Mastered (2 page)

“Nervous?”
he asked.

I
laughed. “A little.”

He
stepped forward and lightly cradled my elbow. “Mags, it's just
me. We're just. Us. Okay?”

“Us?”

“Y'know,”
he said with a cheeky grin. “Mags and Jake. We've road-tripped
together, and gone through divorces together, and once in college,
I'm pretty sure we threw up in the same toilet together. Do you
remember?”

I
giggled, thinking about waking up in the bathroom the next morning,
both of us needing some water and an aspirin.

“To
this day,” he continued, “you're still the only girl I've
met who looks gorgeous with a hangover.”

I
blushed again at his silly compliment, letting my eyes fall to his
pressed black button-down and fitted black slacks, all topped off
with a tailored suit jacket. There was a perfect leather belt
circling his trim waist, and I couldn't help but be impressed. “Jake,
you're wearing pants.”

“Um?”

“You
never wear pants. Well, real pants. I don't think I've ever seen you
in something other than khakis and jeans and a t-shirt.”

Putting
a finger under my chin and forcing my eyes up to his, he said, “Well,
Mags, maybe it's just that you haven't been looking.”

“So!”
he said, after clearing his throat, “ready to get some grub?”
He waggled his eyebrows and bopped me on the nose with his finger, a
Jake gesture if I'd ever seen one. Grabbing my purse off the living
room end-table and shutting off the lights, I closed the door behind
me and tried to prepare myself for what was coming.

Seated
in his car, a local classic rock station played softly in the
background as Jake hummed the tune and tapped his thumb against the
steering wheel. Finally relaxed, I took a minute to just
look
at him. He was right before; we'd been friends for so long, but I'd
always been busy worrying about every minute detail of my life that I
never stopped to just appreciate him as a friend, or as a person, or
as a
man
.

His
dark hair gently tousled, I let my eyes travel downward to his square
jaw, scruffy with just enough stubble to make me wonder how it'd feel
dragging along my inner thigh. I felt my pussy tingle, and began to
rethink wearing the silk if I was going to keep thinking about Jake
and his stubble and his mouth so close to my-

“Mags?”

“Yeah?”
My voice cracked a little, and he laughed.

“You
doing okay, darlin'? You seem quiet.”

“No,
I'm fine. Just thinking.”

“Well
that's
never good,” he joked, his hand reaching across
the center console to squeeze my thigh playfully. “Mmm,”
he said softly. “You're so smooth.”

I
stared at his hand, his long fingers resting easily on my knee, and I
couldn't help but be amazed by how comfortable he was with touching
me. More than that, I couldn't help but be amazed by how
very much
I wanted it.

“Look,
Mags,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road, “tonight's
going to be...an adventure.”

“An
adventure?” I squeaked, as his thumb traced small circles on
the inside of my thigh, the circles slowly getting larger, and his
thumb slipping farther and farther up my skirt.

“Yes.
You see, I've wanted this for a long time.” His entire hand
begin to slip upwards, his knuckles brushing well past the hem of my
skirt.

“Have
you now?”

“Mmhmm.
And today, after you, uh,
opened up to me
, I decided that I
want to help you.”

“Help
me?”

His
fingers were inches from my pussy, and all I could think about was
shifting lower in my seat so they'd brush against my mound. “Do
you always ask so many questions?” he teased, letting his thumb
glide just below my cunt, stroking the soft skin of my inner thigh.

“I
want to help you explore. I want to help you explore yourself,”
he continued, his thumb finally sliding lightly over the silk of my
panty-clad pussy, “and your sexual side,” he said, his
thumb hooking under the lace trim, slowly dragging back and forth and
lightly brushing my cunt, “and us.” His thumb finally
delved deeper, gently brushing against my swollen clit as I
involuntarily arched to meet him. “Hmm...you're much smoother
than this morning. And wetter, by the feel of it.”

He
looked over for the first time since the conversation began, taking
in my curved back, breasts pushed out, my thighs spread wide, and
winked. “But, if at any point you want me to stop,” he
continued, his finger flicking back and forth against my clit,
“please just let me know. I definitely don't...” He
stopped to let his thumb slide lower, slipping into my pussy.
“...want to...” His thumb pumped slowly in and out, and I
could feel my cunt stretching slightly as I rocked my hips against
his hand. “...make you feel uncomfortable.”

With
that, he pulled his hand away completely as we eased up to a red
light. Looking over at me, he slowly sucked his thumb into his mouth,
looking intently at my face, flushed with want. “Okay?”
he asked.

I
exhaled loudly. “Okay.”

As
the light turned green, I smoothed down my hair and straightened my
skirt, crossing my legs at the ankle in what I hoped was a demure
position. “Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah,
Mags.”

“Who
are you
?”

All
he could do was chuckle.

If someone had told me that Jake would go from giving me a hard time
about quitting my second job in two months to having his fingers
buried inside of me while we drove to dinner, I would've laughed.
However, as I watched Jake gently suck my wetness off his thumb in
the dark of the car, giggling was the furthest thing from my mind.

“I never thought I'd get to say this,” Jake began with a
smile, “but you taste as good as you look.”

I honestly couldn't breathe for fear of begging him to touch me. That
man, that teasing, gorgeous, confident man was my closest friend. I'm
not sure how I missed the memo that he was a little bit of a sex god,
but as the night progressed, I would find out just how truly naughty
Jake could be.

Winding through the one-way downtown streets of Austin, I began to
recognize the familiar route to Jake's restaurant. Jake's No. 1, a
small diner serving classic American food, was his life-long dream
that became a reality two years after he graduated with his
Bachelor's in business. I'd spent countless hours there, helping him
paint the walls, choose the right clocks, handing him bolts to help
install the vintage booths that we won at an estate auction. Looking
down at my fitted, sultry outfit and his classic black suit, I knew
we'd be severely over-dressed, but the thought of biting into one of
Jake's burgers was enough to keep me quiet.

As we turned onto the main road by No. 1, Jake breezed past the
restaurant and made a quick right.

“What? No burgers?” My stomach growled in protest. The
night was about me, and a night of indulgence definitely warranted a
cheeseburger.

Jake smiled. “Not tonight.” He shot a glance my way and
rolled his eyes. “Try not to look so disappointed, will ya?
I'll bring you takeout tomorrow, how's that? Though how you fit those
burgers into that curvy little body is beyond me...” he trailed
off, his eyes openly raking my shape.

Mocking his manner, I huffed a little. “Well, I suppose that'll
do. And for your information, I just happen to have a hollow leg. The
left one, thank you very much.”

He reached over and knocked on my knee-cap. “Funny,” he
said, “I wouldn't-a guessed.”

Flirting with Jake. I never thought I'd see the day.

Pulling over to the curb, a well-dressed man approached the car and
opened my door. Valet. This was big news. Jake nonchalantly handed
the man his keys.

The valet accepted them easily, and rushed to climb in the driver's
seat. “Evening, Mister Morrison.”

I felt my mouth fall open in what can only be described as a look of
pure idiocy. Jake walked around the car, linking his arm with mine,
and gently leading me towards the glass round-about entrance of the
restaurant. A simple metal
2
hung above the door.

“Jake?” I whispered, as he pressed his hand into my lower
back and urged me through the door.

When we entered the restaurant, I was immediately floored by the
pristine condition of the place. This wasn't a diner with vintage
booths. Each seat looked hand-carved, upholstered in deep leathers
which mirrored the polished dark woods of the dining tables. Servers
wove effortlessly through the abundant dinner crowd, serving wine
while delivering aged scotches and perfectly-cooked steaks.

The hostess looked up and blushed. “Mister Morrison. I didn't
know you were coming in tonight. Your usual table?”

Jake looked over and smiled at my gold-fish face, eyes wide and mouth
agape. This was not Jake's usual scene. He was a sawdust and
hamburger man while this place screamed of class.

“Actually, Madeline,” he said, grabbing my hand and
squeezing it gently, “We'll be dining in the back room
tonight.”

The hostess paused for a second, glancing quickly from Jake to me,
then back again. “But Mister Morrison, you've never requested
the back-”

“Madeline,” Jake said, raising his eyebrows.

“Very well, sir. Absolutely.” The hostess recovered
quickly, menus appearing in her hand as she led us to the back of the
restaurant. As we approached a beautiful set of red mahogany doors, a
server stepped forward and swiped a key-card into the reader beside
the doorknob, holding it open and smiling. “Mister Morrison. A
pleasure seeing you, sir.”

“Thanks, Michael. Happy to be here.”

The hostess led us into the room, relatively small and dimly lit. The
sparkling chandelier hung demurely over the polished table,
surrounded by a plush booth that looked comfortable enough to sleep
in. Music played softly in the background, and I realized it was the
same radio station we'd been listening to in the car.

After placing the menus on our tables, perfectly straight, the
hostess stepped back and beamed. “Enjoy your dinner, sir.”
Turning to me, she bowed her head slightly. “Madame.” I
just stared.

She exited through the doors and I nearly leapt across the table.
“Jake Morrison! You tell me what the hell is going on
right
this second
!”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement and crossed his arms over his
chest, an expectant look on his face.

“Since when do you come to fancy-pants places? Where they know
your name? And you sit in private back rooms?!”

The waiter who had let us in approached and set down two glasses of
wine; a red for Jake, and a white for me, then quickly excused
himself.

Jake took a minute and sipped his drink, swirling the burgundy liquid
around in the glass before setting it down soundly on the smooth
service of the table. “This is part of the adventure,” he
said simply.

“Clearly!” I replied. I knew he was playing it coy, but I
couldn't sit back and pretend to be cool. “Be honest with me,
Jake. Have you joined the Mob?”

He burst out laughing, coughing slightly on his mouthful of wine.
“Maggie, this is my restaurant.”

“No, it isn't.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn't! Your restaurant is loud and bustling and...easy.
Grubby. Comforting.”

He continued to smile. “Well, yes. My
other
restaurant
is loud and bustling and...'grubby' as you so lovingly put it,”
he teased. “And
this
one isn't.”

“And this one isn't,” I repeated, looking around the
warm, clean room, a fire crackling quietly in the corner, surrounded
by a marble mantle. I thought back to the sign above the door.“
2
.
As in Jake's No. 2?”

“Exactly. Surprised?”

“That's it? 'Surprised?' Oh, surprise! I own a 5-star
restaurant. Surprise, Maggie, I've actually been putting together a
restaurant for the last...well,
ever
, and didn't tell you!”

Jake reached across the table and laced his fingers with mine. “I
didn't want to tell you until it was ready. Until we were ready. And
now
,” he said, bringing my hand to his mouth and lightly
grazing his lips against my knuckles, “we're ready.”

Seeing the waiter approaching, I tried to pull my hands away, but
Jake held on firmly.

“Mister Morrison,” the waiter hedged, approaching the
table with hesitance.

“Ah, Michael. How's it going man?”

“Well, sir, thank you. Do you know what you'd like to order?”

Jake's thumbs began lightly brushing the backs of my hands and I felt
myself turning red. Those thumbs would be the death of me. Michael
looked down briefly at the methodical strokes of Jake's fingers
before clearing his throat and refocusing on Jake, his eyes
expectant.

“We'll start with the eggplant and goat cheese flat-bread,”
Jake began, looking to me questioningly. I nodded my encouragement,
and he continued. “I'll have my usual, and for the lady, the
best cheeseburger we can make, medium-well.” He winked at me
before passing his menus over to Michael.

“Very well sir.” And with that, Michael exited through
the large doors. I noticed he had to swipe his key-card to get out,
as well as get in, and I involuntarily squirmed a little in my seat.

Feeling Jake's hands slightly squeeze mine, I looked up and met his
stare.

“I have something for you,” he said, his glinting eyes
sending my stomach into flutters.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, indeed. Do you want it?”

I laughed nervously. “I don't know. Do I?”

He leaned over to his coat hanging on the end of our booth and dug in
the pocket, producing a small gold box tied with black satin ribbon.
He placed it squarely on the table in front of me.

“Well, go on,” he said. “Open it.”