Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) (38 page)

Sliding the boxes from under my bed, I recalled getting dressed for Jack in his office earlier this week. Standing naked in front of him and dressing. Hearing and seeing his response. What would he say when he saw the whole package? What was
he
going to wear? My mouth started to water as I considered that he might be wearing a tuxedo.

I carefully laid the dress on my bed, then went to get my ‘little purchase.’ I unwrapped the tiny tissue encased package, revealing a tiny salmon colored lace thong. I was tickled to see that the color was nearly an exact match. The second tissue wrapped package held the matching garter belt. Next, a pair of thigh high nude, silk stockings that had just a touch of silver woven into the nylon, and a sexy silver lace top on each leg. I would have bought the sexy bra, but a bra was out of the question since the dress had no back.

Feeling every bit sexy, I slid the thong over my expertly waxed girly parts. Turning to see my backside in the mirror, I loved how the lace ducked demurely into my crack. I set the garter belt in place, then collected the stockings to work up my legs.

I imagined that I was putting them on while Jack sat back and watched. I pointed my toe and slowly worked the nylon up my right thigh. As I pulled the delicate material over my temporary tattoo, I smiled, and wondered how Jack would react. I decided to save it until the last moment. And once it was in place, I ran my fingers down my silky, ever-so-softly shimmering, legs. As I repeated the exercise on my left leg, I imagined Jack taking them off… with his teeth.

Moisture started to pool between my legs and I was becoming completely hot and bothered. I thought about taking my birthday gift out of the drawer and giving myself a once over, but I thought better of it and decided it would be more rewarding to wait and have Jack bring me to orgasm.

Sliding the dress on and slipping into the crystal boot style shoes, I stood back to look at myself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. I was speechless. I didn’t look like myself. I did, but I looked so much more.

I practiced walking in the heels, the way Jack’s secretary walked. Confident, straight, and elegant. I found that when I stood nice and tall, the four inch heels were not as difficult as I thought they might be. In the mirror, I noticed my knee pushing through the slit, and spotted that the lace top of the thigh high would
just
peek out for Jack’s viewing pleasure. I smiled a wicked grin. I loved it. A few strategically placed spritzes of CoCo Channel’s
Mademoiselle
perfume, and I was ready.

I had about ten minutes until Jack arrived. The excitement was killing me. I poured myself a glass of Macallan while I waited. As the oaky taste coated my mouth, I imagined it was Jack. I let the drink gently burn down my throat, stoking the fire that had started in my belly. Suddenly the house intercom rang. It was still eight minutes until Jack was supposed to show up. I picked up the phone.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Ms. Fairchild, this is Gilbert – the doorman. There is a Mr. Stevens here to see you. He is asking to come up. Is that okay?”

I didn’t really want him to see my tiny apartment. It would be embarrassing compared to his home.

“He’s rather insistent that he must come up,” Gilbert continued.

“Okay,” I sighed. I hung up the phone then quickly dashed around carefully in the heels, making the place as presentable as I could. After closing my bedroom door to hide all the tissues and the Bergdorf boxes, I fluffed the sofa pillows, and put the couple of glasses from the sink in the dishwasher.

The gentle knock at the door startled me, nearly tossing me off heels. Steeling myself with my hand on the knob, I took a calm, cleansing breath, and answered the door.

Jack stood there in the hallway just staring at me. I stood just looking at him. I hadn’t seen him for three days, but it as if I hadn’t seen him for three weeks, and I was seeing him all anew. His hair done a little more sophisticatedly. He
was
wearing a tuxedo with satin lapels that fit him seductively. I could just sit and ogle him for the next hour. He was sex on legs. I wanted to rip his coat off and pull the studs out of his tuxedo shirt with my teeth.

“It has been a long three days,” he growled. He cleared his throat. “May I come in?” he asked.

I nodded, unable to speak, and stepped aside.

“No,” he stopped. “Turn and walk. I want to see the back.”

A slow smile spread across my face. I pivoted, ever so slowly, keeping my eyes on Jack. I loved watching his eyes trace down my spine, over my rear. He swallowed, his jaw clenching. I faced forward, not wanting to fall and break the spell that had been cast, and started to walk.

“Stop,” he growled as I reached the living room. I stopped and stood, my heart racing, my stomach doing little flip flops as I moved along under his control. “Turn.”

Again, I pivoted as slowly as before. Facing him again, I raised my head and saw that he’d entered the apartment and, as quietly as a church mouse, closed the door behind him. He was now leaning on that door, taking my breath away.

We locked eyes and he strode confidently toward me. I felt like the prey, and I couldn’t wait to be devoured—but
after
the show. I held my hands up, and stepped out with my left foot, sliding my knee through the long slit that graced that leg. I saw his eyes flit to the top of that slit and the hint of lace I’d planted. He licked his lips quickly.

“Later. You can rip the gown off later… as in
after
the show.”

“Woman, you are not playing fair,” he chided. “And I think I made a mistake in selecting that gown for you.” My face dropped.
I loved this gown. How could he say that?
“Every man will be distracted. And every woman will hate you,” he explained, his lips curling into a smirk.

My heart swelled at his assessment, and my face found its grin.

“What time are our dinner reservations?” I asked in an attempt to re-direct the conversation, or I would start pulling those studs out with my teeth.

“Five. It’s about a twenty minute drive from here in this traffic.”

His eyes glanced around my apartment. “Very nice place you have here,” he said, nodding. “And the doorman does his job well. I tried to pay him to let me come up and surprise you, perhaps catching you not yet dressed…”

I had to close my eyes and find my balance, recalling my little fantasy when I was getting dressed, imagining him watching. I couldn’t wait until he saw the garter. I took a deep breath through my nose and smelled his cologne. That musky, sandalwood mix that must have had pheromones in it because I was thinking of only sex.

I opened my eyes and he was standing only inches from me.
How did he move without me hearing him?
Probably because my heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

He smiled and brought his hand up to my chin, tilting my face up to look at him. I loved that here I stood in four inch heels and I still had to look
up
into his eyes. With Greg, even in flats, I was nearly eye level.

“I missed you,” he whispered, then placed a warm, kiss on each cheek. “I think the next time I go to Paris, I’m bringing you with me.” The finger that was under my chin slowly slid down the side of my neck, to my
décolletage
, into the plunging V of the dress, until the fabric stopped his journey. My insides clenched and felt the moisture return between my legs.

We gazed into one another’s eyes for a moment. His were hooded and dark. I don’t think he had opera on his mind.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I whispered hoarsely.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said as his right hand found the slit of the dress and started to fish inside.

I stepped back, not wanting to ruin the surprise for later. As calmly as I could manage, I walked to the mini-bar. “I have Macallan Twelve,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat and continued. “And a Red Zin from Sonoma County.”

He was silent so I glanced back at him. He was smiling at my back. “Macallan?” he asked. I shrugged slightly with a small smile. “Sounds wonderful. And I see you already have yours,” he said, his eyes flashing to the breakfast bar where my glass sat abandoned. Effortlessly, he sauntered over to the breakfast bar, picked up my glass, and walked up to me. He took my hand and led me to the sofa.

“Please, sit. I can serve myself. You’ll be serving plenty later.”

I sank onto the sofa and I quickly took a sip. My breath raced as did my pulse. What possibilities lay with that statement…?

N
ote to self: never spend three days away from this woman again.
Yes, I’d missed the way Beth talked, and the funny insightful comments she made. Her intelligent views on the news, and how she gushed over the puppies in the window at the pet shop on Lexington. And I loved how she listened to what I had to say, and didn’t try and turn whatever I said into an opportunity for her. She was genuinely interested.

But the instant I saw her, conversation wasn’t what I was missing. I wanted to thrust her against the wall, shove the dress aside and sink my throbbing cock into her. I needed Beth, mind and body, and it scared me.

Staring at her now, I didn’t know how it was possible, but over these three days, she grew even more beautiful. It wasn’t the hair, or the make-up, or the drop-dead gorgeous gown and shoes that set me back a few paychecks, not to mention the gift I had for her later, there was a renewed confidence in her posture. They say that clothes make the woman/man… but I have not always found that to be true. It was the experiences. I wondered what things she’d experienced since Tuesday afternoon that caused this shift.

Oh, and her invitation to rip the gown off her later. That was so happening sooner than later.

H
e poured his drink and returned to sit on the coffee table in front of me, unbuttoning his coat as he did so. He sipped the scotch and set it down next to him.

“I love what you’ve done with your look tonight. In fact, when you opened the door, I forgot my name.”

I sipped my scotch again. His words were making me lose my mind. Taking ahold of my glass, he set it next to his. Then he reached into his coat’s inside breast pocket.

“I did a little shopping in Paris.” My heart stopped. Before me he was holding a black velvet box, about three inches wide and six inches long. His graceful fingers undid the silver latch that held the box closed, and he pulled back the lid on its hinge. My hand flew to my neck, as the lump in my throat that had been threatening my ability to breathe, grew in size.

Resting in the box was a pendant with a princess cut diamond seated in a swirl of silver. The diamond had to be at least a full karat, if not larger. At each corner of the square diamond sat a smaller chocolate diamond.

“Jack. This
definitely
crosses the line. I can’t poss–”

“Beth. This is your necklace. Please, do not deny me.” His eyes burned with intent.

“But Jack. This is too expensive.”

“Don’t spoil this for me. I’ve never had the desire to buy anything like this for anyone before. All of the women that I’ve ever dated have only wanted to be with me because I was a famous model, or the owner of a modeling agency. You were with me knowing full well who I was, and I don’t mean the me of the past thirty years. You know my past. Where I come from. An uneducated family. I’m sure you know I’m the first to go to college.”

I quietly nodded. It was widely known that his family was devoted to farming and they didn’t make much fuss over grades. There was a nickname for the kids in classes at our school as well, they were dubbed Honorary Stevens’. Once, I’d missed a week of school because of the flu, then was surprised my first day back with a pop quiz. I’d gotten a D on it. A classmate called me ‘Lizzie Stevens’ for it. None of Jack’s brothers or sisters went to college and, last I’d heard, they were still working on the ranch.

“You want to be with me for everything that I am. Just like I want you for everything you are. You haven’t judged me one bit. You have given your trust and your body to me. This is a small token as to how much that means to me.”