Window Shopping(25)

One soapy stroke of my erection and I’m already panting.

Am I a kind man? Yeah. To a fault, some might say. But the niceness slides right off of me now, circling the drain. The only time I’ve ever been able to completely cut loose is during sex. My mind turns off and my body engages. There is still an expectation for me to meet, but it’s a different one. Giving pleasure doesn’t require me to be kind. Or smile when I don’t feel like it. And the permission to drop my guard and go is exhilarating.

In the past, women have been unable to connect with one of my two sides. They either want an all-around gentleman, thus recoiling from my aggressiveness in bed. Or they don’t even make it past coffee with me, assuming I’ll be too nice in all other aspects, as well. Including the bedroom. Without the benefit of proximity, Stella might have fallen into that latter category. Thank Christ that didn’t happen. There isn’t a chance in hell I could have forgotten about her like I did with the other women.

“Don’t apologize,” she murmurs, teasing the seam of my mouth with a light sideways drag of her tongue. “Just make it extra good for me, okay?”

“Fuck that, I’ll make it great,” I growl against the tile, the grip of my hand cinching tighter, speed picking up already. “Just let me in.”

Looking me in the eye, she opens her thighs wide, so perfectly wide, showing me her damp pussy and the strip of trimmed, dark hair. Goddamn. She scoots to the edge of my desk and walks her fingertips up the center of my chest, wrapping her hand around my tie. “Show me what it feels like to be yours, Aiden.”

“Yes,” I grunt, not even sure I’m going to make it to the end of this fantasy before I blow. It’s too much, hearing her say she wants to be mine. Because I can’t deny that when it comes to Stella, I’ve been experiencing an unfamiliar sense of…greediness. I want to gather her up and learn her. Better than anyone. As far back as I can remember, I’ve envisioned myself in a committed relationship. Someday. The idea of coming home every day to the same person and knowing how they want to be pleasured, what they like to eat, how to coax them out of a bad mood…God, I’ve dreamed of that. To be depended on like that.

To depend on someone else to know what I need even when I don’t.

The way Stella did tonight. Distracting me with that game.

I’ve been in relationships that should have been ideal. On paper, they were partnerships that fit the bill. Good careers, ambitions, similar hopes for the future. But I’ve never had this extra-sharp carve of lust for someone and also wanted to sit next to them on the couch in matching robes and slippers before. With Stella, it’s both. Hunger and affection. Which is insane—I’ve known her less than a week. Crazy talk. Yet here I am, fucking her in a frenzy on my imaginary office desk and already thinking about how good it’ll feel to cuddle her up afterward, once I’ve drained her of anything resembling energy.

I’ll be the big spoon.

She’ll tuck her tush into my lap and we’ll argue about china patterns.

A rough sound claws its way out of my throat and fuck. Fuck. Pleasure stops teasing and digs in deep, firing me to the edge of agony before releasing me to drop, drop, drop. Jesus. Thinking about picking out side plates with Stella has sent me into the throes of my best orgasm in recent memory, my knees nearly buckling from the monumental rush, the lightening of the tight weight between my legs, that hot, milky substance sliding down the tile below me.

Just before that final spurt, I grind my forehead into the tile and think of Stella knotting my tie in front of the bathroom mirror, both of us dressed for work and trying to drink coffee on the fly—and I groan loudly through clenched teeth, stroking myself furiously over the finish line, slumping forward with both of my palms flat on the tile, my ribcage expanding and contracting in quick pants.

Good lord, I’ve got it bad.





*



I assume I’m going to be the first to arrive, but when my town car rolls to a stop outside of Vivant, Stella is there in the near darkness, sitting on the lip of the Vivant front window in her signature boots, tights, sweater dress and puffy jacket, listening to her headphones.

Right away, I’m hit with a prickle of guilt over this morning’s activities. Not only did I fantasize about her body, I had the nerve to pick out dinnerware without her input. Double shame on me. If I wasn’t worried about her freezing to death, it might have taken me a few more minutes to tamp down on the guilt, but when I see her blow warm air into her hands, I smack my hand down on the button to lower the window.

“Stella.” She doesn’t look up, probably because her music is too loud. I call out to her again. This time she shoots to her feet and pops out the earbud. “Come wait in here with me. It’s warm and I’ve got donuts.”

“Say less.” She crosses her arms and kind of stomps toward the car with her head down against the wind. Plates and saucers with a basket weave pattern are dancing through my mind as she climbs into the car beside me, her wary blue gaze traveling between me and my driver.

“Stella, this is Keith. Keith, Stella,” I say. “We’re unveiling her window this morning.”

“Ahhh, very nice,” Keith says over the talk radio station, catching Stella’s eye in the rearview. “Those penguins are going to be a tough act to follow. I do not envy you that. No, I don’t. Who does not love a little waddling penguin, eh? No one. Everyone loves them. Now they’re making Santa’s toys? With little tools in their flippers? Forget about it.” He does a half turn. “But I’m sure yours will be amazing, Stella.”