eyes still glued to the torso below. Eyes swollen shut, Grabby’s face was a crime scene. Both lips were split, and his nose was definitely broken. After several seconds of self-contemplation, Luke slowly rose off the large body, holding his own hand with a wince, and I saw that it was cut and bleeding.

‘Come on, we need to get you some ice for this before it –’ I wasn’t able to finish my sentence, as his lips met mine.

All of the anxiety I had melted away. I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything else except the touch of him on me. Our tongues groped desperately for each other, as our mouths took turns playing host to the feverish dance. His hands were bunched up in my hair, then on my back, pressing me against him, into him, all over him. Mine grabbed at him with urgency, filled with desire and intent and need.

He backed me up into the sink, but instead of the dizzying fear I felt the last time I was in this position, Fourth of July fireworks exploded down my spine, ending with sparkling elation at my bosom. He propped me up onto the countertop, so that I was sitting with him between my thighs, my heels slipping off, clacking onto the floor below. My hands had minds of their own, traveling to his neck, his hair, wherever I could get more of him.

After what was objectively the best few seconds of my life, he released me and I whimpered in complaint. I wanted more, and leaned in for seconds but he held himself back, panting audibly as he looked at me, into me. Studying his face, the bruised lip and darkening cheek only added to the rugged jawline and tousled hair. The hatred that darkened his eyes to a forest green minutes ago was now replaced by a glimmering hue, radiating something much more gentle but equally as passionate.

Something that I felt as well.

‘Abigail,’ he whispered in between breaths, ‘please tell me you want to get out of here.’

____________________

(Lucas)

Uneven whisks of heading-for-home traffic played in the background as we walked through the artsy alley, leaving the bar and the baggage that came with it behind. I had already paid the tab, and was not going to allow her another word about splitting the bill – both out of chivalry and practicality.

The brisk, windy night air rang the butterfly chimes overhung on a rustic, purposefully crooked café sign, and it was the perfect moment for me to warm her with a kiss. ‘Come here,’ I growled, grabbing her wrist and spinning her into me.

That shy smile didn’t escape my notice as I bit into her firm lip, releasing a naked moan that I inhaled with my ears. She was just putty, and it was obvious where this night was headed.

I couldn’t believe that his was the same woman that just minutes ago, was grabbing tissues from every table we passed on our way out to keep up with the tears. I was expecting to go into work tomorrow with bags under my eyes from consoling a crying client, and for a reason that I didn’t understand I was okay with that.

A nervous pang entered my chest, wondering what the hell this all meant, but the warm squeeze of Abigail’s lips made me grunt and return to the present.

That makeshift mistletoe kept us from our destination for several minutes, as passing pedestrians make sure to give our indulgence wide berth. She tasted like candy and kissed like spice, and it wasn’t long before I was hard as a rock.

A shiver and jolting tightness from her arms gave me the opportunity to wrap my jacket around her small frame, which was barely protected by that flappy fabric she called a “summer coat.”

Fashion over function, I thought as I shook my head.

‘Sorry about, you know, for ruining your shirt and your handkerchief,’ she murmured, revealing a cloth, smeared gray with hints of the original blue base poking out from underneath the makeup.

I grabbed her hand and used the other to flag a potential cab. ‘There’s not much to apologize for Abigail. It’s what washing machines are for, and I’ve been carrying that thing around for months now. First time it ever saw any action,’ I said, opening the cab door and after giving her frame a measuring frown, I picked her up and tossed her inside.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked between giggles, holding onto my bicep that I had a hard time keeping relaxed.

‘Wooster and Spring,’ I said both to her and the driver. And of course we found the worst driver in Manhattan. I used the lurching, stop-and-go ride to explore more of Abigail, her mouth especially. I didn’t want to overreach and scare her off, but the way her hands kept pushing mine towards that ass sure made it hard for me to resist.

If our driver noticed anything, he kept it to himself, and I thanked him with a crisp fifty tucked underneath my handshake when we arrived.

‘Let’s get you out of the cold,’ I said to Abigail as I put my arms around her, leading her inside the lobby.

‘Oh my god,’ she said simply, gazing at the high ceilings and oreo walls. ‘You live here. Of course you live here.’

‘Are you talking to yourself or was that a question? And if it was, was it rhetorical?’ I asked humorously, pounding the elevator call, holding onto her waist so that she was going nowhere but with me.

‘It was something of a statement I needed to say to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve always wanted to live here, and I guess this’ll give me a taste.’

‘You can taste anything you want, cupcake.’

The elevator doors opened and thankfully, we were entering alone. I usually didn’t find elevators exciting, but I wasn’t going to see them the same way ever again after the two minutes we spent inside. Abigail hooked her leg around my hip and her fingers were woven behind my neck, pulling me down. I buried my face into her neck, pinning her into the corner with an erection against her belly. Heat radiated from her center, and I leaned into it, moaning as I dug my face into her hair. The height was an issue, but touching her was worth every attempt.

I was never desperate for sex, and I was always in control. But Abigail had me closing my eyes and losing enough of my peripheral senses to miss the elevator stopping before my floor. In a flash, she tucked under me and stood at arm’s length, clearing the just fucked look off her face while I was left with an open shirt collar and bulging crotch.

An older lady I’ve never met before entered with a smile that was too damn much for this time of day.

‘Heeello! Mighty fine evening isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I mumbled, turning sideways so that I could adjust my nearly-ripped zipper. I never realized how choking suit pants could be on my beloved soldier, but I never needed that information before meeting Abigail, who was fresh as a daisy and began conversing with the woman as if they were the building-mates.

‘Do you live here as well?’

‘No, no. Just visiting. This is actually my first time here.’

‘Oh dear, you must go to the farmer’s market that they host by Thompson and Spring. They have the freshest carrots. Do you like carrots?’

‘Of course! There’s no better pairing with ranch. When are they open?’

‘That’s the tricky part. You have to go very early in the morning on Sundays, before the crowd comes. That’s when you get the best batches. Look here!’

I stood with my mouth slight agape as Abigail ooh’d and aah’d at the photos of fucking carrots on this woman’s smartphone, and couldn’t leave the scene fast enough as the doors dinged open on my floor. Abigail gave “Carol” – which was just too damn close to “Carrot” – an embrace, before exchanging contact information to set up a vegetable run next Sunday.

‘Enough with the produce party, get the hell over here,’ I grumbled low into her ear, hooking her waist from behind and directing her towards my suite. ‘I liked her,’ Abigail sighed into my touch. Her hand whisked back and grazed my reinvigorated erection before clutching my belt, holding me close to her ass, and it felt more right as anything I’ve ever known.

I pushed her against my door, and leaned her head back, tasting her mouth as I grinded myself into her. ‘That’s great you made a friend, but no more mention of carrot lady. She’s taken enough of your time tonight,’ I snarled as pressed my furthering erecting into her backside.

She stopped for a moment and whisked around, facing me. With eyes that meant business, she said, ‘You’re not getting lucky in the hallway, Lucas.’

‘Key card,’ I mumbled before invading her mouth again. She was a bossy little thing, but I fucking loved it. ‘In my pocket.’ She dove right in as her hand dug into the wrong pocket, but she didn’t mind scraping around until she found my cock instead. She didn’t care that only two layers separated our skin. Her touch was raw and feverish, and I kissed into her neck with a muffled groan, shivers of electricity bolting from the tip to the base of my neck, tightening it.

She made sure to take her damn time in the other pocket as well, and by the time the door was open, I was ready to rip her panties clean off. Of course, Abigail wasn’t the type of girl that I usually did this with, so I didn’t mind building up to that, but I didn’t know how much more I could be built up.

I was wrong.

I pulled her onto the couch, her sat astride over me. A palm that began on my chest ended up on my belt, then my crotch, and a squeeze nearly put me over the edge right there. She rubbed, up the shaft, and gave me a shameless smirk that told me she knew exactly what she wanted.

‘This isn’t happening on the couch either,’ she said as she clasped twice more, and at that point I was begging myself to hold it together. ‘When you take me to an actual bed, you’re going to use this.’ She pulled at me with a long, slow tug. ‘And I’m going to let you.’

‘I have a few ideas of what you mean, cupcake,’ I said, rising to lead to way. ‘No complaints here.’ This short little girl was bossing me around, and I loved it.

I also loved that she was pushy as all hell too.

Thankfully, the maid service was here earlier in the day, because the Everest of sweats and stale socks wasn’t conducive to me getting any action. The fireplace I managed to start was providing all the heat we needed, but there were more than enough fires between us already.

Abigail was pressed close to me and now, the straps of cotton holding up the dress separating myself and her breasts were sliding off, each inch a countdown to what was underneath. ‘I’m beginning to think blue is my favorite color,’ I said as she revealed her navy and white bra, and that dress was beginning to look like a liability.

I wasn’t one to mind with bras, but this baby needed attention, just like everything else about Abigail. Tracing my fingers along the cup of the silky fabric, I found home base, and attended to her blooming nipple underneath the fabric. She purred against my touch, hands tracing my upper body. A firm pinch had her head lurched back and fingernails biting my chest.

‘Fuck Lucas. Take this thing off of me,’ she groaned, and with one dexterous movement followed by a victorious flick, I had Victoria’s Secret opened and flung across the room. Her taut nipples in my mouth made her squeal and wrap one leg around my waist, but that damn heat from her area was a lighthouse in the night, and my cock was the ship coming home.

I flung her petite frame onto the bed, and if I was sticking to my usual plan of action, was going to slam into her without tasting her at all. There was a sticking-to-the-schedule robotic coldness to that sort of encounter, and there was nothing robotic about Abigail, all hot curves and cherry dipped nipples.

I started at the base of her ankle, and worked myself up towards her navel with soft, punctured kisses that made her sigh and roll those priceless locks against my bedspread. That image alone could have had me soiling myself right there.

Her back arched as I pulled her panties to the side, finding her clit. It was dainty, neat, just like her. My tongue began tracing over the hood, and by the time I worked my way underneath, she was clutching at the sheets with her teeth and both hands. ‘Oh my god,’ she groaned as I dipped my tongue inside of her, and if I was on death row, this would be my last meal. ‘Oh my fucking god.’

‘God can’t make you feel as good as I can,’ I whispered in between licks. ‘You’re going to come for me baby.’

Her breathing deepened as if my words accelerated the process. She was beginning to shiver, but unlike the last time where the cold was the culprit, these were shakes of desire and a message to whoever was lucky enough to be present that she was about to arrive.

‘Luke, stop,’ she whispered as she softened the grip of her fingers in my hair. For a moment I was wondering if I did something wrong. I didn’t get many opportunities to show it off, but I thought that pussy licking was one of my fortes. ‘I want to give the first orgasm to your cock,’ she murmured, biting her lower lip, and that look was just unfair. ‘No offense to your tongue, but don’t make me wait any longer.’

She wasn’t desperate, she wasn’t hurried. She was simply asking for what she wanted, and I was more than happy to oblige.

I began to unbutton myself, but Abigail sat up. ‘Let me,’ she said, smiling up at me. I’d been in this condo for three years, but never had I ever felt quite as home as I did then. She began undoing me, one button at a time, and with each button went a portion of my stress.

The sound of my belt hitting the floor was enough to get be back in the game, and I swear I saw Abigail lick her lips as my pants bunched around my ankles as well, and then the briefs. She scurried a foot backwards, legs tucked underneath herself, observing me. She was all beautiful and nude on my bed, and a thought of waking up to that every morning struck momentarily.

‘I’ve heard that lawyers were known for their big egos but this... I guess that stereotype is true in more ways than one,’ she said, eyes circling my cock.

I laughed out loud. ‘Is that good or bad?’ I asked, gaining size at her intrigued gaze.

‘I guess we’ll find out,’ she murmured, opening her arms in invitation, and she didn’t have to tell me twice. Our tongues locked again, and this time, my cock was much happier, not fighting for breath inside the tight trousers. As if it knew it’s true north, it found its way right at her opening, and I squeezed my hips to prevent them from spasming and jutting right inside.

She sensed the eager visitor, and said, ‘Condom.’

It was a lone word, but it was something that brought so much distaste. I hated the damn things. They weren’t natural, and definitely made sex less enjoyable. I grunted as I peeled myself from her milky skin, and grabbed a foil square from the bedside drawer.

Wrapping my unhappy member, I hesitated to bring out the lubricant. While going from fully clothed to being inside of women within sixty seconds was standard protocol for me, the wet gleam on Abigail’s inner thigh announced the slippery fluid might not be required. A finger inside her told me that I was right, and I eased into her, making sure to stop about two-thirds of the way inside.

She gasped as I entered, and her jaw forgot how to close. ‘How is that?’ I asked, desperate for the green light to go all the way. ‘Okay, okay,’ she breathed, ‘It’s fine. I can handle you,’ she said hurriedly, and the matter-of-fact in her tone made me snort out a laugh.

‘If you think this is all of me, you’ve got another thing coming, cupcake,’ I growled into her ear. ‘I’ll go slow, but I’m coming in all the way.’

Her hands wrapped around me tight and nails clawed into my back, leaving marks that felt like they would still be there next week as I sank in even deeper, millimeters at a time. I didn’t mind. I actually preferred it that way, something that I could look at a few days from now and remember what happened tonight.

As if I was going to forget a second of this.

‘Oh. Oh...’ her voice hitched, and her legs were squeezing my body tightly, as if she wanted me to stop but she couldn’t let go all at the same time.

‘Is that alright?’ I asked, genuine concern in my voice. I brushed the hair from her face, revealing furrowed brows and a pinched expression, but sure as shit, there was a smile on her face as well.

She looked at me from one eye to the other, as if she was thinking of the perfect thing to say.

‘You’re fucking huge,’ she finally quipped, and I fell onto her, breaking out in laughter. It wasn’t eloquent, and it wasn’t original, but I’ve never been so amused to hear that from a woman.

‘Luke?’ she strained to say underneath my weight, and I lifted myself on my forearms before she added, ‘Don’t stop fucking me.’

I was speechless. Gulping, I began moving inside of her, and her hips didn’t want a free lunch, moving rhythmically with me.

She was so sweet and so tight, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this up for. Her hands were all over the place: my chest, my back, my ass, and then on her own breasts, as she began playing with her own gumdrops, and if I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take me to blow, that little action put my limit at about twenty seconds.

‘Stop that woman, or I’m not going to be able to wait for you,’ I whispered into her ear, the lobe a target for my teeth.

She yanked her shoulder up on instinct, moaning. ‘I was waiting for you,’ she revealed, murmuring a sweet tone.

Waiting for me? Oh my god, this woman was fucking perfect.

‘Well fuck, let go baby,’ I said as I pounded with increased vigor. I pressed the action with every stroke, not giving her a chance to cool down. The heat from her was building, and the little shivers were a clear indication she was right there, and I was right there alongside of her.

‘Luke . . . oh fuck,’ she whimpered as our eyes met, and that was it. Our convulsions found each other, as the shivers became carnal throbs and jerks that signaled our arrival, and I fell right into her.

Our pants and ragged breaths overtook grunts and moans, our legs intertwined as I pushed myself up on my elbows. My hand never left her ass as I withdrew, and we laid there, just being.

‘That was,’ I began between breaths. ‘Fuck, Abbey. I don’t know what to say.’

‘I know. I know,’ she whispered before placing a kiss on my lips. ‘It was probably the best sex I’ve ever had.’

‘The best?’

‘Definitely top five,’ she giggled. ‘Though your bed is definitely the most comfortable. Most guys have box-springs from the nineties.’

‘Let’s not discuss you being on other men’s beds,’ I growled. ‘Let me have the illusion.’

For the next half-hour as we laid there in post-coital bliss I either kept a hand on her breast or an arm draped over her waist – or both. I wasn’t a picky man, and I didn’t need a lot from life, but I needed to keep my hands on this woman.

‘Is this the part where I go?’ she asked tiredly, after our heart rate normalized.

‘Don’t you dare leave,’ I grumbled. ‘I’m feeding you tomorrow morning.’

‘Is... Is that normal for you?’ she asked slowly, voice hoarse from exhaustion. ‘To feed women in the morning?’

‘No,’ I said after a beat. ‘Definitely not. I think that you might be –’

But she was already asleep.

‘ – the first,’ I finished to myself.

It wasn’t a lie. This was unexplored terrain. A goodbye peck and cash for a cab was the typical severance package for my conquests. I believed the process after sex was like pizza delivery: if done properly, it should be over in under thirty minutes. Snuggling was something people didn’t do unless they were in... No I didn’t need to freak myself the fuck out right now by going there.

I looked over at Abigail’s sleeping demeanor. It was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her. I wanted to understand her better, and also why she did this to me, made me think these things.

She was good at saying the right things, but the truth spilled over in her expressions. It gave it away. I wondered who she trusted enough to be completely open. Her parents? Siblings? Best friends? If she had the time for friends, that was. I knew my social circle was non-existent outside of my family.

And I hoped she had room for one more in her circle because I knew I didn't want this to end.