†Restoring Jordan

Elizabeth Finn


Chapter 1

ďDo you want to fuck me?Ē

His words stop me cold in my tracks. Can you just ask someone something like that and expect them to answer? Well I certainly couldnít, but this man Ö Iím sure he gets away with it all the time.

I caught sight of him instantly upon entering the bar with my girlfriends. Far too old for meóIím guessing mid-to-late thirties at least. But heís gorgeous, dressed like a man with money. And obviously puts the cock in cocky. Heís the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. But while my gaze followed him from the moment I caught sight of him, his gaze did not find me. Of course it didnít; Iím me, and he is Ö breathtaking. He was with a group of other men of similar age and, Iím guessing, stature. But he takes the cake on looks.

It appears more business meeting than men out on the town, especially given itís only three oíclock on a Friday afternoon. Just because my closest friends think this is an appropriate time to celebrate my new internship doesnít mean the rest of the world is on our clock. And as we chat, laugh, joke, and behave in ways no respectable women should in the middle of the day, I continue to sneak glimpses. But like I said, he does not appear to even know I exist. For that matter, he doesnít realize our group of young women is even there at all. Heís most enthralled with the conversation of his group, and while the other men at their table have taken turns glancing our way, he glanced at us perhaps once before dismissing us and returning to his group.

When I exit the restroom and come face to face with the man and his oh-so inappropriate question, I freeze. Heís more handsome than I initially thought from forty or so feet away. In fact, heís incredible to look at. Why a man like him would proposition a girl like me is beyond my comprehension. And in my frozen state, I take in his calm and impassive expression. The question deserves an answeróhell, it deserves a swift slap across the faceóbut instead, I just stare. And he stares backówaiting.

As his hand reaches out to my body, I donít stop him. My heart pounds, my brain panics and demands I run, but my body betrays me and flushes and tingles. Itís as if his very masculine, long-fingered hand moves in slow motion as it closes the space between our bodies. When his unfamiliar fingers touch my blouse right above the waist of my pants, my stomach muscles instantly clench and quiver, but I still donít move. When he undoes the button of my pants with only the fingers of his one hand, I maintain my position. When he slides the zipper of my pants down, moving far slower than necessary, my breaths come in quick desperate gasps, but I still donít move an inch.

His eyes are smoldering, wide, dark, and intense. I have no good reason to let this complete stranger touch my body, but at the moment, itís the only thing my body wants. At any moment, someone could enter the small corridor we are standing in, but he isnít concerned in the least. And as his hand slips past the waist of my underwear, pushing its way to my sex, I stop breathing altogether. His hand is warm and demanding, and I should stop him, I should scream, anything at all to keep this from happening. But he knows I wonít; he knows I have no intention of stopping what is to come. I want his fingers on my skin. I have from the moment I caught sight of him upon entering the bar. Wasnít this what I was imagining while sitting with my best gal pals celebrating? Itís my celebration after all. Shouldnít I be able to have a little fun? But the truth of the matter is this isnít me! I donít have fun; I donít fuck around with strangers in narrow corridors of swanky downtown bars. This isnít me Ö but still, I wonít stop him. I want to be exactly the type of girl who fucks about with a man like him.

When his finger touches the top of my sex, my hips instantly thrust toward him, and a gasp escapes my lips in my want for more. But his finger doesnít linger there for longer than a second before sliding between the lips of my vagina, passing over my clitoris as it makes its way to my entry. This man has no idea just how inept I am, and at the moment, Iím far too in heat to stop his touch, slow his movements, or challenge him in any way. Iím without doubt the oldest virgin in the near vicinity, and in the cover of anonymity I wonít be announcing just how inexperienced I am. He is anything but inexperienced, and with any luck my pathetic naÔvetť wonít be too obvious.

He smells amazing. Itís the smell of expensive cologne, but itís light and subtle. It isnít musky, but clean, earthy, and warm. Heís clean-shaven, and his dark hair is tousled but professional. His suit is wool and probably cost more than my rent for the better portion of the year. His teeth are perfectly straight and white. And when I use his arm to steady myself while his fingers explore and invade the most private part of my body, the well-developed muscles of his upper arms ripple and contract at my touch. The quiet, husky moan that emanates from his lips reveals what his impassive and dark eyes donít: he wants this just as much as I do. Thatís impossible, and yet itís as true as my own desire.

ďCome home with me.Ē He speaks with a warm, purring voice that has my knees shaking.

Thereís nothing purring about my voice as I respond, ďYou could be a serial killer.Ē

ďAnd yet oddly enough, Iím notÖĒ The slight smile that crosses his delicious-looking mouth assures me heís not offended by my question Ö but Iím not sure I should care. This is reckless. But his fingers still tease and linger between my legs; his palm is snug against my skin, brushing over my most sensitive nub and held tight to my body by the clothing that is still firmly in place. I swear Iíll cry if he pulls away from me. But this isnít me. I donít do this. I canít do this. Iím responsible, not reckless. Iím frigid, not a slut. I care about my career, not sex. But still, this manÖ

His finger plunges into my entry, filling me and releasing a groan so unfamiliar I clasp my hand to my mouth. His eyes watch me. Heís waiting for my response Ö as though my moan werenít enough. Didnít I remain chaste for a reason? Wasnít there a purpose to it? But even as the questions enter my mind, so too does his finger enter my tight, virgin sheath once more. And Iím reminded Iíve thought often and with intense longing of an experience such as this. Remaining a virgin was nothing more than my immersion in my studies, my fear of becoming attached to something other than my goal. My friends have cried; theyíve languished away at ended relationships. Iíve never had such a problem. Instead, Iíve been focused, driven to the point of obsession on my studies. Itís how I managed to remain at the top of my class. Itís how I managed to land the best internship my grades could buy.

Foster Architectural Designs, to be exact. They award one internship per year for the second half of the spring term, and in two short days Iíll be walking through their doors to my new, albeit temporary, place there. Itís the final hurdle between me and my diploma. They rate brutally, but if you survive Ö moreover, if you thrive, you will be assured the very best job offers at the very best firms. So, itís all a reason to celebrate; there is no doubt about this fact. And so the question remains: why not him?

His mouth moves to my neck, and when his gaze passes beyond my periphery, my body clenches in waiting anticipation. The warmth of his breath is the first I feel of his impending touch, and it sends a searing warmth and wetness flooding to my core. When his lips touch my neck there is little I can do to stop the gasp from my throat and the quiver that runs through my body. When his tongue flicks across my neck, my gasp turns into a cry as the pleasure courses through my veins and straight to the pulsing warmth between my legs. I will absolutely be going home with this man.

* * * *

Entering his home is intimidating. Itís a beautifully restored mansion in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, and itís expensive. Far more so than my renovated old turn-of-the-century house thatís been broken up into a fourplex. Where my apartment has old, lumpy, plaster lattice walls, his house has perfectly leveled, pristine ones with an impossibly flat finish. Where mine has old, worn hardwood with dinks and grooves aplenty, his are as pristine as the wallsósmooth, satin finish, unblemished, and shimmering. His fixtures are restored to perfect original working order, as is nearly every other aspect of his home. Mine are original as well and havenít been touched since the home was built Ö a gazillion years ago. His home smells of himóclean, warm, enticing, and my intimidation may be just as much for the impressive surroundings Iím standing in than what Iím getting into.

The ride over was just as erotic as our time in the corridor. His hand remained on my leg, stroking, caressing as he maneuvered his equally expensive car through the streets of downtown. I tried my best to act normal, but my stomach was fluttering in anticipation. Iím not immune to sexual desire, even if Iíve managed to avoid it for the most part. My virginity, if youíre wondering, is not something I have a particular attachment to. I never have. I didnít set out to avoid relationships, but my introversion certainly didnít attract them. Iíve wanted to be done with it for a while now, but where every other man I came across simply failed to catch my attention, this one for some reason did not. Was it his looks? Perhaps his smell, or more than likely his maturity. Thereís something so very arousing about a calm, controlled, confident manóqualities most often found in an older man. Heís hardly old, but when youíre twenty-two, it doesnít take much for your age to be dwarfed.

When his hand catches the strap of my purse and eases it off my shoulder and to the floor of the entryway, I pause. He steps closer to my back as I hear the strap of my bag gently fall to the floor. And I wait in pathetic excitement for his next touch. I do not care what this man does to my body; I just want it to be him. I have no excuse for my want. I have no cause for my sudden uncontrollable urge to give myself to this stranger. I have no purpose but my long overdue need for this. Iíve set this part of my life aside for so very long. Iíve denied and refused to pay it any attention, and now it yearns, begs to get out. Was it the celebration, the culmination of my years of hard work that have unleashed this part of my soul? Do I care? My skin is on fire. My body is suddenly hypersensitive to every touch, every wisp of air, every glance raking over my skin. I will take my needs from him. He will serve my purpose and release me from my want.

His hand meets my shoulder with a gentle unexpected touch, and his words follow. ďI donít want you to get the wrong idea,Ē he warns.

ďYou neednít tell me Iím a booty call. Iím not stupid.Ē Arenít I?

ďIím a little old for the term Ďbooty callÖíĒ

ďThen maybe you shouldnít be having a booty call,Ē I challenge.

ďPerhapsÖ Call it what you wish. I want to fuck you Ö very much Ö but I donít want a relationship with you. If thatís going to be a problem, Iím happy to drop you off wherever youíd like.Ē

ďOh, another relationship-challenged man.Ē I sarcastically feign exasperation. Iím actually making shit up at this point. What the hell do I know of relationships after all?

ďI see you know this storyÖĒ

ďWho doesnít?Ē Again, totally full of shit. But Iím in this for the fun. Isnít that what Iím telling myself? Isnít it the truth? Can I really make this separation? Can I really be the woman who fucks and then forgets?

When he leans his mouth to my neck for the second time this evening, I resolve Iím exactly the woman who can do this. Itís high time to be done with this virginity nonsense. How many women can be so lucky as to give themselves to a man such as this? The touch of his mouth on the skin of my shoulder sends stabs of pleasure coursing through my body. And as his hands meet my waist and with slow, deliberate movements travel around my hips to my lower abdomen, I hold my breath waiting for his next touch. I donít have to wait long.

His hands travel with that same slow, deliberate, and incredible intention to the button and zipper of my pants, undoing both with ease. And as his fingers sweep the sides of my waist on their way to my lower back, my breath leaves my lungs in a deep and slow exhalation. His fingers slip below the waist of my pants and underwear, easing both over the cheeks of my bottom as his palms massage their way over the round cheeks of my backside. If that werenít enough, his tongue trails across the back of my neck as the fabric of my pants and underwear are dropped to the floor around my ankles. Iím left standing there with my ankles restrained in the fabric of my pants, naked from the waist down aside from my knee-high boots.

He works his fingers with infinite slowness to unbutton my blouse from the bottom up, ending at my neck. His hands work with a light touch as they pull my shirt off my shoulders and allow it to drop to the floor with my pants. The clasp of my bra is undone, freeing my breasts as he lets my bra slide from my arms to drop again to the floor. Next, I feel his hands. The same long, overtly male fingers move over my shoulders and down my arms to my elbows before clutching, grabbing, and all out squeezing the small roundness of my breasts. When his fingers pluck the tight nipples and pull them away from my body, I cry out. It hurts Ö and yet, it floods my core with warmth and a sudden surge of wetness.

I thank God for my anonymity once again. This man will never know my fears, my desires, my embarrassments, my insecurities. He will never know me. There is a comfort to that Ö and yet a sadness as well. I need him to remain unknown to me, but itís not the whole of what I want from this life. I want a man to give this to me without the shadow of mystery. Some dayÖ Perhaps when my career is secure, my education finished, my life on some discernible path. But not tonight. Tonight, he is just a manóincredible and beautiful as he may beóthat I will use to give me what I want. And so far, he has not failed to deliver.

ďYou canít imagine how incredible the view is from back here.Ē Heís purring again, and the sound of his warm and silken voice alone has me trilling with excitement. I should be nervous of whatís to come. I should fear the loss of that most treasured gift I hold, but I donít. Heíll have it freely from me.

My nipples ache from the pinch heís still inflicting on them. But even as I note the pleasure this pinch incites, he lets loose my nipples, and his hands run down to my waist, gripping my hips and pulling my bottom to his groin. Holy shit, heís hard. More than hard, heís large, rigid, and his hands clasp me with a vigor that holds so much desire. Why this desire for me? Who the hell knows, but it belongs to me and only me for this moment. And beyond this moment is not a concern of mine on this evening.

He grinds his pelvis against my bottom with my hips held firm in his grip as his mouth nuzzles and purrs against my neck. And when he pulls me around to face him, his eyes flash with unrestrained need. His brow flinches as he takes me in, and he pulls me along after him through his incredible home. His bedroom is large, and his bed likewise. The large picture window faces a valley of thick trees this neighborhood is built in to. I canít imagine ever being able to own a home such as this, but this is my fantasyóto restore every last interior detail to original beauty. This man has everything I ever hope to have one day.

ďSit,Ē he speaks as he rests a gentle hand on the back of my neck. I turn toward him, lowering myself to sit on the edge of his bed. He towers above me as I look to his eyes that smolder even in their darkness. He loosens his silk tie, pulling the end through the loop to free himself from it. He then unbuttons his shirt. His eyes are studying mine as I study his hands, waiting for the present heís unwrapping for me. As the skin of his chest starts to show through, my heart rate quickens. When his well-muscled stomach shows as the fabric of his shirt is parted, my breath leaves me. And when his hand undoes his pants, I swallow hard over the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his pants and underwear as he gently pulls them both down, and Iím left with my heart lurching in my throat at the sight of him.

All of my confidence leaves in an instant. Heís magnificent Ö and terrifying. This will definitely hurt me. But he leaves me no time to ponder the logistics of it before settling on his knees in front of me, and with a quick hand he reaches for the zipper of first one boot and then the other. He eases the zippers to my ankles and pulls the boots from my legs. Next, his fingers pull my knee-high stockings to my ankles. His fingers trail down my calves, and my nerves go crazy at the touch. His hands may be all man, but his touch is so very soft. Itís intentional. Iím guessing everything this man does is intentional. He knows what his touch is doing to me; the look in his eyes makes this clear, and if that isnít enough, the goose bumps that have flushed my skin speak volumes.

As caught up as I am by his touch, my eyes are drawn between his legs to his engorged and hard penis. Heís kneeling on the floor at my feet, and his hand moves to the shaft of his rigid arousal and strokes up, rounding the head with his palm before stroking back down once more. He knows Iím watching his every move, and heís enjoying my gaze on his body. But moments later he abandons his body for mine and pulls apart my knees in one gentle but swift and demanding movement. If my heart was racing before, itís racing at a furious pace now. This isnít the first man to touch meódemand me to open up in this way, but he is the first man Iíve wanted to open up to.

He looks to my face as he leans to my naked sex, and with one final comment he moves in to take my body with his mouth.

ďDonít take your eyes off me. I want you to see every last taste I take of your sweet pussy.Ē

I watch. I watch his first lick, his first kiss. I watch as he parts my lips with his gentle fingers. I watch when his tongue meets my sensitive folds of skin, and I watch as he claims every last inch of flesh between my legs. When a quiet moan escapes from his mouth, which is still latched to my vagina, I am watching. And as his tongue moves to my virgin entry that is so very ready, I melt Ö and I watch. His tongue pushes within me, plunging, tasting, taking over my body. I want more of him there. I want all of him there. My fear is gone, and Iím ready. And as his tongue glides back between my slick, wet lips to my innervated nub, my orgasm tears through me in a scream that leaves me shuddering and shaking as he pulls his mouth from my wetness.

Incredible. I had no idea it could be so powerful. Itís not my first orgasm, but like all other experiences with this man so far, it supersedes any previous experience Iíve had. His tongue was warm, and he touched in just the right wayósoft and yet firm and demanding. The nerves of my body were bent to his will the moment his mouth was on my skin. He now pulls away from me and returns his hand to his long, hard length, and I quiver in anticipation. Heís stroking his length, and I want to reach for him, but heís a stranger. Can I simply touch him uninvited? Heís touched me, but can I do the same? Do I have that kind of nerve?

Before I can work up the nerve to be so bold as to touch him, he stands swiftly, walks to the door of the bedroom, and shuts off the light, leaving only the dim floor lamp in the corner to illuminate the room. Weíre suddenly enveloped in warm, dim lamplight that creates a soft and comforting cocoon. He approaches the bed once more, grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand, and climbs to the bed behind me. My heart rate quickens once more, as I know the time has come. Sink or get off the ship, as they say. Shit or get off the potónot nearly so sexy an adage, but you get the picture. His hand touches mine, and as I turn my face as he waits patiently at the head of his bed, he coaxes me to approach him.

I move slowly up the bed, crawling on my hands and knees toward his body, and as he stretches out, he guides me up his body to hover over him. Now Iím scared. I donít have any idea how to do this, and lest I own up to my inexperience with this incredible specimen of a man, who will no doubt laugh at my naÔvetť and kick me out, Iím going to have to do a damn good job of hiding my apprehension. He wants me to fuck him. He wants me to take the lead, and while self-confidence is hard to find on a good day in the real world, it will be damn near impossible in this world.

ďWill you be on top?Ē I ask, hoping I donít sound desperate and pathetic.

His shrug is mild as he responds, ďIf thatís what youíd like. Though, I had hoped to watch you ride meÖĒ He smirks but moves to his side so I can stretch out beside him.

As Iím shifted to my back beside him where he can gaze at me, I return the comment. ďMaybe next time.Ē

It was meant as nothing more than an expression, but heís quick to respond. ďI donít do Ďnext times.íĒ

The sudden and swift emotional reaction I have to these words stops me cold. I know what this isóa one-night stand. Itís what I wanted, but his quick response to my words is still a small rejection. Odd Iím lying next to a man more beautiful than any other Iíve ever met, Iím here of my own choosing with no qualms about how this will play out, and yet Iím hurt by the resolution in his voice when he makes it clear we wonít see each other again. Perhaps this is more than what Iím capable of. But I wonít be turning back now.

Having taken my place next to his body, I reach with a slow hand to his chest. The skin is warm, smooth, and covered with a smattering of dark hair. His muscles are tight, and as I run my hand down his chest to the rippling, tight muscles of his abdomen, he shudders at my touch, and I watch his reaction. His eyes have closed, and heís breathing slow and deep breaths as my fingers linger on his stomach. The head of his penis nudges against my hand, and to this point Iíve ignored it, but it was the reason for my handís descent, and as I watch his contented, relaxed face and his eyes that are closed and seeing nothing at all, I reach for the head of his cock, which has drawn my attention since the moment he lowered his pants.

At my first touch, his cock flexes and jumps, his breath catches in his throat, and his eyes flash open to find mine. When I stroke the long and hard shaft my body has been begging to touch, his breath releases in a sudden rush. He is larger than any man Iíve ever seen; of that Iím certain. Touching his skin is intoxicating. Heís smooth yet ridged and veined, and his response to my touch is the encouragement I need to continue.

After studying his face for endless moments as my hand explores his body, I let my gaze catch up to my hand and take in the up close and personal view of him. Heís just as beautiful as he feels. The length and breadth of him is intimidating but arousingóeven in my virgin fear of him. And while it promises to be all the more painful for me, it also promises to be all the more intense as well.

When at last he pulls my hand from him and rolls to his side to face me, I freeze. Heís ready. And when his hand travels back to the place his mouth so enticingly pleasured shortly ago, I tremble. He explores my body some more, stroking, gliding, and finally plunging his finger into my tight depths. His lips move to my ear as he comments on a husky breath, ďYou feel like liquid silk on my fingersóso very fucking wet.Ē He moves easily into my tight sheath as I continue to gulp calming breaths. However inexperienced I may be, my body is readyómore than ready, but my nerves are shot.

He pulls to his knees and pushes his way between my legs, spreading them wide open to his body. And as he eases back to sit on his heels, he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth, slips the condom out, and drops the wrapper to the floor beside the bed. He pinches the tip between his fingers, positions it over the engorged head of his cock, and slowly rolls it down his length. His gaze is on mine as I watch his every move. His movements are so deliberate, and his eyes remain always on mine. He takes in my hitching breath, quick gasps, and flinching brow. Heís studying me as I study his movements, and it turns me on in a way thatís unexpected.

When he moves to cover my body with his and hovers over me, poised to invade my body, I panic. But when I look to his eyes and they once again watch my expression with interest, I stow the fear and focus on him. As he guides his cock to my sex and allows the head to nudge against my entry, I inhale sharply. He slides his length between the wet lips of my vagina, coating himself in my wetness, and as his length passes over the tight nub of my clitoris, I moan with no remaining control over my throat. His cock returns to my entry, and with his gaze still attached to mine, he nudges, pushing and readying himself to invade.

His first thrust is a savage invasion of my virginity and destroys that last barrier in a painful harsh explosion. I fight to control my response as the pain tears through me, and a moan escapes me, sounding more like Iíve been punched in the gut than fucked by a man. Truth be told, it hurts worse than a fist to the gut, and hearing my gut-wrenching groan, he stills and his brow furrows harshly. His lips are parted and heís panting as he watches me, suddenly frozen. He looks concernedótruly, legitimately concerned at my reaction, and when he moves his hand to my cheek in what appears to be an inadvertent reaction to my pain, I melt.

He shouldnít care, and yet heís worried at my reaction. I didnít take him to be a cruel man by any means, but I didnít expect the panic flashing in his eyes, and it stills him in fear. Painful as his invasion was, I donít want him to leave my body; I donít want him to stop. I shake my head as he looks in my eyes, searching for some explanation for my reaction.

I say the only words that come to my mind. Theyíre pathetic but honest. ďPlease donít stop. I donít want you to stop.Ē

His brow is still furrowed and with confusion etched across his face, he responds. ďAm I hurting you? I donít want to hurt you.Ē

I shake my head. Even that gesture is a lie, but I so desperately want this. Iíll take the pain, but Iím not turning backónot from this man. He watches me for many long moments longer as I try to calm my face, cool the flush of my cheeks, and act normal, and after watching me, studying me, he moves. He pulls slowly from my body, still studying my eyes and searching for my pain. I fight to disguise it as the tearing hurt rips through my body at his retreat, and when he thrusts again, far slower this time, I force my groan to stay in my throat. Eventually, convinced by my forced response, he sets aside his worry and concern, and his pace slowly builds. With every thrust, my body adjusts more and more, and the pain recedes; it hardly disappears, but it becomes manageable and even pleasurable. Itís done, and every invasion is taking me inexplicably toward a release I didnít expect.

My body is responding to his incessant pounding force, and while the pain is present and intense, so too is the building orgasm that waits to be released. His eyes focus on me, and his panting and groaning fill the room as much as mine. Heís nearing release and waiting desperately for me to find mine. Watching his beautiful face as he continues to pound thrust after thrust into my tight sheath, I find it easily. When my orgasm takes over my body swiftly, Iím shocked and relieved. Thereís pain, and coming does little to assuage being overfull and invaded, but thereís an incredible amount of unrelenting pleasure as well. His orgasm comes on the heels of mine, and as a guttural growl takes over his body in response to mine, it becomes worth every pain, every fear. His body spasms, and he releases himself within me.

My pain is subsiding, and my orgasm fades from my body. Experiencing the pain and pleasure of this orgasm in one breath was incredibleóso completely alien to anything Iíve experienced in my life, and as he pulls from my body and pulls my back into his body, enfolding me in his arms, I revel in the closeness. His heart beats into my back as his breathing slows. His arms are strong and hold me tight to his body, and I thank God he canít see my face that struggles to keep the smile from pulling at my lips. He was incredible, and it was more than I imagined it could beópainful but so very powerful and fulfilling. The image of his concerned expression taking in my expression touched my heart in a very personal way I didnít expect. I shouldnít have cared. Heís certainly not supposed to have cared, and yet his face and eyes very clearly showed worry and fear at my response.

His breathing slows and deepens as I stay in his arms, and the pain in my body slips away, leaving nothing but a dull ache. He falls asleep as Iím still reliving every intoxicating moment of this night. Even the most painful moments of it are tinged in a sweet, erotic haze that brings his aroused image to my mind and forces the worst of the hurt from my memory. I wanted this, and I got it, and now listening to his deep and contented sleeping breath behind me, I can safely acknowledge I donít regret it for a moment.

In his sleep he rolls from me and releases his possessive grip on my body, and as he does, I sit on the side of the bed and look back to him sleeping soundly on his back. Heís beautiful, and in the quietness of his room, I watch him. There is a slight part to his lips, and he breathes steadily. One of his hands rests under his head and the other is on his chest. I follow his body from there to his stomach and to his groin, which is now covered by the sheet. I donít want to leave his bed, but I need the bathroom. And as I walk to the bathroom that adjoins his bedroom, pain courses through my groin. Thereís no denying it was far more painful than I realized it would be, but itís finally done.

Entering his bathroom, I take in my surroundings. It is immaculate, just like the rest of his home. Itís incredible. The bathtub is an amazing claw-foot. The floor is perfect white hexagonal tiles interspersed with three black tiles throughout. The walls are subway tiles, and the vanity is a custom piece that looks like furniture rather than cabinetry. Itís perfect. I look around appraising every inch of this room, wondering again if Iíll ever be fortunate enough to design something so incredibleónot on the salary of a designer, for sure. Conceptually, I may be able to create such a design, but these materials alone would bankrupt me.

As I continue to explore his space, feeling perhaps a bit guilty for the time Iím spending ogling his world, my eyes catch on red. Itís my red, and as I look to my thighs, I realize the inside of them are streaked with it. Fuck! I appraise my appearance in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door, and I panic. There is no way I can be here when he wakes. If my blood is on me, itís without doubt on him too. There will be no explaining this, and I canít stand the idea of this man finding out how truly pathetic Iíve been. Thank God I will never have to face this man again, but when I return to the room and steal one last final view of him, my heart falls. Heís beautiful; heís experienced me in a way no other man has, and Iím now walking away, never to see him again. He showed me concern when I didnít expect it. He showed me an intense passion, though I can hardly be worth it to a man like him. I could fall for a man like him Ö someday. But not today.

He looks peaceful and beautiful in his sleep, and as I turn my gaze from him to leave silently from his room, itís with a sadness I donít want to acknowledge. I donít want to say good-bye. I donít want to walk away and not see him again. How could I have thought I could fuck and forget? I know nothing about this man, not even his name, but Iím human. I crave attachment, and having shared something so very personal with him makes it hard to separate my emotions from him. I got what I wanted, just to realize it wasnít at all what I wanted. I want to be wanted by him enough he yearns to see me again. But he doesnít do ďnext timesĒ. Stupid, Adeline. What was I thinking?


I should have known better.

When I met my consciousness as the sun shined through the large window, I wanted her instantly. While I cursed myself for allowing her to stay, I was oddly relieved Iíd have her again, but rolling over to meet her body and finding nothing but an empty expansive bed, I was smacked with more emptiness than just my bed. I wanted to find her there. I wanted to taste her again; I wanted to fuck her again. And neither of these feelings am I at all familiar with. Why her? Why this one? Was she so different than any other woman Iíd been with?

But there was something different about her. She was innocent; even in her intense want and need for me, she oozed a purity I rarely see, let alone experience. She was too young for my thirty-four years, but she wasnít immature. On the contrary, she carried herself with a grace not so befitting a woman in her twenties. Iím guessing she must be in her early twenties at most. She had style but on a budget. The label of her generic pants alone told me that as I admired the round cheeks of her bottom while sliding her pants down her backside. She smelled amazing, and not just her cheap drugstore perfume. I wanted to taste her the second I caught her watching me in the bar. She had no idea I was watching her as closely as she was watching me, thanks to the reflection in the window that played out the scene for me the entire time we were there. Catching her in the hallway of the restroom, I was ready to pull her into the menís room and have my way with her there, but sheís not cut out for such things. Innocence.

The shock in her eyes when I asked her if sheíd fancy a fuck was priceless. She tried so hard to be the woman she thought I wanted her to beóconfident, brazen, experienced. She had no idea at all I wanted her nervous and trembling. Donít get me wrong, Iím no misogynist, and frankly on any other night Iíd want the brazen slut, but once I saw her, I wanted her. Just heróinnocence and all. Was I looking for a challenge? Did my masculinity need a boost for some odd reason? Who the fuck knows; who the fuck cares. She was incredible. Tighter and more delicious than any woman Iíve experienced, and now finding my bed empty, Iím disappointed.

I made it clear she was a one-night stand. Should I be so surprised she took me at my word and disappeared before the sun was up? I didnít even ask her name, and a guilt Iím not often prone to has crept into my conscious. I didnít want anything beyond a night with her, but still, when I woke alone and found her gone, I wanted her back. I could have at least found out her name; hell, a phone number might have been nice. I wouldnít be completely opposed to an encore with this one. I guess sheíll just become another notch on the post.

I rise from bed and walk to the bathroom, but as I catch the image of my body in the bathroom mirror, I still. Fuck! I really should have known better.