A Slow Boil (21 page)

“Oh god, what you do to me.”  His face was buried in my neck,
his mouth hot and wet on my skin.  “In this dress, your legs, you have no
idea.  So beautiful.”

I could feel the rising effect I was having on him with our bodies
pressed together, and his words were all that I needed to light me on fire too.

“Upstairs,” I whispered, willing him to take me to bed.

“No.  Here.”

“Here?”

“Turn around.”

I did.  I leaned down on the island.  “Like this, sir?”

“Yes, just like that.”

I felt his hands on my calves first.  They rose slowly up my
legs, past the back of my knees, up the back of my thighs, bringing my dress up
with them.

“This is what I think about when you bring in my dinner,” he said
in a low voice. “I think about turning you over the table and doing
this.”  He pulled down my panties, eased them over my shoes, stood back up
and pushed my legs apart with his knees. “I think about you all spread out like
this for me.  I think about how there’s no meal in the world comparable to
your sweetness, your beauty.”

I heard him undo his belt followed by the rustle of cloth as he
must have lowered his pants.  I could barely breathe with
anticipation.  I fisted my hands, trying to control the tremors that were
already sweeping through me.  Seconds later he pushed into me with so much
force I was lifted off my feet.  The loudest sound I’d ever made in the
house came out of me from somewhere deep inside.

“That’s it.  Let me hear you, beautiful girl.”  He began
moving in and out, holding my waist tightly in his hands, setting a wickedly
slow pace that soon had me begging for more.  I was indecent in my pleas,
all care thrown aside as I bucked my hips, desperately urging him to give me
what I needed.

“When you beg me like that,” he panted behind me, “if you only
knew what it does to me.”  He began picking up his pace. “You. Are. My.
Perfect. Girl.”  He matched a thrust to each word.

“Oh!”  I felt like I was yelling but I had no control over
myself as each of his thrusts began feeling deeper and harder than the last,
bringing me closer and closer to my orgasm.  I felt one of his hands snake
up into my hair and he pulled my head back, lifting my torso off the
island.  He leaned down over me and buried his face in my neck, his
thrusts growing even more intense. “Sylvia,” he moaned, “my god, Sylvia, what
you do to me.”

That was all it took for me to fall apart, my name passing his
lips.  Every single muscle in my body clenched into a spasm of pure joy,
as another loud moan escaped me.  I felt him thrust once more, then again,
and then he stiffened as well, his moan in my ear echoing my own.  He
collapsed on top of me, our breaths the only sounds in the room.  He
slowly kissed the back of my neck, my shoulder, the top of my back, my other
shoulder, the side of my face, my lips.  I lay underneath him, savoring
each touch of his mouth.

“You’ll sleep in my bed from now on,” he murmured into my lips.

“Yes,” I managed to agree on a shaky exhale.

“Then let’s get you upstairs.  I’m not done with you.”

“Something amusing you, Miss Lane?”

“Oh no, sir.  Nothing at all.”

“Then do you care to explain that silly grin on your face?”

I shook my head innocently.  “I don’t know what you
mean.”  I pursed my lips to keep my grin from spreading.

We were sitting at the island eating breakfast, and I, of course,
having the maturity of a thirteen year old, couldn’t stop replaying last night
in my head.

He grinned back at me and took a sip of coffee.

“I was just thinking how much I love this kitchen.”  I ran my
hand over the spot where he’d bent me over last night.  “And I really like
this island.”

“Do you, now.”

“
Hm
-hmm.  It’s the perfect
height.  You know, to work at.”

He chuckled.  “I like this island, too.  Very handy.”

“Someone else in this house is very handy.”

He snorted into his cup.

“Is something amusing you, Mr. Hunter?”  I took a bite of
toast.

He shook his head.  “It just turns out my very proper little
housekeeper has a naughty streak.  I should have checked her references
more thoroughly.”

“You should have.  You can’t be too careful.”

“I realize that now, but what can I do?  I can’t let her go.”

“No?”

“Nope.  She’s quickly become invaluable to me.”

“I guess you’ll just have to suffer on with her then.”

“I guess I will.  Poor me.”  He smiled that crinkly-eyed
smile that I loved and impulsively I got up and went around the island to hug
him.  He pulled me to stand between his legs and wrapped his arms around
me tightly, burying his face in my neck.  He relaxed his arms and ran them
up and down my back, letting out a sigh.  “I feel as though I'm never
going to get enough of you, Miss Lane.”

I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder.  “I feel exactly
the same way.”

“Sadly, though, I have a lot of work to get done this week. 
I’ve got to try to leave you alone.”  He pulled me in tightly again.

“I’ll try not to distract you.  I don’t want to interfere
with your work.”

“You have no idea how much you distract me without even
trying.”  He reached up and cupped my face, tilting it so I was looking at
him.  He kissed me lightly.  “I’m always wondering where you are in
the house, what you're doing.”  He kissed me again.  “Wondering if I
can make up a plausible excuse to come find you.”

“Sneak up on me, you mean.”  I kissed him back.

“I like to watch you work.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“It took me a while to figure out, but yeah.”

He chuckled and kissed my nose.  “Who could blame me, my
beautiful girl?”  He ran his thumb over my cheek, his face growing
serious.  “I got two new emails this morning from faculty looking for help
on their translations.  This is my busiest time of year, the summer, when
professors aren't teaching and are hoping to publish instead.”

“Maybe we should have a new rule.  No touching until dinner.”

He closed his eyes and pulled me in to him.  “That’s what I
was thinking. We’ll start in about ten minutes.”  He buried his face back
into my neck.

“
Mmm
.  Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes, you’re right.”

By Friday, we seemed to have set the ground rules of our
relationship.  During the day, Mr. Hunter treated me much as he had
before, his self-control slipping only a couple of times.  I didn’t mind
his need to keep me at arm’s length during the day because our dinners became
only that more anticipated and erotic, and the nights I spent in his bed were so
passionate, so sensuous, that I was already completely under his thrall. 
Even the nights we didn’t make love he still found ways to make me feel
cherished and desired.  He knew every inch of my body, and I his, and by
the end of that week, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.  I think I
was already in love.

Britt saw it on my face immediately when I met her for
lunch.  “It happened!”

I grinned from ear to ear.  “What gave it away?”

“You're glowing enough to light a small city, maybe a big
one.  You have to tell me everything, starting from the beginning, right
now.”

I bit my lip, trying to get some control over my stupid
grin.  “Um, it started last weekend.”

“And?  How is he?”

“Amazing, Britt.  Amazing.”

“Ah, look at you.  He must be.  Now come on,” she
bounced up and down in her chair.  “I want details!”

“Okay, okay, calm down!  I kissed him in the library Saturday
afternoon and then he carried me upstairs to bed.”

“Oh my god, how romantic.”

“He is so romantic.  He took me out for dinner at Pierre’s
Sunday night and when we got home he made love to me in the kitchen.”

“In the kitchen?”

“It was like he couldn’t wait.  It was incredible.”

“In the kitchen.  Wow.”

“I know.  You were right about his pent-up energy.”

She shook her head in awe.  “And to think I used to be
jealous of your bike and dress.  Now you’re getting the really good
stuff.”

“Yes, I am.”  I happily punctuated each word.

“So are you still working for him?”

“Of course.  Nothing’s changed except that now I sleep in his
bed at night.”

“And it’s all good?  You’re okay sleeping with your
boss?”  She was smiling at me, but there was a serious undertone to her
question.

“God, yes.  It’s kind of hard to explain, the way we get
along.  When I’m not working, he’s always treated me rather formally, and
that hasn’t changed very much, although he’s more affectionate.  And when
I’m working, he still does nice things like play the piano when I’m dusting the
library, just longer, like he's trying to make me happy.  The days aren’t
really all that different.”

“Just the nights.”

“Yep.”

We ate for a while, exchanging grins every now and then.

“So what finally got him to break?”

I thought back to last weekend.  “He'd begun touching me at
dinner, and I’d told him that I liked it, thinking that would be enough of a
signal, but it wasn’t until I told him how much I wanted him to touch me that
he gave in.”

“So you sit with him at dinner now?”

I nodded.  “He said he likes my company.”

“And he touches you?”

“He likes to touch my hair and face during dinner and feed me from
his plate.”

She gave me a puzzled look.

“I know it sounds weird.  It probably is weird, but what can
I say, I like it.”

She didn't say anything for a minute, looking me over.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so happy,” she finally
smiled at me, “so as long as you know what you’re doing, I won’t say anything
about how odd that sounds.”

“Britt, you know I love you, but cut me a little slack,
okay?  This is all new to me.  I’ve never felt this way about anyone
before.  I’m still trying to absorb the fact that I’m falling in love with
my boss.”

“That was my next question.”

“I mean, he’s so kind to me, he makes me feel so special.  He
calls me his princess.”

“Oh lord, you didn’t stand a chance, did you?”

“I don’t think I did.  When I first met him, I thought he was
the handsomest man I’d ever laid eyes on, but there were some things I couldn’t
figure out about him.  Now that I know those things weren't anything to
worry about, there’s nothing stopping me from falling at his feet.” 
Literally.

“What things?”

“Oh, you know, like the reason your aunt quit.  It turns out
their personalities just didn’t mesh and he avoided her when he could, and
wasn’t very nice to her when he couldn't.”

“What else?”

“I finally took your advice and googled him but there wasn’t
anything, so I asked him one evening what exactly he wrote.  Turns out
he’s a translator for the University.”

“How does he afford that house on a translator’s salary?”

“He inherited some money when his parents died, and I guess they
were pretty wealthy.”

“What else?”

“He’s never been married, though he was in love just once, when he
was younger.  Oh, that was the problem with him hesitating to start
anything with me.  He thinks he’s too old, that our age difference makes
him a lecherous old man.  His words.”

“But he’s over that?”

“He sure seems to be.”  I smiled as I took the last bite of
my pizza.  “He said I may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“Wow.  This sounds way more serious than a summer fling.”

“We haven’t talked about it yet, but I can tell he doesn’t want me
to leave in the fall.  But that’s a long time from now, so who knows,
right?  Maybe we’ll hate the sight of each other by the end of the
summer.”

“I seriously doubt that, Sylvia.  I seriously doubt that.”

I did too, I thought, lying in Mr. Hunter's bed that night, my
body spent, his arm draped over my hip, his last whispered “perfect girl”
lingering in the air as we succumbed to sleep.

The rest of June was hot.  Really hot.  I’d never
experienced this kind of heat and couldn’t believe how much it affected
me.  I could barely move without breaking a sweat, everything I lifted
feeling heavier than it should, including my own arms and legs.  Mr.
Hunter’s thick curtains finally made sense, as they kept the rooms relatively
cool when drawn against the sun during the day.  But by late afternoon, I
felt like I was moving in slow motion, the simplest things like chopping an
onion or preparing a salad seeming to take forever.  It felt like time
itself had slowed, giving in to the heat, everything giving into the
heat.  Dinner was late several times but Mr. Hunter wasn’t immune himself
and waved aside my apologies with an understanding smile.

He tried so hard to keep me comfortable.  He went through the
house at night, opening windows to let in the cooler evening air.  He told
me to work less, then not at all if I didn’t want to.  He brought me
glasses of water during the day and offered me more sips of his drinks at
dinner to make sure I was getting enough fluids.  One especially hot night
he pulled me onto his lap, pulled my zipper down to my waist, eased my dress
off my shoulders altogether, unhooked my bra and ran an ice cube over my
torso.  He licked the melted water off my body, no relief left in the
world but his cooling tongue on my flesh.

I came out of my stupor the first week of July, when the heat
finally broke.  It was astounding to find myself suddenly attuned to my
surroundings and motions as I made dinner the first cool evening, fully aware
of myself again.  This was me, making dinner, for Mr. Hunter, who would be
on the other side of that door in half an hour.  Mr. Hunter, the man I
loved.  Mr. Hunter, whom I needed to see.  I found him in his office.

“Miss Lane?”  He looked up at me in surprise as I ran in, my
limbs finally feeling light again, like they were mine, like this was me.

I threw myself onto him and kissed him everywhere I could
touch.  His jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes, his neck, his ears,
his mouth, again and again, everywhere, everywhere he was I wanted to
kiss.  I pulled his hair, bringing his mouth to the angle I needed,
delving into it with my tongue, running my other hand over his delicious, perfect
chest, pressing myself against his groin, doing everything in my power to
express what I felt for him, needing to express it, my feelings for him just
having grown during the heat wave but having no capable outlet.

“I want you,” I choked out as I unfastened his belt and undid his
zipper.  I could feel him hardening underneath my hands and my lust for
him exploded even more, like a string of firecrackers going off inside
me.  I stood up, yanked down my underwear, and straddled him again, rubbing
my wetness against his hard length, letting him feel how swollen and hot I was
for him.  “I want you,” I said again, this time with more urgency, now
that I could feel the difference between our bodies.  Now that everything
was perfect again.

He swept things aside on his desk and lifted me to the edge,
pulling my skirt up to my waist and pushing my legs apart.  “Wider,” was
all he said, as I lay back, bumping things with my head, not caring, spreading
my legs as wide as I could, completely open to him, all his.

He stood looking down at me for moment, taking in my wanton
supplication, running his hands back and forth over the insides of my
thighs.  Then he gripped my hips and plunged himself inside me.  I
pulled him down to me with a fierce groan, digging my hands into his hair,
holding him to me as tightly as I could.  I couldn't seem to get him close
enough as I writhed up, using every muscle in my restored body to pull him into
me.

“You want me,” he gasped into my neck, beginning his thrusts, his
hands in my hair.