The glass of white in my hand was growing warm as I sat there, watching the clock. He’d excused himself to the bathroom almost as soon as we got in the door. He’d fetched a pair of glasses and a plate of fruit and settled me on the couch and then disappeared. Maybe he’d had me come all this way and I hadn’t been what he’d expected. Maybe he was texting a friend night now to invent an emergency he could escape to. It’d be my luck indeed. I’d blown $200 on this dress; dark emerald green, knee length, neckline that was suggestive without being slutty. Good job I’d kept the receipt.
I drank more of the wine, out of spite more than anything. What a fucking jerk. A fucking sexy, godamn jerk. I finished the glass, licked my lips and poured another. Half way through the glass I felt the rage anchor itself in my chest. Seriously? What. A. Fucking. Asshole. I could be getting sad drunk at home.
I got to my feet, a little wobbly now in my heels, and marched to the bathroom. I threw open a couple of doors before I found it, my heart beating like a drum in my breast. The last door at the end of the hallway, only silence within. I turned the knob.
He hadn’t run out on me. He was sat, naked except for a smile, on the very edge of the bathtub. One hand on his cock, one hand on muscular thigh, fingers splayed and ready, wedding ring shining faintly in the flickering candlelight.
“What are you doing?” My voice came as a ridiculous stutter as I just stared. My cheeks and chest burned with the alcohol and the embarrassment. I clung to the door knob as if it was the only thing that could keep me upright. He didn’t answer me, but smirk in his eyes deepened.
“I was-I was wondering where you were.” Good god, I felt like I was fresh out of the convent, but the sight of him, just sitting there short circuited my tipsy brain. I couldn’t tell if i was shocked, or shy, or turned on or all three. I know I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock, off his waiting hands.
He still didn’t speak, instead he reached out to me and gestured with two fingers, come hither. The look in his eyes -the dark, animal sheen they had- no one had ever looked at me like that, before or since.
The house could have been burning down around me and I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from going to him, my heels clacking on the tile floor. When I came close, he reached out with both hands and pulled me to him, hands tight around my hips.
“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” I said, voice quivering. In response, he placed one long fingered hand between my breasts, the tops of his fingers tickling against my decolletage, and drew it palm down over my belly and hips. The other hand grasped my lower thigh and stroked upwards, pushing my dress up to my waist, and then round to my ass, sliding his fingers underneath the soft cotton of my panties. I braced myself on his shoulders, and he pulled me so close that he face was buried in the soft fabric of my dress, his hardness pressed against the inside of my knee.
My breath caught in my throat as he traced his thumbs roughly up the insides of my thighs. His hands were slightly calloused, strong and very confident. With his left arm wrapping around my hips, hand grabbing at my ass, I was truly caught. He ran the free fingers of his right hand up and down the crotch of my panties, giving a low growl in appreciation of the dampness he found there. I dug my nails into his shoulder, wound so tight I thought I would come as soon as he touched me. But he didn’t. Back and forth, the most delicate of touches, a thin piece of cotton between me and ecstasy. When I bucked my hips to get his fingers inside me, he gave a little laugh and pulled his fingers away before resuming his torture. Right at the edge of what I was able to bear, he twitched aside the fabric and slid two fingers into my cunt. I was already so wet there was no resistance. He held me upright as I moaned, my breath ragged my throat, my chest heaving. With his thumb, he pushed the cotton away and began to work on my clit, slow, slick movements in sync with the heavenly pressure he was putting on my g-spot. I took handfuls of his hair and clung to him and he bit my hips through my dress as I writhed on his fingers.
He pushed a third finger into me with ease and started to fuck me slowly, then harder and faster and it was all I could do to keep on my feet. He knew I was close and he grasped my ass even tighter, pinning me to his thrusting fingers.
“Fuck. I’m gonna come. Fuck.” I trailed off, my vocabulary reduced to a few expletives. He was ceaseless, his practised fingers moving to a steady orgasmic rhythm. I pushed away from him as I came, gasping and writhing, and he watched me with amused eyes. He teased every tiny piece of orgasm out of my body, not releasing his hold on me until I was a soaking, shuddering mess. I cried out when he pulled his fingers out of my aching pussy, and moaned when he licked his fingers clean, one by one.
Then he got to his feet, and holding me steady with his arms around my waist, he led me to his bedroom.
I guess I won’t be able to return that dress afterall.