Second Time Around (2 page)

Battling an overwhelming urge to pant for breath, I just stand there in front of him, fiddling with my bag on its strap. His eyes narrow and he reaches out and waggles his fingers, indicating that I give it to him. When I do so, he sets it down, alongside his chair.

Why can’t I speak? Why can’t I move? It’s as if he’s controlling me with his eyes, and that slight smile playing around his lips. I can’t believe the way my body is going crazy simply from a glance, a narrowing of his eyes, the tap of his fingertip on the side of his wooden chair seat. Oh God, it’s as if he’s reached between my legs and begun to stroke me, slowly and tantalizingly. My clit throbs and aches, and my nipples are like hard little stones in my bra.

“I want you back, Willa.” His voice is low and velvety, the rich tones of it confident now, assured. The last bit of old Willa opens her mouth to say something, some stupid protest she doesn’t mean, but he arches his dark blond brows and almost, but not quite laughs at my inability to get out the words. I realize he’s always known me better than I’ve known him.

“And I think you want me back too, don’t you, love?”

Even though he wants me to speak now, I can’t, but he nods as if he’s heard the yes I can’t manage to utter.

“I’ve learned a lot about myself while we’ve been apart. I’ve learned to accept parts of me I’d been suppressing,” he continues, clasping his hands lightly in front of him, thumb of one resting in the palm of the other. They look sinewy and strong, hardened by work, yet capable of great delicacy. I want to kiss them, but the notion astonishes me, and I suppress a gasp, amazed at the bizarre, bizarre thoughts that are forming in my head. I see myself kneeling before him, pressing my lips to those beautiful hands, then allowing them to do anything they want with me. And still kneeling, I imagine opening his jeans and drawing out his cock, so I can suck and worship it.

I sway again. I actually sway. Inches.

“Do you want to sit down, Willa?” He says it softly, yet with weight, as if suggesting that by saying “yes, I do want to sit,” I’ll incur some penalty.

So I brace my knees, shake my head?and just stand there, aching, aching in every nerve and cell, and mostly between my legs, where my pussy is swimming wet.

I do not know what has happened to me. I do not know what has happened to James. But I know we’re two new people, transformed forever.

“Good girl, good girl.” He flexes his fingers and the small action is beautiful, evocative. “Yes, I’ve learned a lot about me…and a lot about you, too. About what you need.”

My face must show my confusion, because he chuckles.

“You probably don’t even know it yourself yet, but if you’ll let me, I’ll show you. If you’re brave enough.”

Like I had a chance. I’m suddenly helpless before him. And I like it.

I manage a nod this time. And I keep on nodding, like some penitent, anxious to please.

“Very well, then. Take off your panties.”

What?

My mouth opens in one last dying gasp of the old me, wanting to question or protest, but he quells me with a level, old-fashioned look.

“Willa, take off your panties.”

Quiet tones. That thrill.

My heels are high and I glance around, looking for support, then realize I’m to be offered none. Awkward, like some half-grown gazelle not sure of its ability to stay upright, I rummage up my skirt, tug my knickers down, and step out of them, teetering from one foot to the other, nearly toppling over as I catch one stiletto in the elastic at the last moment. But I manage to right myself, and then straighten up and just stand there, clutching a little bundle of white lace in my hands, not sure what to do with it.

“Hand them to me.”

I step forward, fighting not to give in to vertigo and topple over. I feel yearning and confusion, and I feel so very, very horny that I can barely see straight. I’m right in front of him, all senses ramped up. He’s giving off waves and waves of power that lap across the tender surfaces of my now-exposed pussy and excite it unbearably. He puts out a hand, waggles his fingers, and obediently I drop my panties into it. I feel even fainter as a waft of strong woman-smell drifts up from the fabric.

Oh God, how long have I been so turned on? They’re saturated with juice, stained dark, revealing. He crumples them in his long fingers, wafts them quickly in front of his face, his eyes closing a moment. Then he stuffs them into the pocket of his leather jacket and returns his attention to me, only me.

“Have you been with a man since me?”

Regret sluices through me, even though it shouldn’t. We weren’t married. I was lonely. I took a man home, a work colleague who seemed nice. Who was nice, but not James. We fooled around and it was okay, just okay. But I couldn’t go through with it and fuck him when the moment came.

“You can answer, sweetheart. I’m not going to punish you.” His eyes are level and inquisitive. I wonder why I seem to add the word yet to that last sentence. “I’ll only punish you if you lie to me. If you deceive me.”

Punish? Oh…Oh…

I’m very, very conscious that I’m standing here without my knickers and my husband is talking about punishing me. It seems strange and surreal to be doing so, but also right in a way I cannot seem to quantify. I love James. I always will. And even though I understand the reasons why we parted, I want that parting to be over. To make things right.

And it’s right and good and exciting and fitting that my pussy should be naked, beneath my skirt, to suit his will.

“There was one guy…I didn’t fuck him. But we…we kissed and played around a bit.”

James tips his head to one side, eyeing me. That smile’s back, flirting around his lips. Is he pleased I didn’t fuck someone else, or pleased I allowed some liberties? I really can’t tell.

“Did you let him touch you there?” he nods toward my crotch “Between your legs?”

“Yes, sort of…but not much. I thought I wanted it, but when it came to it, I didn’t.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Now you’re prevaricating, Willa. Keeping the full truth from me.” Standing up suddenly, he’s right in my face, looking down at me. “I don’t mind if he played with your pussy. I just want you to be honest with me.”

I open my mouth to answer, but his lips come down on mine, hard and fast and unequivocal. Gasping around his tongue, I let him take me with his mouth, possessive and hungry. I put my arms around his neck to hold myself up, to hold myself against him, and as he continues to subdue me with the kiss, I feel his hand on my bottom, working my skirt up quickly and efficiently.

When the cool air hits my bare skin, I start to struggle, unable to control the automatic urge to cover myself.

“Someone might come in!” I protest, trying to break the kiss, but he kisses harder, a hand on the back of my head, holding me, while his other cups my bottom cheek, squeezing and massaging it in a way that’s delicious, delicious, delicious…rude but intensely arousing.

“Ah, Willa, Willa, Willa,” he purrs when he eventually ends the kiss, “Always worrying what people will thinkworrying what other people do.” He’s looking at me, talking to me in a normal way, but as he stares into my eyes, he’s running his fingertips up and down into the cleft of my sex, teasing me, tickling me. “You mustn’t do that, love. It only spoils things for you. Just relax, let things happen, cease to strive and fret.” He’s petting my perineum now, stroking it, his fingers sliding on my juices.

I let out a little whimper, unable to contain myself. I feel a thick rush of lubrication slither down the inside of my thigh, wetting my stocking top.

“See how much easier life is when you surrender to pleasure. When you stop forever wanting to do things, and change things, and just let things happen to you.”

Gasping, I lean against him, still holding on for dear life. My clit’s pulsating with hungry need, but I can’t reach down, can’t touch myself. I haven’t had permission. I must wait for him to give it, or for him to do me himself. All I can do is step from one foot to the other, as if that might surreptitiously stimulate me without him realizing it.

The minute I think that, though, he murmurs, “Tut-tut…I know what you’re trying to do. And I haven’t given permission. You have to earn your pleasure, my sweet. Give me something, so I’ll give you something.” He presses his mouth to the side of my face, breathing in deeply. “Much as I love you, my dear wife, it’s not all about you anymore. It’s about me too. What I want.”

Far back in my mind, the old me clamors. I’m not his wife, not really. We’re not together, and even if we are, we don’t have that kind of relationship…or do we?

But I swallow hard, turn my head, breathe his breath. I don’t want the old relationship anymore. I was never happy, not even when I was getting all my own way. Because beneath the superficial satisfaction I knew I was hurting him. And only he was brave enough to walk away from the mess I was making.

Walk away, so he could come back. A new man. The one I need and love.

In a tiny voice, I ask, “What do you want?” I know the answer, I think, but I’m scared, still scared. It’s the ultimate loss of control, a true submission.

“Well, tonight, for starters. I’d like to see your beautiful breasts again…and your thighs…and your pussy.” His fingers move devilishly, sliding forward, playing around my entrance, but not quite reaching my clit. “And then I think I’d like to spank your bottom. You need to learn to let go, my love. To give in. Cut loose.” He slips a finger into my vagina, and it goes in to the first joint, coasting on my honey. “To let someone other than you control your senses and your body.” He kisses me again, his lips cruising my throat as his finger hooks inside me, making me gasp. “Only then will you really and truly be in charge of what makes you happy.”

It sounds like New Age mumbo jumbo, but beneath the words I see the wisdom. It makes age-old sense, and my ex-husband is primal. He’s male and he’s alpha and he’s been that way all along. He just made concessions to me, out of love. In error, but because he cared.

And now, because he still cares, he’s become himself again.

But I’m afraid. In a way I never have been before. “I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Don’t be,” he whispers back, stroking my hair in a way that’s gentle and sweet, while his other hand is rude and wicked between my legs. We stand there for long, long moments, him soothing me with small kisses and wordless whispers, while all the while, the finger inside me owns me. Eventually though, he slips it out, and with a last brush of his lips against my hair, he steps away from me. “Undress,” he says quietly.

It’s a command.

Heart lurching in my chest, I slide off my jacket and place it on the chair at my side. Everything seems unreal, yet hyper real as if we’re living it in high definition. The sounds of the buttons of my blouse sliding out of the buttonholes are so distinct they seem to reverberate, and the whisper of the cloth as I drop that on the chair rings in my ears too. I know that at any moment someone might find it necessary to revisit this old haunt, but still I unsnap the fastener on my bra, ready to remove it. Cupping myself through the lace, I hesitate. James quirks an eyebrow, his blue eyes steady. I swallow, breathe deeply, bracing myself, then let the garment slip off me, exposing my breasts.

“Stop.”

My hands falter on the zip of my skirt and he steps close again, reaching out to fondle my breasts with both hands. He lifts them slightly, cradling them, as if assessing their weight and resilience. I have to close my eyes, the sensations are so intense, and I bite my lips, stopping the moans that spring to them as my pussy ripples, so excited.

“Look at me.”

I toss my head, unable to look.

“Look at me,” he repeats, voice still low and calm, yet full of heat. His eyes are full of heat too, when I meet them. And as they hold mine, he tweaks my nipples, lightly at first, then with more force, plucking and twisting and playing.

I’m a bottle of sparkling wine and he’s shaking me. I’m ready to explode, to effervesce. My sex aches in a hard, grinding ache, and my clitoris seems to swell between my pussy lips, crying to be touched. And still he torments my nipples in a way that transcends both pleasure and pain, yet is both.

“Ah!” I gasp as he squashes them between finger and thumb, and when he glances downward, I realize I’m clasping myself between my legs, my hand squeezing and massaging through my skirt.

“Uh-oh, now you’ve done it!” he teases, still strumming my nipples, “That will cost you, Willa, my love.” Dipping down, he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard on it, sending me beside myself. Unable to control my actions, I rub myself hard, pressing on my clit through the fabric of my skirt, and it jumps suddenly, and hard, and I’m coming. My knees buckle as quick, unexpected pleasure ripples through my sex and my belly and my entire groin. I clench on nothing, the muscles working, working, working as I groan. But James has me, holds me, keeping me aloft while I’m out of my body, yet more in it than I’ve ever, ever been.

After a few moments, I get it together again. I’ve climaxed, but it wasn’t enough. It was just a taster orgasm. I want more and I want more of this strange new lovemaking James has shown me. As I feel him release me, I know he knows I’m ready.

“Skirt now, baby,” he urges, but not before he presses a last little kiss on the very tip of my breast.