Nick moved the hand at Michelle’s back, wrapping it around her waist to support her. The dripping, succulent pussy milking his fingers sent waves of pleasure through his crotch; in the next instant, a pulse-pounding release soaked his pants, despite the fact that he’d been trying to hold back.
Nick supported Michelle until she regained her feet. When she was steady, she felt his fingers withdrawing slowly from her cunt, and she stifled a moan, feeling abandoned. Nick continued to hold her as she tried to gather the shreds of her non-existent composure. “I only promised not tobite ,” he whispered playfully in her ear. Michelle kept her face buried in his chest. She couldn’t believe that she had reacted so wantonly with a total stranger. “Hey,” Nick took her chin in one hand, tilted her face up to his. “It’s okay,” he insisted. “It was something we both wanted.”
Michelle took a shuddering breath. “I have to go,” she murmured, voice husky. She pushed away, straightening her skirt with shaking hands.
Nick grabbed her arm. “Come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Unable to bring herself to meet his gaze, Michelle stared at the marble floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She swallowed, hoping to clear her thoughts and strengthen her voice. “This was a mistake.”
“Why? I enjoyed that.” He cocked his head and leaned toward her, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “I thinkyou enjoyed it.”
“You’re a total stranger.” Michelle shook her head. “I know everybody says this, but I’m not usually like that—”
“I know.” Nick kept his voice calm, reassuring. “Neither am I. But there’s something between us…” He reached out and ran a finger along her cheek. Startled, Michelle steeled herself and was relieved that she was able to keep from trembling. She reluctantly raised her eyes to his. “I won’t be a stranger, if you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow.” His tone was tender, cajoling. “I’d like to get to know you.”
Michelle wanted to say no—neededto say no—in order to maintain any semblance of personal dignity. She couldn’t do it. Her so recently pleasured crotch was already hungry for more. She glanced down, and was gratified to see the dark stain on Nick’s pants. Apparently, hehad enjoyed the encounter as much as she. And when she returned his gaze, the eyes staring into hers were open, honest, unembarrassed. There was no hint of condescension or judgment.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “You’re not just asking me to make me feel better about this?”
Nick laughed. “No, I’m asking you to makeme feel better.” His expression became serious. “Because I know if I don’t, I’ll wonder for the rest of my life what this might have led to.”
Michelle swallowed. Either Nick was sincere, or he was a major player who knew all the right things to say, and she didn’t want to get involved. But that didn’t jive with what she’d read in the newspapers. According to them,music was his mistress. Not that she particularly trusted the media. In the end, she let her reawakened needs overrule good sense and said, “All right.”
Nick offered his hand, and she took it, allowing him to lead her from the room to the front door. Michelle stepped over the threshold, but Nick pulled her back for a quick kiss. “Until tomorrow,” he whispered against her lips.
Michelle nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She turned and hurried down the steps, working hard to keep from stumbling on weak legs as she walked down the driveway, acutely aware of Nick’s eyes on her. Nick brought his hand, still damp with her juices, up to his nose, inhaling deeply as he watched her walk away. The heady scent was intoxicating, and even before she passed out of sight, he was planning the next night’s seduction.
When Michelle had reached the street, turning past the fence line and shielded from Nick’s gaze by vegetation, she could hardly keep from running home, feeling sure that every neighbor she passed knew exactly what she had been doing.
(A musical work from an opera or oratorio which generally dwells on a single emotional theme of one of the characters)
Once home, Michelle found herself restless, plagued by a strange nervous energy. Her lonely dinner was unsatisfying. She went into her music room and attempted to write lyrics, but a disturbing sense of distraction would not allow for the concentration necessary, and all the melodies in her mind mimicked Nick’s composition. At the mere thought of him, the pace of her heart quickened, and Michelle shook her head. She still couldn’t believe she had let herself be a willing participant in the scene at his house. Even more, she hated that she was already looking forward so desperately to the next evening. Ridiculous to have allowed such a brief, emotionally meaningless encounter to even occur, much less affect her so deeply, but there it was. Michelle couldn’t get the music or the man out of her head.
Sighing, Michelle went up the stairs to her room. She slipped into her nightgown, opened one of the windows slightly, and slid between cool sheets. Picking up a book from her bedside table, she tried reading, thinking that would calm her. After going over the same paragraph three times and realizing she still hadn’t absorbed it, Michelle slapped the book down. Reaching out, she turned off her reading lamp and curled onto her side. Though it was early spring, the day had been unusually warm and a welcome, whispering breeze played with the sheer curtains, silvery moonlight pooling on the floor.
Michelle sighed again. Her mind kept insisting on replaying moments from the unexpected encounter, increasing her restlessness, plaguing her with desire. She turned onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. For whatever reason, she had responded to Nick with awakened needs she hadn’t felt in years. Michelle frowned as swift, rushing warmth flooded her groin and breasts. Her nipples hardened and began to ache painfully. Soft sheets rustled as she shifted uneasily. No man had been able to cause this reaction in her in quite some time, and Michelle couldn’t understand why it would happen now, with a man she didn’t even know.
She lay in the semi-darkness, reflecting on her life—the failed marriage to Alex, her Angela’s death. Dear, sunny Angela. Slow tears crept from the corners of her eyes. And there hadn’t been anyone but herself to direct her anger toward. Not Alex, who had deserted them both even before the divorce, except for monthly child support—at least he had been good about that. Not the driver of the vehicle, the elderly man who had suffered a heart attack and whose car kept on going—past the stop sign, past the crossing guard—plowing into Michelle and Angela. Both of them had been injured, but there was only one survivor, and it hadn’t been Angela.
Most of the time, Michelle blamed herself for being the one to live; but sometimes, for brief moments like this one, she was grateful. With her own parents gone, Alex estranged from his parents and completely uninvolved in the life of a child he hadn’t wanted to begin with, Michelle shuddered to think where Angela would have ended up—seven years old, in the home of a father who wouldn’t love her, raised by day care centers or itinerant girlfriends.
The marriage. At the time, Michelle had thought herself at the pinnacle of a dream. To be married to Alex—making her music, making his career, making love. Ah, yes. The sex. She had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that sex between them had been great. Alex was a gentle but persistent lover—coaxing her along, reaching past her innate shyness to the passionate woman within. Michelle had found it hard, in the beginning, to tell Alex what she liked—to listen to what he liked. But slowly, as she began to allow the words to come, and the rewards were oh-so-much greater than anything she’d experienced before—she’d finally thrown herself into it and their sex life had been amazing.
Michelle hadn’t thought of that for years—since before Angela’s death five years earlier. She hadn’t been interested in men much after Alex—hadn’t wanted her heart to be crushed again, hadn’t wanted her child to be left feeling abandoned. Alex hadn’t wanted children. If Michelle were honest with herself, she had to admit that she hadn’t, originally, either. She’d been too caught up in the trappings of their life—Alex’s rising legal career, her popularity as a singer with a club band. Her life had seemed complete—until that moment when the doctor told her that despite the pill, despite other precautions, she was pregnant. She’d never consciously desired a child, but all of the sudden, she’d thought,So that’swhat’s missing!A child—an outward expression of her and Alex’s deep passion for each other, the living flower of their seed.
Alex had been furious. He accused her of skipping pills, of lying to him about where she was in her cycle. Michelle, who had not realized until that day that something was missing from their marriage, began to suspect, finally, what it was. They didn’t really love each other—they were in love with theidea of each other; with the dream of the young, unhampered, successful couple living the fast life and spending freely. Her with the handsome, high-powered lawyer husband; him with the attractive, popular wife in a band that was beginning to garner major-label interest. It could have been enough for Michelle. When she analyzed her complicated reactions, she realized that she did care for Alex, just not quite the way she’d originally thought, but she could live with that. Only, Michelle was willing to adapt the fantasy to include a baby and a white picket fence. Alex wasn’t.
Michelle had kept thinking that Alex would come to terms with the pregnancy eventually, and find a way to include a child in his world-view. He never had. Not even when beautiful, sweet Angela arrived, with her mother’s dark, curly hair and her father’s grey eyes and dimples. Alex had turned away from the baby, refusing to hold her. For the next year, Alex left everything to Michelle when it came to their child—not helping in any way with her care. Michelle had been forced to quit her band, giving up one of the most important things in her life—her music—forthe most important thing in her life. Angela. Alex had finally moved out, their divorce finalized when Angela was two years old. Michelle dated occasionally after the divorce, during the next five years, but had difficulty letting anyone get close. Knowing that any person she brought into her life would affect not only her, but her child, and not really trusting her judgment after the experience with Alex, Michelle kept her involvements brief and fairly platonic.
And then, after Angela died, Michelle quit even the occasional dating. She couldn’t bear the thought of meeting someone she could love even half as much as she had Angela, and then losing that person. She didn’t want to go through any kind of personal loss again, whether through death or some other sort of ending. Having lost the illusion of a successful marriage, her parents, her daughter; having finally discovered what love was truly all about, Michelle suspected that suffering one more such loss would break her, and she couldn’t chance it.
Michelle frowned again, at the persistent tingling in her nipples that kept intruding upon her silent reverie. Idly, she pulled up her nightgown, drawing her fingers lightly across her abdomen just above her groin, causing a shiver to race down her spine. She jumped guiltily when the phone on the bedside table rang shrilly. She reached over and picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi.”
It was Nick. At the sound of his voice, an insistent throbbing developed in Michelle’s pussy. “Hi,” she replied.
“I hope I’m not calling too late,” he continued.
“Not at all.”
“We didn’t really firm things up. You know, for dinner tomorrow night? I got your address from the phone book. Can I pick you up atseven o’clock?”
“That would be fine,” Michelle answered, trying not to sound too eager. “Should I dress casual…formal…?”
“Semi-casual—a skirt and blouse,” Nick suggested. “The place where we’re going is small and quiet. I wanted us to have a chance to talk.”
“Sounds great.” Michelle searched for something witty to say, but couldn’t come up with anything. “So…I’ll see you at seven, then.”
“Right,” Nick said, sounding disappointed.
Michelle quelled a sudden urge to invite him over. “Goodnight, Nick.”
“Goodnight.”
Michelle hung up the phone. After talking to Nick, her restless arousal became so insistent that she took off her nightgown and lay naked between the sheets. After her divorce, she’d become quite adept at fulfilling her own physical needs—at pleasuring herself beneath the covers. However, need had faded with time, and Michelle hadn’t touched herself in over three years.But she was doing it now —her own questing hands fluttering their fingers across her sensitive belly. Michelle sought her firm, flushed nipples, flicking her fingertips rapidly back and forth over them, lightly scratching the swollen peaks. Liquid fire burned its way to her clit, and Michelle turned on her side, rubbing two fingers over the excited nub. Moaning, Michelle slipped those fingers into her moist cunt, working them in and out, in and out. Her other hand squeezed and rolled first one then the other rock-hard nipple. Michelle increased her pace, trying to obtain release from the sexual tension she’d experienced all evening, nearly unbearable now that she’d heard Nick’s voice again. Closing her eyes, she found herself picturing his pale blond hair, chiseled features,long, sensual fingers. Harder and faster she rubbed, massaging her G-spot, wishing it werehis hand inside her. After what seemed like an eternity, drenched in sweat and shaking with unrelieved desire, Michelle gave up. Apparently, Nick’s touch had spoiled her for anyone else, including herself. She groaned and threw back the top sheet. The breeze from the window wafting across her fevered flesh, Michelle resigned herself to a long, sleepless night.
* * * * *
After Nicholas hung up the phone, he paced the parlor, back and forth, back and forth. His engorged cock, rock-hard now, throbbed in counterpoint to the deep, belling tones of an intricately carved German grandfather clock ringing out the hour.Damn, Nicholas thought.Midnight, and he still couldn’t get Michelle out of his head. Nicholas shook himself.Why now? he thought. He had mastered his romantic impulses long ago. Nicholas didn’t date. When his physical needs became too strong to ignore, which was a rare occurrence these days, he availed himself of a very private, very selective escort service—one that tested their staff and clients frequently for sexually transmitted diseases. He had good reason for keeping things impersonal. Nicholas had secrets—secrets that provided certain obstacles to his having a long-term relationship with any woman. Add to that the fact that the few times he had allowed himself to feel affection and to assume that his devotion might be returned, he had been ridiculed—and you had a more than confirmed bachelor on your hands.