What did Declan think about it all? Had he grown used to all of the opulence? Did it seem normal to him now, the marble and the mahogany and the views? It had only been six years since I’d known him last, and back then he hadn’t had anything. Though maybe he’d already been saving up, putting everything and anything he could aside to make his first investment?
I really knew nothing about it, how he’d accomplished his meteoric rise. During all those long years I’d deliberately refused to ask anyone or even search for him on the Internet. I couldn’t control my heart, stubbornly locked on the man, or my head which infuriatingly continued to churn out memories and fantasies. But I could stop myself from finding out more about him. So now I knew next-to-nothing about his business ventures, how he first got the ball rolling and then how fast and successfully he’d found his path.
Folks who met him now wouldn’t recognize the man I’d known back in the day, so lean and rangy like a wolf. But I could still see all of that inside of him, though wrapped now in expensive, custom-made clothes. His body had grown larger, more packed with muscle. Now he looked like a powerhouse, big, hard and solid as a rock.
I never could have imagined him hotter than he had been years ago, but it was true. When I’d first seen him on Friday it was as if I couldn’t look at him full-on, as if I didn’t want to risk getting burned by being too close to the sun. And I realized I hadn’t even had a chance yet to see him naked. He’d sure stripped my clothes off again and again, but he’d never even taken off his shirt. He’d never relinquished control like that.
Steam rose from the tub beside me. I stood, steadying myself against the wall. I slipped out of my tiny lace skirt and unclasped the bra to remove it. Sitting again, I slid off my thigh-high nylons and heels.
I swiveled, dangling my feet into the deep basin. Slipping into the tub, it felt so good to be enveloped in heat. I sighed in pleasure, stretching out my legs and arching back my head, luxuriating in the buoyancy, the water lapping and licking my toes.
I closed my eyes, but I could still
see the tiny scrap of skirt I’d worn that night for Declan. I couldn’t believe what he had me doing for him. Dressing up like a French maid? A wave of embarrassment engulfed me. Dear Lord, had I actually role-played, slipping on a costume and heels and pretending to dust an immaculate surface with a feather duster? If someone had told me that last week, I would have laughed them off as crazy. I’d never do that kind of thing.
When he’d told me to strip naked and put my hair up, I’d been shaking with nerves. And lust, too. Anticipation. But when I’d first stepped into the master bedroom and seen the revealing scraps of lingerie, the black lace skirt and tiny white bows, my first thought had been, “Oh, hell no.” French maid? The whole idea seemed ridiculous. Who could dress up in a costume not on Halloween and act sexy? What would he want next, Little Bo Peep? Marie Antoinette? I could picture myself in a huge wig trying to seduce Declan while wearing a large basket skirt.
I’d never understood role-play, and it had never entered into my fantasies. It seemed too silly. “Oh, carry me away, you big handsome firefighter.” Nope. I’d just crack up laughing.
But there on the bed I’d seen that g-string and the tiny triangles of lace that passed for a bra. Plus a lacy skirt with fasteners and straps that clipped onto sheer, silky stockings—that must be what people called a garter belt, I’d realized. So, OK, I’d felt curious. It couldn’t hurt to put it on.
Once I had, there was no going back. I’d spent more than a few minutes in front of the full-length mirror. I got it, in that moment, why lingerie was sexy. It sounded ridiculous to not have realized that, but at the ripe old age of 24 I simply hadn’t experimented much in that department. I’d had too much else that demanded my attention and not enough incentive to go outside my comfort zone.
But then I saw myself in that outfit, long legs dipped in high heels and dark, sheer, silky stockings, a patch of skin showing along my upper thighs. When I turned around, because of course I had to see myself from all angles, my eyes had widened over how much I bared. The whisper of a bra was barely held together in the back with a single satin ribbon tie. The g-string of course revealed everything. And that skirt. What a moment ago had seemed laughably ridiculous now looked dirty and tempting, grazing the swell of my bottom, leaving the lower half of my cheeks exposed and begging for attention. I couldn’t help but strike a pose in the mirror, breasts pressed forward, stomach in, ass out as if asking for Declan’s hand.
I couldn’t believe I was going to let him see me in that outfit. But once I had it on, I couldn’t not share with him. My fingers trailed down my stomach in the steamy, caressing water. My other hand circled up to my breast as I relaxed in the bath.
I couldn’t believe the way he’d drawn me up over his lap and smacked my ass, so sharp and surprising, but then caressed me so gently, so sweetly, drawing out my honey for him. The feel of his wide, thick hands on my hips. How deeply he entered me, so commanding and full. The harsh sound of his voice as he groaned in release.
Parting my thighs slightly, I lifted my hips and brought a finger down to my sex. So slick, still so swollen and slippery from Declan’s assault. I cupped myself, then brought my own finger deep inside my folds. Lips parted, I realized how quickly I could make myself come. A few strokes working my clit, and I could bring myself up to climax all over again.
I opened my eyes and moved my hands to the sides of the tub. No coming. Declan had told me I could play with myself in the bath, but I wasn’t allowed to come.
That rule was hard to follow. So why was I following it? It wasn’t as if he had hidden cameras trained on me. Or did he? I looked up and around the bathroom, scanning for surveillance equipment. No lenses, no blinking lights. I supposed high-tech gadgets intended for spying would be more subtle than that, but somehow I didn’t feel like I was being watched. Not that I would mind, if it were Declan.
Where did that thought come from? I shook my head and decided to otherwise occupy my hands by shaving my legs. Perching up on a ledge, I found a razor and shaving cream. Something about the mundane task seemed soothing, like washing dishes. Uncomplicated, you started at point A and ended at point B and voila! Accomplishment. Better yet, it was something I’d done a million times before. Familiar territory.
I was on dramatically unfamiliar territory now with Declan. I’d never engaged in the kind of play he liked. No one had ever made me want to, certainly not Bruce back in high school, and no man since either. Bruce was back in town now. He’d moved back about six months ago and started texting me, letting me know his divorce to the girl he’d married in college was finalized. Like that would get me hot.
But Declan? He made me crazy. The sharp slap of his hand on my ass made me so hot. I’d been so shocked at first, not to mention a bit angry and embarrassed. Who did he think he was, spanking me like I was some naughty schoolgirl? But then when his hand became a caress, soothing my skin and swirling into my wet depths my mind had gone blank with need. Something about the combination, the juxtaposition, the punishment followed by pleasure heightened the intensity, nearly blinded me with passion.
I slipped back into the bubbles, my skin now shaved smooth. I closed my eyes and remembered how he’d pinched my nipple. I’d been so surprised. I pinched my own nipple now, arching my breasts out of the steaming water, and a similar flood of pain and pleasure flooded my senses. But not like when Declan did it. The rough callouses on his hand, his large fingers. Drawing my finger down to my sex again, I stroked, remembering how he’d done that so expertly, so maddeningly.
It didn’t matter if I shouldn’t let him do that to me. I loved it. I didn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense. Logic dictated that his behavior should make me furious. There wasn’t another man in the world I would let do that to me. I wouldn’t enjoy it. But with Declan? I craved it. I needed him to do it again.
I drew a bar of soap across my skin, imagining it was Declan’s touch. Every inch of me felt sexual, sensitized. Flames of desire licked up through my core, throbbing deep and low in my belly, between my legs. I wanted his mouth on me again. He’d gotten me so crazy, drawing me so close again and again. He always knew exactly how close to bring me, exactly when to stop to deny my release.
I moaned. Why did I love him controlling me like that? Why was it such sweet torture to put myself completely in his hands? He seemed to read every signal within me, ones even I hadn’t been aware of.
Opening my eyes, I realized could see myself. Most of the mirror over the vanity faced the opposite wall, but one strip faced me in the bath. I could see my hair piled on top of my head, tendrils escaping. I licked my plump, parted lips. A breast rose out of the water and I stroked it, circling the erect nipple, watching myself the whole time. I’d never seen myself like this, a wonton sex goddess.
Bringing both breasts up into view, I caressed them, pinched them, watched my face flush and heat with lust. I wished Declan were there. I wanted to make him as crazy as he made me. Make him pant, long for me, unable to think of anything but touching, tasting, taking me. I pinched my nipples, watching in the mirror. I wanted him to watch me do this as he stroked his huge cock, then shot out a full, hot load of come across my tits.
Oh God, where were these thoughts even coming from? I dropped my hands away. I was shocking myself. My body was like a racehorse kept too long in the stable. It wanted out, wanted to flex its muscles and see how fast and far it could race. Frightened, I knew I needed to put on the brakes.
I needed to bring myself back to reality. But what was reality anymore? Was it that plodding, gray, same day-to-day I’d been sleepwalking through, tending to my father, the most pressing and immediate needs of the ranch, watching him fail, slowly? Was it the autopilot I’d flipped on when I’d lost him, doing everything that needed to be done as I, once again, experienced slow, inevitable loss—this time of my home?
Declan had only been back in my life for three days and already I felt so confused. When you had a dream, you always knew it when you woke up. The quality of
daybreak, that sense of realness and usually relief that no aliens had landed or you were, in fact, wearing your pants while grocery shopping.
But here I was wearing no pants at all and feeling the most overwhelming, both frighteningly and deliciously strange mix of sensations. Around Declan, I did almost feel caught in a dream, as if he swept me up and I certainly couldn’t think straight. But everything also felt more vibrant and real. I’d simply felt more over the past few days, plain and simple. I felt alive.
I drained the bath, lying there listening to the sound of the water until the tub was nearly empty. Was he next door in the bedroom? Lying a few feet away from me? Ready with something new to tease me with, drive me wild?
I grabbed a towel. Huge, fluffy, I enveloped myself in it and opened the door into the bedroom. It was empty, no sign or trace of Declan. Hesitantly, I opened the door into the main living area. Nothing. No cool, collected Declan over by the bar, looking at me low and level and heated. Not over in his favorite chair, now with the bear pillow. I smiled a bit.
Over on the kitchen island, I saw a note. Scrawled in black pen: At the gym. I got an image of him, bare chested, dripping with sweat.
How could I start to get aroused all over again? I was a mess. And I was exhausted. That expanse of a bed called to me. I didn’t really have any clothes to sleep in, though.
Back in the bedroom, I pulled open one panel of a large, white tri-fold closet. Rows of crisp, pressed dress shirts and suits stood at attention, pinstriped and meaning business in navy and charcoal grey. I didn’t recognize the names of the designers on the labels. No surprise there. There was a lot in his world now I simply knew nothing about. I didn’t know how much money it cost to buy one of these suits, to have a shirt tailored to fit exactly right, to stay even one night in a penthouse suite like the one he owned. I didn’t even know how much money he’d made.
Money. I hated thinking about it. Why did it have to matter so much? Looking up into shelving, I didn’t see anything in his closet even remotely like sleep clothes. Maybe Declan didn’t sleep anymore. Maybe that was his money-making secret.