Raw and unedited. Please forgive typos.
She watched him from the doorway. Richard didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know she stood there.
The slightest rush of her breath, the rustle of her skin as she twisted her fingers—all things he could pick out over a jet engine if needed. His ears were so attuned to her.
He kept his gaze on the turkey sausage sizzling in the pan. “Hungry?“
“One of these days I’ll be able to sneak up on you.“ She sidled up to him. “Smells good.”
Liar, but he’d let it slide. She’d had a rough night—again. Slowly she was getting used to healthier eating. None of that crap she grew up with. Food that only came from a can or the frozen section.
Her wet hair hung loose around her shoulders, dampened her T-shirt. It was actually his. It looked better on her, hung on her body in the most delicious way. Nipples poked through the thin cotton, and the hemline skimmed the top of her thighs, threatening to reveal her beautiful pussy lightly dusted with copper-colored hair.
He speared one of the turkey sausages with a fork and laid it on a paper towel on the counter. A greasy stain immediately fanned on the paper.
She perched herself up on the countertop, swung her bare legs.
“Does that granite feel good on your ass?” he asked.
Her eyes grew wide and she slowly slid off the countertop, leaned against it. “Sorry.“
“It was an honest question.“ He flipped the sausage so the grease could be absorbed on the other side. He speared it once more and held it out to her.
She took it between two fingers, a slight smile crossing her face. “Yes, and thank you.”
As she nibbled on her sausage, he plated the rest of the food. Scrambled eggs, wheat toast with butter and honey and more of the sausage. She followed him to the table, fidgeted as she settled herself on to the farmhouse chair.
“Still nervous about today.” He didn’t pose it as a question.
She nodded. “I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone expects me to be a super model.”
They were here again. Perhaps she attempted to force him to once again prove how beautiful he found her. Shaking one’s upbringing, especially one like Charlotte’s full of putdowns and snarky comments about her looks by her jealous—and often drunk—mother. Or, worse, the opposite by drunken uncles and neighborhood boys.
He snapped his napkin into place. “You already rival them. Now eat. Then, we go.”
She swallowed hard but obeyed, choking down half the breakfast. Her nerves didn’t settle one bit. He knew what he’d have to do.
He and Charlotte had been together for over a year. Perhaps he’d expected too much from her over the last few months. Doubt wasn’t his strong suit but he was running out of ideas to get her over the last remnants of her anxieties. A fashion show—something that should have delighted her—should not have raised such nightmares.
Perhaps something else niggled at her consciousness, a fear he’d yet to unearth.
She got dressed—a sundress chosen by him—and got in the car. It was hot for a late September day and his Aston Martin’s air conditioning struggled to keep up. Then again, he kept it on low for a reason. A little heat would keep her loose, and she needed him right now. Her needs also were quite specific. There was only one way to be there for her–as her Master.
“Charlotte.” One hand spun the steering wheel as the light turned green, his other descended on her bare thigh.
“Hmmm?” She’d been staring out the window.
His fingers dug into her flesh, and her gaze swung to him. “Are you wearing panties?”
She nodded slowly, pulled her hemline to reveal white lace, a pair probably gifted to her by Sarah for today. “You like?”
“I don’t know yet. Open those knees wider, scoot closer.”
Her lips parted in surprise, which surprised him. It wasn’t as if his command was unheard of in their time together. “But—”
“Now.” He slapped her leg, the smack making her startle.
He turned onto New York Avenue. They may be a few minutes late to the Smithsonian Arts and Industries Building where Sarah had rented the space for the show. They’d still be early enough to score a parking space on Madison Avenue—that is, if Charlotte behaved well.
The good girl widened her legs.
“Eyes forward,” he instructed.
Her teeth grasped her bottom lip and she stared out the windshield. He did the same. His hand skimmed her thigh for long minutes as they crawled down the street with the traffic. Her chest began to rise and fall. Anticipation, perhaps? Or maybe frustration that he wasn’t moving his hand to where she wanted.
One of the things he loved about his Charlotte was her desire to be touched, handled. His need to top her was as strong, but he didn’t alter his light touches until they’d found themselves passing the MCI Center. Traffic had slowed more. Honking and street noises grew louder. It wasn’t until they stopped at a red light did he move his fingers higher. He touched silky fabric, and she gasped on contact.
A deep satisfaction bloomed in his chest. God, he loved her reaction to him.
He rubbed his middle finger up and down the valley between her labia until he heard her breaths quicken.
“Are you wet for me, Charlotte?” he asked, though the evidence was obvious.
She swallowed and nodded.
“Good.” The National Gallery of Art rose into view. His finger continued to slowly caress her as they turned on to Constitution. He drove down the street, turned, drove around the back end of the Smithsonian and again, got them back on Constitution.
She stared at his profile. He didn’t need more than a periphery look at her to know her eyes held questions, her lips quivering in a need to come.
“Don’t,” he said when her gasps began sharp—little inhales as if she was close.
They continued to drive around. His fingers stalling when he thought she got close. Starting up again when her breath caught up to her.
Two circles around the Smithsonian’s campus was all it took for her to grow so restless she couldn’t sit still. Her head had fallen back. Her skin flushed a beautiful glow that brought out her freckles even more. Even her thighs pinked, and they’d grown tense as she fought to keep them in place–open, where he wanted them.
When her panties were so soaked he was sure she’d leave a wet spot on his seat, he removed his hand.
A parking space had opened up on Madison. They always did eventually and were there for the taking if one exercised a little patience.
After parking, he turned off the car. With no air conditioned air coming from the vents, the atmosphere instantly heated.
He turned his gaze to her. The sun streamed across her beautiful pale skin. “Now give them to me.”
People, mostly obvious tourists, milled about the sidewalk. They might see her slipping her off her panties, which was a bonus. Charlotte was a notorious exhibitionist, and her arriving panty-less would not be unusual. The backstage would be filled with people close to their circle. And if Sarah had her way, she’d get Laurent’s ass nice and red before walking down the runway. Probably in front of everyone backstage.
She shimmied off her panties, handed them to him. They were soaked as expected. He curled his fingers around the fabric and balled them up. “When you put on your wedding gown, you’ll think of me.”
“I might ruin the dress.” She didn’t need to spell out what she meant. Charlotte’s arousal wasn’t subtle.
“I don’t care.” Her mental state was far more important than a frock. “Let your juice run down your inner thigh. Let it pool in your shoes. I’ll lick it off you later. And these—” He held up her soaked panties, then tucked them inside his suit jacket. “—stay with me. You’ll see me reach in and touch them when you grow closer to me in the audience.” He made sure his seat at the fashion show was at the end of the runway. “With every step, you’ll think about my fingers inside you.” He thrust his hand back between her legs, jabbed his index finger inside her and she gasped. “Won’t you?”
She nodded vigorously, her lips dropped open. But her eyes held a calm he recognized, though her pretty mouth quivered and her legs shook.
His hand slipped free and he raised his fingers to her mouth. “Suck them off. Then we go.” There was more to do to her, to get her in that final state where her mind stayed firmly locked on the present. But he’d need an audience for it, and he knew exactly where to find them.