"I think I like this yellow summer dress the best. I can feel your panties through it. The one with the butterfly embroidery, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I like that one too."
He pulls me close so I can feel his erection at my back. I imagine him dressed in the navy polo shirt and crisp khaki slacks I ironed this morning, his brown leather loafers, the gold face of his Rolex pressing into my thigh. He is rubbing me more urgently now. I squeeze his hand with my thighs. I lean my head on his shoulder. I look into his eyes, light blue and pensive. I know he is thinking about where he can take me.
"Which part were you reading?" he asks.
"The part where he strokes his massive erection."
"You like that part."
"Not really."
"Do you want me to do that?"
"Only if you want to."
"You're so thin these days." He tucks a few strands of my hair over my ear. "But your hair looks healthy still. So glossy black and full of waves. You smell like raspberries today." He presses his lips to my shoulder again. "Let's go to the back, the warehouse I think should be okay."
He helps me to my feet and adjusts his fly. He holds my hand as we walk down the aisle. He stops at a table where a bookseller is assisting a customer and instructs the bookseller to fix the books I'd knocked off the shelf. Then, he leads me down the hall to the warehouse. I like the musty smell of books here, the pinewood from the crates. There is a draft from the air conditioner, which emits a low hum, and the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lighting.
He takes me to a room in the back filled with boxes and clipboards and inventory worksheets stacked on the desk. There is a dry erase calendar on the wall. It's the long worktable against the sidewall that he wants us to use. He closes the door behind us. He lays me down on the table. Its metallic surface makes me shiver. I feel like I'm in a doctor's office again. I don't like that feeling. I am angry all over again. My anger must have shown on my face, because he leans over to kiss me, warmly, gently. He's standing at the edge of the table. He hooks his hands under my knees, and pulls me closer to him, so that my ass is flush with his thighs.
He likes my dress because it has buttons on the top. He can touch my breasts without undressing me. All he has to do is unbutton the top, so he does. He lifts up my camisole, white with a butterfly embroidery like my panties. His hands are warm and firmly shape my breasts, kneading, plumping, and caressing them. He teases my nipples into tiny brown buds, and then, he curls his hands under my ribs and arches my back. I twine my fingers in his silky blond hair, spread my legs and hug his hips with my knees so I can feel his erection rubbing my crotch. I will miss this. I wish I could take it with me. My breath is short and quick now because he is nuzzling my breasts. His moist tongue flicks my nipple. His lips clamp my breast. He suckles. I whimper and grind my crotch against his dick.
"I want you to stroke it," I hear myself saying. My voice seems to ache. "I want to watch you stroke it. Do it for me."
He rises, unbuckles his belt, and lowers his pants and briefs. I raise myself up on my elbows. He wets his palm with his saliva. He starts at the base, makes a fist around his erection, and strokes up, slowly and firmly. His pubic hairs are soft and golden like the hair on his arms. His erection has fully distended his skin so that when his hand rises up his dick, his blood vessels trickle along the sides like rivers on a map. He is very hard now, and his head is glistening. He cups his head, kneads it the way he did my breasts, and strokes down. He is watching me as I watch him, but he doesn't speak. He strokes faster.
"I want you inside me now."
He takes off my panties and feels me up to make sure I'm wet enough. He grabs my ass and perches it at the very edge of the table. He pulls my ankles over his shoulders and strokes my thighs and calves, evenly, slowly, and firmly, and I know this is how we will fuck. This is what he wants. A slow, strong, controlled fuck. He holds his erection to my sex, but before he penetrates me, he grabs my hands.
"Don't look away," he says.
We fuck with our eyes open, eye to eye, holding hands, our hips in slow motion, like wading deep water.
"I like how tight you feel today," he says.
"I like how you feel too."
"How do I feel?" He kisses my ankle.
I think about it.
"Long and mighty like a river," I decide.
"I like that metaphor."
