The air inside Book Soup was thick with the scent of the book-lined shelves and freshly brewed coffee, a comforting aroma that seemed to cradle the curious minds of those gathered for the evening's event. Frankie, a seasoned historian with a penchant for the provocative, stood at the podium, his eyes scanning the room as he regaled his audience with ideas from his latest work, Freud and Everyday Political Life.
His voice, smooth and articulate, wove through the crowd, drawing them into the intricate dance of psychology and politics. Yet, even as he spoke, his gaze kept drifting toward a chic and lithe figure seated near the back.
She was a vision, perhaps a quirky one, but still a vision. Her petite frame was accentuated by a fitted dress that hugged her curves, its hemline reaching only as far as the bottom of her amaaaazing ass! Her shoulder-length auburn hair cascaded in loose, unruly waves, and her bright brown eyes sparkled with an intelligence that matched her striking appearance.
Frankie's heart skipped a beat as his eyes lingered on her very small and perky breasts, his mind silently imagining what they would feel like in his hands...or mouth. Her whimsical style, a mix of playful accessories and professional attire, only added to her charm. She was a contradiction--both composed and seemingly playful. Frankie found himself captivated from 30 feet away.
As the reading ended, Frankie stepped down from the podium, his mind racing. He signed books and exchanged pleasantries with admirers, but his thoughts kept returning to HER. She was engaged in a conversation with another patron, her expressive eyes animated as she spoke. Frankie took a deep breath, his heart thumping, and made his way toward her.
"You know," he began, his voice low and endearing, "I must confess, I've been stealing glances at you all evening. There's something about you that I like a lot. Part of it is that you are a very pretty woman. Now that I have established myself as still one more male pig, Hi. I'm Frankie Damon. As you can guess, I'm a writer."
Her eyes widened in surprise, but a soft smile played on her lips. "Well, Frankie," she replied, her voice a sultry purr, "I must admit, the feeling is mutual. You have that somethin' somethin' about you that's hard to resist. I'm Ally McAllister. I'm an attorney."
Frankie felt a surge of confidence. "Are you feeling adventurous, Ally? Would you like to come back to my place? It's up in the Hollywood Hills. We could continue this little conversation in a more... comfortable and less distracting setting. I could tell you more about Freud, and you could fill in my ignorance of torts and such."
Ally hesitated for a moment. Go with a stranger to his house? That kind of shit in LA wasn't safe. Her bright eyes studied him. Then, a mischievous glint appeared, and she nodded. "I'd like that, Frankie," she said.
First base, Frankie mutttered to himself. Do not blow this, dude!
The drive to Frankie's house, nearly all the way down Sunset, was filled with a palpable tension, the air thick with anticipation. Frankie's heart raced as he finally pulled into the driveway, his mind already wandering to the possibilities that awaited them.
He led Ally inside, the house bathed in the soft glow of dim lighting. Ally was awe-struck. The eclectic mix of books, art, and antiques that filled the room seemed to suggest that she had tripped up onto a complex personality--intellectual, responsive to beauty, and if the expensive Helmut Newton photographs were any indication, deeply sensual.
"This place is amazing," Ally remarked, her eyes taking in the surroundings. "It's just like you--curated and full of surprises."
Frankie smiled, stepping closer to her. "And I have a feeling you're full of surprises, too," he murmured, his hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Ally's breath hitched, her eyes locking on his. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that promised more, a kiss that set the stage for what was to come.
Their bodies pressed together, the heat rising between them. Frankie's hands roamed over Ally's curves, his fingers tracing the outline of her dress, his cock throbbing with pure want. Ally's breath came in short gasps, her body arching into his touch. She reached up, her fingers tangling his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. A soft kiss, like kissing a pretty girl, she thought. Oh my God, stick a goddam fork in me, I'm done!, Ally said to Ally.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, their hands exploring each other along the way. Frankie's fingers found the zipper of Ally's dress, slowly pulling it down, revealing her creamy skin inch by inch. He pushed the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before him in a lacy bra and matching thong, her tiny A-cup breasts rising and falling with each breath.
