“Oil and water?” Essie muses. “That sounds about right. It would be a real shame to waste this, though,” she says, curling the toes of her foot around the curve of my erection. I can’t help but grind my hips up, pressing my dick harder against her foot. The contact feels fucking amazing. “Perhaps I have a proposal to make,” she says.
“I’m listening.” I’m about thirty seconds away from dragging her into the restrooms and tearing that dress from her body. She wouldn’t know what hit her.
“I propose a compromise. I propose that I go home with you tonight, on the proviso that when we fuck, we are equals. No one person is dominant over the other.”
When she says fuck, I have to tighten my hands into fists in order to stop myself from lunging over the table at her. I want to kiss her so fucking badly. I want to bury my hands in her hair as she takes my dick into that perfect mouth of hers. I want to cup her breasts, pinch her nipples, make her scream.
There’s no way we’re not doing this. “Okay,” I tell her. “That sounds like a reasonable compromise. Would you like another martini, or would you like to go now?”
Essie looks at me like I’m crazy. She already has her purse in her hand.
“You can make me another martini when we’re done.”
******
She doesn’t bat an eyelash at my apartment. It’s not the penthouse my parents lived in for so many years, but it is far more space than any one person needs. It’s sparsely decorated. Looks like it could be out of the pages of a magazine. Could be that no one actually lives here at all. That’s how I’ve always felt about the place—it’s not somewhere I call home. It’s just a temporary dwelling where I come to sleep occasionally in between meetings and pointless fucking flights across the country to more pointless fucking meetings.
Essie’s high heels click on the hardwood floor as she walks over to the big window overlooking the city. The apartment’s open plan, essentially one giant room with the two bedrooms and bathrooms off a small hallway. I toss my keys onto the counter, watching her take it all in.
“Quite the bachelor pad,” she says as she circles the room.
“It’s all right.”
She stops circling and steps up to me. It’s surreal, being this close to her. I want to tell her that I know who she is, that she knows who I am, that we’re connected in more ways than she might realize, and we should cut the bullshit. But I don’t say any of that because she’s so close to me that I can smell the shampoo she used, I can see how perfectly smooth her skin is, and I don’t want to ruin this. Not yet, anyway.
“Hi there.” I touch my fingertips against her cheek, tracing the line of her cheekbone. She takes a deep breath, and then tilts her face toward mine.
She’s got lovely full lips. That’s actually quite an understatement. She has a perfect fucking mouth. I can just imagine her lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue teasing my hard flesh. It would feel fucking amazing, I’m sure of it. I’m about to lean down and kiss her but she stops me. She brings her hands up—right hand moving to her left shoulder, pulling her dress down, left hand going to her right shoulder, pulling the dress down. Jesus Christ. She doesn’t ask for my assistance, but I’m a dude. My hands are itching to help out. I gently tug at the fabric over her stomach, pulling it down.
The dress comes off easily, practically dissolving in my hands. The material gathers on the floor around her feet in a pool of silk. Her legs are long and lean, her torso slender, her breasts full and perfectly symmetrical. She stands there, shoulders back, unafraid and unashamed, the way any woman should be when a man is appreciating her. She lets me look. Her nipples visibly harden, the skin pulling taut, and I lick my lips, wanting nothing more than to press my mouth against them.
Man, she’s going to be the death of me.
I need to get the fuck out of my clothes. I start with my cufflinks, slowly unfastening the silver Callahan crest at my right wrist, removing it from the cuff and placing it beside my keys on the kitchen counter. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Ms. Floyd.”
She smiles, her eyes meeting mine, not looking away. “Thank you.”
I nod, smiling too, because that is how a woman is meant to respond when she’s complimented. Thank you, instead of, no, I’m really not. Or you’re crazy. Or even worse, trying to cover herself up and hide. The female form is perfect in all its various shapes and sizes. It’s a work of art. A miracle, meant to be worshipped. I’ve worshipped at the altar of women who have been curvy and skinny, and so many other shapes in between. A woman can barely break a buck twenty and still be repulsive if she’s ugly on the inside. On the other hand, a girl can be a size eighteen and I can find her irresistible if she oozes confidence and loves herself.
Essie’s healthy. She has fantastic tits and an amazing ass—I can see both right now and I can safely say I’ve never been more turned on. I love that I can’t play her ribcage like a goddamn xylophone. She’s glorious.
I lose my shirt while kicking out of my shoes, my pants swiftly following after. My boxers are gone in a heartbeat. I step toward her, only the thinnest columns of space separating our bodies. The energy pouring off of her is electric. Fuck, my dick is so damn hard; it feels like my balls are about to explode. I take a deep breath, attempting to slow my heartbeat down.
“You like how I look?” she asks.
I glance down at my hard on, raising my eyebrows, then I look up at her, letting my amusement show on my face. “What do you think?”
“Mmm. Perhaps?” She’s trying to play it cool. Trying not to show that she’s really turned on right now, but I can see it in the way her lips are parted, the way her cheeks are colored. The way her chest is rising and falling faster and faster. She wants me just as badly as I want her.
I close the distance between us, my pelvis pressed against hers. Taking her face in my hands, I lean down and kiss her once, softly.
Holy fucking shit. Those lips of hers are just as incredible as I expected. She moves them against mine, opening her mouth a little. I slip the tip of my tongue inside, press my mouth harder against hers. My ears are fucking ringing. The high-pitched buzzing blocks out everything else. Everything except the sensation of touching her, of feeling the silk of her skin beneath my hands. We continue to kiss. I run my hands from her face down the graceful column of her neck to her collarbone, over her breasts, my breath catching, making me exhale sharply down my nose. She does the same, except she pants into my open mouth, swearing barely loud enough for me to catch it. Yeah, she’s affected by me. She may not want to be, but she’s loving this.
Her breasts are full and soft. I squeeze them, tweaking each nipple gently. They feel amazing, perfectly natural. I’ve fucked girls with fake tits before. If there’s one way to make me lose a boner, it’s a pair of fake double Ds. Essie’s maybe a B cup, verging on a C, and they’re perfect. Just the right size.
I duck down, slowly trailing my tongue across the sensitive bud of her hard nipple. My cock throbs when she sucks in a sharp breath, arching against my hands, which have moved to the small of her back, just above her ass.
I know she wants to do something to take control of this situation. The truth is, so do I. We’re both at war with our need to dominate. If I were with any of the other girls I’ve slept with before, I’d already be telling her to get on her knees and put her hands behind her back so I can tie her up. There’s something so satisfying about another human being offering themselves to you like that. Offering you their trust, and their bodies. I’m able to tamp down the need to wrestle with Essie over her submission for the simple reason that this is submission for her. Just being with me and not demanding I lower myself for her is a kind of vulnerability. There will come a time in the future when she does allow me to tie her up, when she will be totally at my mercy, and she will love it. Until that time, I am more than willing to meet her halfway.