I watched you casually make your way up the porch steps, my eyes feasting on each ripple of muscle that I could make out as you moved closer to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I waited for the bell to ring and when it did my stomach lurched. I rolled my eyes at my reaction. My hands smoothed down the red silk blouse I wore. My fingers brushed over my breasts and I felt my hard nipples under the material. A grin of wickedness rose from my lightly painted lips as I made my way toward the front door.
I opened it just as you were about to ring it again. Lifting a brow I waved you in and then shut the door behind you. "Welcome." My greeting was light and cordial. You extended your hand and I took it, a firm handshake was given by both of us. "This way," I said and pointed to the living room, where fresh squeezed lemonade waited us both. I knew you weren't a lemonade kinda guy, but I wasn't ready to reveal all to you. See . . . I've been watching you for some time, but you didn't know that did you?
We made small talk and then you offered to show me the designs for the new wing I was adding to my home. There really was no need for you to show me your portfolio, but you did, because you thought you were one of several architects I was interviewing. If you only had known then that there were no others. You were all I wanted; no one else had even been called.
I gazed at your work, imagining your talented hands on my skin instead of the swift strokes of a pencil on paper. I could almost picture us in the bedroom you showed me, our bodies entwined in heated embraces that brought forth sweat that aided us in our mating. I stared at you for a moment, wondering if you could smell how aroused I was by just having you in the same room with me. You caught me staring and I felt my blush wash over my face and roll down my neck.
Did you notice how my breath caught in my throat and how I practically floated on air when you reached out and tucked a strand of my red curls away from my face? We were both caught off guard, weren't we? You apologized for being so forward, but I merely waved it off, telling you there was nothing to apologize for. You were surprised though when I added, "Next time you must ask permission."
I rose to my feet and extended my hand, offering you a tour of my home. "Delighted," you told me. Inwardly I agreed with you, because now I could imagine you in every corner of my home. Our tour began in the kitchen. You gazed out the window and complimented me on the lush gardens. I gazed at your ass, imagining my long nails digging into the hard chords and holding you tight against me. When you complimented the marble counter top and ran your hands across the smooth surface, I saw my naked ass resting on the cool slab, my legs spread and your mouth eating away the evidence of my climax.
It wasn't until your hand was on my shoulder that I realized you'd been talking to me. I blushed and apologized to you. Quickly I set your mind at ease, and told you I was fine again offering you yet another apology, which this time you told me, "There is nothing to apologize for." I grinned and took your arm. We left the kitchen and moved to the dining room. The crystal gleamed and on any other day I would have shared with you the history of some of the pieces handed down from generation to generation, but all I could do was imagine you on the table, ropes securing your hands and legs in a way that left you exposed and helpless. I swallowed and noted my parched throat. "Scotch?" I asked walking over to the mini bar. You got there first and poured us both a stiff drink.
Your eyes held mine and I feared you were reading the lust and desire that I was fighting to contain. When you took the tumbler from my hand, our fingers brushed and I swear a shot of electricity slammed into me. You felt it too, didn't you? I could see it in your eyes, a flickering question. I knew you were worried I would throw you out, but I wouldn't have . . . if anything I would have begged you to stay forever. I didn't beg though. I am not the one that begs.
After our drinks, I found your hand on the small of my back and it burned me. I wanted you then and there, but kept my wits and we walked to the study, which doubles as my office. You went on and on about how the new rooms would serve all my purposes. I allowed you to believe that there were going to be rooms added, but in fact the rooms were already prepared. We left the study and made our way to the downstairs guestroom. A bed rested along one wall, an antique bureau and dresser set against another. I told you the story of how I acquired the rare pieces and you told me how sly a business woman I was. "You have no idea," I whispered and then winked at you.
I watched you walk around the room, admiring the woodwork. Leaning against the bureau I saw you wrap one of your hands around the post of the bed. You looked back at me and I saw your eyes rake over my form. I knew my nipples were hard, the material of my bra made my areolas itch and I tugged on my shirt, hoping to find some relief. I found none and you knew it. Your lips rose up in a knowing smirk and I lifted a brow, subtly or not so subtly trying to make you question what you thought I was feeling. You didn't though, I could tell by the way you moved toward me. A confident swagger in every step.
When you reached my side, I trembled and when you leaned in, your lips were just a breath away from mine; I turned my head away. I saw the question in your eyes and then I knew it was time for me to make my dreams come true. They're your dreams too; you just don't realize it . . . yet. I took your hand and led you down the hall, back to the study and then over to another door. You had glanced at this one briefly, but didn't show your curiosity and for that I am pleased. This shows me you know your place in society. Yours is not to question, but to simply be.
The door opened easily and I held your hand in mine as I led you down the steps. Each step brought us closer to the light that would welcome us at the bottom. "What is this place?" you asked me, yet I merely smiled back and you and whispered, "Trust me." We stepped into a room, its shape circular and its furnishings, sparse. A mirror. A couch. A mini bar. These were just a few of the things that made up the room. The air was cool, but not too cold, but I knew it was the architecture that drew you.
I chuckled softly as you dropped my hand and ran your fingers over the rock walls. How I wished I had been the wall beneath your palm and your hand was learning every curve and crevice of my body. I was slick with anticipation and had I been wearing a short skirt, instead of the casual slacks I had on, you would have been able to enjoy the scent of my arousal. "What is behind this?" you asked, your voice made me wish you were already begging for my come. I shook myself out of my fantasy and lifted a brow. "Something for you," I answered and pulled a key from my pocket.
