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Looking not entirely thrilled with his lack of attention, she repeated herself. “Your response to my ad said that you were a big movie fan. Have you seen anything good lately?”
On the spot, he foundered. “Uhhh, I liked Run, Lola, Run." Her face remained blank. Maybe she hadn’t seen it?
She was pale and lovely, a little fragile, a little dangerous -- visually, she was every tone and hue of his most intimate fantasy woman, as if he had painted her by number. He would paint her on her knees, bent slightly forward, so the bud of her pussy barely peeked through her soft, doll-pale legs.
Over coffee, they made small talk; he burned with the way she was watching him. She watched how he crammed packet after packet of sugar into his cup. She made a soft but ironic comment.
“I can’t help it; I like it sweet,” he told her. “Black coffee seems like punishment to me. Pain is only fun under certain circumstances.” Oops. That just slipped out. Was she going to think him crass?
She arched one eyebrow instead. “Reeeally. Is that so?” She sipped at her tea. She said nothing else. He wondered if he’d gone too far.
“I hope that wasn’t out of line,” he blurted, sincerely. “I was just joking.”
“I’d hoped you weren’t,” she replied. Her voice made it sound like regret. Jason felt a slow, spreading warmth that started at his groin and radiated upwards to his head. Jesus! Was he getting dizzy?
She changed the subject and he relaxed. But all during the rest of the date, all he could think about was how Celeste would look with ropes gently restraining her wrists, her slender white feminine wrists, and the look of helpless excitement would fill her eyes. It was all he could do to hold up his end of the conversation. When they went out on the back patio she suddenly told him to kiss her. His lips covered hers and moved against their slickness, their pillow plumpness, her pointed kittenish tongue coming to lap against his mouth. He traced the glowing trail from her shell-pink ear to her neck, found the small pulse there in the side and bit it gently as she breathed a small gasp. He found the whitest white part of her neck and kissed her there; she grabbed his hand tightly and intertwined her small fingers with his.
“Stop,” she breathed, but he did not. He pulled all of her hair into a knot at her neck instead, pulled it back firmly and smoothly and held her fast there, chin up, throat trembling. He sat back and looked, really looked at her, oblivious to the eyes of the other coffee-drinkers, oblivious to everything but the way she looked, her hands at rest in her lap as she sat unresisting to his hold.
“Ohhhh, Celeste,” he said slowly, feeling wicked, feeling bacchanalian, feeling the taste of her mouth on his lips. “You succumb so beautifully.”
She said nothing.
A week later, he picked her up for dinner at her place. He floated to the restaurant, smiled through dinner, the pulse of excitement beating through everything he said and heard. Tonight he would touch her skin, he thought. A satin ribbon at her throat made her camellia skin look even paler and he remembered the smell of her skin when he’d kissed her there, her velvety skin. What would the skin between her legs feel like, he wondered, that patch of her thigh that, in most women, retains its baby softness?
They ended up back at her place sipping tea, chatting. She sat only few inches away from him. The pinkish light bulbs of her doll house décor cast glowing shadows over Celeste’s face. Suddenly it was as if a switch had been turned on, and Jason felt the companionable mood quickly shift into something else, something electric.
She moved against him. The sweet, tender tips of her breasts just brushed his chest, tantalizing. How he wanted to press his hand beneath the fabric and against the skin of those breasts.
“I like you,” she breathed in his ear, encircling it with her cat-like tongue. He captured her lips with his own. Her mouth was smoky, the end of the tongue curiously sweet. He sucked at her tongue deliriously, and ran his hands gently down the sides of her body. He lingered at her supple waist, feeling the way her hips swelled beneath the span of his hands. He felt she was giving herself to him. And he had to touch the rounded softness of her breasts, to feel her womanly fullness in his hands. He touched his palm to the plush velvet of her bodice and she gasped a tiny gasp. He squeezed and rubbed in slow motion. Oh, he could feel her nipple through the fabric.
He didn't press hard or take hold. Instead he let his hands float lightly, but freely over her fluid mounds. All the while he kept himself in check. With every move of muscle, his body craved a frantic rush to climax. Instead, his hands crept over her body slowly in measured invasion, sure as a flood tide.
Her mouth was a peach and he bit at it, softly. She responded by opening her lips, presenting herself. But she also bared her sharp white teeth and ran her tongue over the sensitive roof of his mouth. He felt he could not push himself close enough to this woman, close enough to kiss her as hard and deeply as he wanted. He captured her small wrists in his hand and held them to the soft sofa, while he kissed her firmly. He moved down toward her breasts and kissed them through the dress, biting toothlessly, nuzzling with a strong passion. She hung her head and moaned softly. Her eyes shone.
He stood up and pulled her gently to a standing position and then spun her around to face the sofa. He pushed her down onto the sofa, onto her knees. She gasped out her pleasure as he crawled behind her, pressed down on her back, sending her into the cushion, crushing her breasts against the plush curves of the couch. He rained kisses on the back of her lowered neck, at the nape, where hair met skin.
Pushing his body firmly against hers and pinning her in place, he let his hands wander over her neck, across the velvety softness of her belly. He slipped down under the neckline of her dress and brushed his hands over a nipple. It hardened. It grew as pleasingly round as a currant and made him feel his heart would beat its excited way right out of his chest. He gripped her wrists firmly. He squeezed her arms and she answered his excitement with low moans.
“Now let’s take off that dress, shall we?” he murmured. She turned around and stood up obediently as he pulled the dress over her head. She stood there shaking in her purple lace bra and black satin garter belt. Her eyes were huge.
“I have to see your breasts,” he said, aware that his voice sounded hoarse and more than a little breathless. She hesitated. "Your breasts," he repeated more firmly.
[To be continued...]
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