3
Jacob
Sylvester’s women are always beautiful. My specifications often change. I went through a blonde phase. A curvy phase. Redheads. Academics. Athletes. Asian. African. Spanish. Each and every one is unique.
But something about Jade is like no other.
I sense something underneath this luscious body. Something that strikes a chord deep within me. I feel like I know her, that I’ve always known her.
She could be the one to finally make me forget the other. Her dark hair banishes the red. Brown eyes obliterate the green ones from my memory.
I am anxious to find out.
As my hands caress her perfect pert nipples, my eyes drink her in. Her skin is evenly tan with a hint of olive. The color does not break, and just the idea of her sunning naked makes me hard as a rock. I want this. I want to take her to my rooftop and strip her in the light of day. I want to taste the sweat trickling down her body as I lick it off her skin.
The fantasies run wild in my mind, and I think well beyond the moment at hand. I can already tell I will want her again and again and again.
But first, this night.
“Lift your chin,” I tell her.
She obeys, her face tilting to mine. I kiss her full, supple lips, then nibble and nip. Either she’s an excellent actress, or I’m getting to her, because the soft moaning in her throat is extremely convincing and sends a lightning bolt of desire through me.
I shift one of my hands to the back of her head and draw her in close. Now, her curves press against my body, and her mouth is mine to plumb deeply. She tastes of whiskey, same as I do, but also chocolate, and peppermint. I wonder what she ate just before coming here and smile to myself at her indulgence.
Her tongue greets mine as I hold her tightly against me. My hand slides through the glossy dark tresses, curled in loose spirals. The scent of lilacs lifts from her hair. She is exactly right.
I want to know all of her, so my hands make a journey from her neck down her shoulders, along the toned intention of her biceps. I picture her again, beside me, in workout clothes, lifting weights. The fantasies surprise me. Normally, I am so focused, and never do I picture Sylvester’s women outside of the situations that I hire them for. It almost makes me pause.
But my hands want to find their way, and they drift along her collarbone to the familiar territory of the soft, supple breasts.
They move down the curve of her waist and the slight flare of her hips. My palms slide along the indentions on either side of her belly, and I flash with the vision of her fat bellied with my child. That’s definitely new. Damn. I’m bewitched.
I reach the lace of the garter belt and slip my thumbs just beneath the edge. Her skin is warm and faintly marked from the pattern of the lace. My hands wander farther down, circling her thighs, my fingers sliding between her legs and easing them apart. She widens her stance and I smile against her mouth.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper. I slide a hand back up, delighted to realize the panties are slit in the center. She’s deliciously wet already, something you can’t fake. My groin tightens even more fiercely. I want her now, but I must hold fast to my control to reach the ultimate pleasure for us both.
My finger moves inside her, first one, then two. She’s warm and pulsing in my hand, and I feel the faintest beat of her heart as her blood throbs through her body.
A small groan escapes her throat, and I curl my finger inside, looking for the places that will affect her the most.
She sucks in air, and I have found my mark. I work it back and forth until her breath becomes so labored that it is difficult to maintain the kiss.
And then I withdraw.
Her eyes open slowly, looking up into my face. But, as instructed, she says nothing.
I step away from her to sit on a bench at the end of my bed. I like that she’s aroused by me. Love it, in fact. I want her desperate and silent, unable to even beg me to take her.
Control is mine now, the short distance between us giving me room and space to remember what drives me the most — the anticipation.
“Turn around,” I say to her. She does, her back to me, and I admire the smooth, toned curve of her ass.
“Bend over.”
She does, her flexibility on display as her fingertips brush the floor even in the heels.
I see her slit, glistening and pink. I want to know what she does to herself. That way I can torture her all the more.
