Note: Thanks to anonymus editor for his help.

Also thanks to a friend who helped me with putting my thoughts to word processor.

 

[Sequel to "Naomi's First Day"]

---

 

I reach out to silence the blaring alarm clock on my nightstand.  My flailing arm causes it to crash to the floor.  I groan and glare at it, annoyed.  What the hell time is it, anyway?    

 

I grab my cell phone that has spent the night charging on my other nightstand.  I groan again.  It's twelve-thirty in the afternoon.  No wonder my stomach feels like it's collapsing into itself. 

I roll out of bed and strip off the clothes I hadn't bothered to take off last night when I dragged myself home in exhaustion.  

I manage to walk in a straight line to the bathroom and turn on my shower; I wait until I see the steam rise from it, and step in.  I allow the hot water to unknot my muscles.    

I remember the way James's hands felt on my body, and tilt my head back as I recall his fingers tangling in my hair.  I sigh and jerk myself out of my thoughts.  It's best not to dwell on it, I tell myself.  It's not like I'll ever see him again.   

I finish up in the shower and wrap a soft white towel around me.  I hear my phone's annoying ring-tone and rush back into my bedroom and answer it, "Hello?"  

"Naomi Johnson?" the voice is male.  

"Speaking, may I help you?"  

"It's James, from last night."  

My heart begins pounding; my pupils contract.  Oh shit !  

 

I keep my voice absolutely cool and collected as I intelligently stammer: "Oh, hi."  

 

He chuckles …

 

My heart jumps.  My mind wanders to dirty places.  "'Oh, hi'?  That's all I get after spending half the night trying to find you?  Do you know how many Naomi Johnson’s I called trying to find you?"  

 

"Why'd you go through so much trouble?" I sit on my bed and fold my long slender legs under me.

 

"What can I say?  I'm hooked," he laughs.

   

"Funny," I tell him.

 

"I called to ask you to dinner."  

 

The butterflies in my stomach vomit in excitement.  I laugh, "We've already fucked, don't you think dinner is sort of going backward?"

 

"I told yah I'm hooked!" We're both snickering good-naturedly at one another.  "So whaddaya say?"  

 

I contemplate for a moment.  What's the harm in going to dinner? I ask myself.  I come to a quick conclusion.  "Where are we going?"

 

We decide on a small Italian restaurant a couple blocks away from my apartment.  We also decide to meet at eight.  We spend a good ten minutes arguing over who gets the check; I lose.  

 

After another ten minutes of exchanging witty banter, "Well, I hate to leave you, but I have some stuff to get ready for."  He does sound rather sad to leave me.

 

"Why?" I ask.  "Hot date tonight?"  

 

"You know it.  With a beautiful woman called Naomi."

 

I blush insanely red.  Wait, what's wrong with me?  I never blush...I laugh nervously.  "Alright, you've got me on a date, enough with the flattery!"

   

His voice becomes sincere, "Not flattery.  Honesty."  

 

Ugh, I hate it when people use that line.  

 

"Ha," I say.  "Okay, I'll let you go."

 

We exchange pleasant goodbyes before we hang up.  I am annoying by the feelings that I'm having for him, feelings I know I should not be having.  I sigh and remember that coffee takes ten minutes to make, and I haven't had any yet.  The caffeine receptors in my brain are bonking all over my brain.  Withdrawal is making me giddy and nervous , I explain to myself.   It sure as hell isn’t because of James.

             

I walk into the kitchen in just my towel.   The tile is freezing, and I immediately regret not wearing my slippers.   I set up my coffee maker, and flick on the switch.   Relief for my coffee craving is just ten minutes away.   I wander into my cozy living room and plop down on my favorite rocking-recliner.   There are pictures on the glass coffee table.   One is of my parents and me during Christmas around six years ago, and one with a man and me .

 

I study the man, remembering his kind blue eyes and his shaggy light brown hair. His arms are wrapped around me in the picture.   He is wearing his uniform; the kind soldiers wear at formal gatherings.   I am wearing a long black and red dress.   We both look as happy as we were going to feel that night.   The night he proposed…  

 

The happy bleep of the coffee maker drags me out of my skulk down Memory Lane .   I heave myself out of the chair and pour myself a cup of happiness.   It’s time, I think.   I’ve already slept with him; I don’t think it’s bad to enjoy a date with him.   The butterflies in my stomach seem to agree with me.

 

 

----

8:02  

 

Yes, I’m fashionably late.   No, I didn’t plan it.   I walk up to the plump, pretty woman behind the desk and tell her who I’m looking for.

 

“Right this way, Miss,” she turns and guides me through the maze of cramped tables toward the back of the restaurant.  

 

James stands when he notices that I am here.   He cleans up nice, I notice.   He’s wearing a button-up black shirt and black pants.   His hair has been carefully combed back.   It’s cute that he put in so much effort for our date.

           

I try to make eye contact, but his eyes are sweeping my body.   I’d pulled my hair back into a half up-do and secured it with a butterfly clip.   My eyes were framed by dark purple eyeliner.   His gaze moves down to my simple black dress.   The collar dips just enough to draw the eye to my cleavage.   It works on him.   Under the table I am wearing black stockings and pumps.   Purple bracelets wrap around my wrist.   A matching beaded belt wraps around my waist.   I know I look good.  

 

So does he.   “You look great,” he says, smiling.

 

I chuckle, “I was just about to say the same to you.”  

 

The evening progresses with polite, at times, timid conversation.

 

We work our way through the salad and main course.   He seems impressed by ability to eat more than a French fry.   “It’s sexy,” he tells me.  

 

“Bullshit.”

                                                                                                                           

“No, seriously,” he laughs.   “It means that you’re human.   Reachable.”  

 

“Explain,” I murmur , taking another bite of my shrimp-and-spaghetti.

  The flavors explode upon my tongue!

 

He takes a sip of wine before he replies, “When you first walked into the room, I thought you were more of a goddess than a woman.”  

 

Okay, seriously?   No man has ever spoken like that.   Unless he was from Middle Earth or something.  

 

My critical side comes out to play.   But instead of voicing the fact that what he just said is three steps shy of bullshit; I just become a blushing moron.  

 

Dessert time rolls around.   I’ve been watching him carefully through this dinner, trying to figure out if I want to bring him home.   His eyes don’t stray away when he answers a question; he maintains eye contact .   He is leaning forward slightly, as though he’s actually paying attention to me, and not just my rack.   His strong, callused hands are tame and r espectful.

 

Thoughts of his hands spin me into the memory of last night.   I’m going to take him home.  

 

He is sitting a caddy-corner from me.   I move my chair so that I can press my body up against him.   I bring my lips to his ear, stroking his hand lightly, and saying, “Come home with me tonight.”

 

I see fire in his eyes as he studies mine carefully, possibly gauging what he can get away with.   Or how serious I am.   I whisper in his ear, “Not messing with you.   Come home with me.”  

 

“Do you want dessert?” he asks me.

 

“Do you?”  

 

“Check, please!” he calls to the waitress as she passes by.  

 

We pay for our meal—actually, he pays for our meal, despite my protests—and soon we are headed for my apartment.  

 

----

10:14 p.m.  

 

We are standing outside my door.   I do not hesitate to take out my keys and let us in.   “Well, this is it,” I say nervously, about to give him the tour.   As soon as I lock the door, his arms encircle my waist and spin me to face him.   He gently presses my body against the door, letting his hands roam my body before gently tangling them in my hair at the base of my neck and pressing his lips to mine.   He tastes like I remember, and my body responds.   I feel his obvious erection against me, and my crotch begins to moisten.

   

He lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and carries me into my bedroom.   I’m glad I remembered to clean up the shattered alarm clock from earlier today.   He lays me on the bed, and whispers into my ear, “Tell me what you want, Naomi.”

   

“I want you to make me scream,” I reply, kissing him fiercely.

   

He takes off my dress so smoothly, it’s as though it’s melting away from my body.   I tug at his clothes, and we undress each other until we’re both in naked.   He trails his tongue along my chest, and kisses my sensitive nipples before taking one into his mouth.   He flickers his tongue around it, before moving on to the other one.     

 

My fingers find their way into his hair and massage the back of his neck.   His tongue dances down my tummy to my soft mound.

 

My legs are spread and relaxed from his attention, and I sigh in anticipation as he teases my slit with a finger, never touching my aching clit.   He kisses my thighs, getting closer to my dripping pussy, only to move away and continue his route again.     

 

Finally I can stand it no more, I raise my hips, trying to get him to touch me where I need it most.   When he ignores my hint, I cry out, “Please, James!”

 

I jump in pleasure as he begins rubbing my outer lips, brushing against my wonderfully sensitive pearl.     

 

Without warning he wraps his lips around it, and begins sucking.   My moans are louder now, my chest is heaving, I grab at my comforter to anchor me as James inserts two fingers into my quivering hole, and starts stroking.

 

My screams echo in my ears, I can no longer stand it.   “Please, James!   I want to please you!” I sound like a slut, I know.   But I don’t care.   All I want is his cock, and I don’t care where he puts it.  

 

He maneuvers us into a sixty-nine, with him on top.   As he continues attacking my slippery cunt with his fingers and tongue, I focus my attention on his rock-hard cock.   I hungrily swallow it all at once as far down as I can, I hear him gasp.   I moan and massage it more with my tongue.  

 

“Wait,” he says, and repositions us so that I am on all fours.   “If you keep doing that, I’ll cum too soon.”  

 

I whimper, “Yes James…”

 

A stinging on my ass startles me, although I hear it before I feel it.   I feel the reverberations all over me, and I moan…  

 

“You like that?” James snarls in my ear.

 

“Yeah…” I gasp.

   

I am pulled up, my back arching by my hair.   My neck is bitten, “I can’t hear you, Naomi!   Do you like when I treat you this way?”

 

“I love when you treat me this way!” I confess.   He, reaching around and massaging my clit, rewards me.  

 

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he orders.

 

I’m so turned on; I have to take a moment to find my voice again.   It’s not fast enough, and I feel a stinging on my ass again.   “Yes!” I moan, “Fuck me, please, James !   Please!”  

 

He lowers me so that I can support myself on all fours again, but keeps a hold of my hair.   He slowly enters me, and I moan and try to grind against him.   But his hold on me prevents me from moving.   Somehow I end up on my back, with him still inside.   He notices my confusion, and explains, “I didn’t get to see the fire in your eyes last time.”

 

He begins thrusting, filling me completely.     

 

Slowly…smoothly, as if he is liquid and we are mixing.

 

After a short while his thrusts become faster, more animalistic.   Yes, my body cries.   I can stand it no more; I roll us over so that he is under me, still inside.

   

I grind into him freely, enjoying that he allows me to do so.   Our eyes meet, and his desires match mine.   I ride him with my full intensity, our moans filling the room.   Through the haze of pleasure and ecstasy, I feel his warm callused hands roam my body.   They caress my shoulders and play with my breasts, then drift down to hook a thumb under my clitoral hood.   This sends me over the edge and I cum hard, shaking, screaming his name.

 

Hearing me sends him over the edge, as he sits up, and wraps his strong arms around my body, and thrusts into me as hard as he can, pummeling me as I ride out the intense waves of pleasure.   He tenses, and buries his face into my chest, grunting, “I’m about to cum, baby!”  

 

I organize my thoughts enough to tell him, “Cum in me, James!”

 

His pace intensifies for a few more strokes before I feel him tense; then explode his load of hot cum into me, making us both cry out.

   

I collapse onto him, and he pulls us under the covers.   His arms wrap around me, his thumb tracing my shoulder.

 

After a few minutes he mumbles, “Comfy?”

   

“Absolutely,” I purr…

   

“Good.”

 

And we both drift off to sleep, warm, comfortable, and completely satisfied.