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“And that’s what I was doing?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Coming downstairs hoping to be your one-night stand?”
“Are you really going to deny it? We both felt it when I dropped you off — the something in the air. I just thought we were both smart enough to know which lines not to cross.”
I think about denying it, but I came here for a confrontation, not more evasion. Might as well clear the air and get it over with. “Okay. Fine. That’s what it was. But as someone once said, ‘It was my choice to make, not yours.’”
“And it was my choice to be strong enough for both of us, and say no.”
I don’t know which half of his statement to be furious at first. “So I’m weak.”
Anthony exhales. He wants to be mad, but I’ve made that too hard. “Of course you’re not weak. You’re stronger than ever.”
“Good thing you were strong enough to resist my stronger than ever advances.”
“It’s not that. It’s not that you were weak. It’s that you were … influenced.”
“Because you’re so charming? Because bitches just melt into unprotesting pussy in your presence? Get over yourself, Anthony. I have a mind of my own.”
Another sigh. “I know you do. Look — I don’t want it to be like this.”
“Why not? You don’t want it to be the other way, either, apparently.” I put both hands on my hips. “But thank you. Thank you for being strong enough to say no to the question I never actually asked.”
“Your body was saying it.”
I almost want to laugh. “I see. My body. And is it saying the same thing right now?”
He looks me over — the pretentious ass actually looks me up and down. “Honestly? Yes.”
I shake my head and move to walk around him. We’re done here; I’m tired of all the bullshit.
“No. That’s enough. That’s about all I can handle.”
“Look at me.”
“I’m done looking at you.”
He takes me by the arm and turns me. I wrench away, then push against his chest.
We stare at each other.
He tries again, this time reaching for my face. I slap it away again, eyes still locked on his. I refuse to lose this staring contest.
Anthony moves toward me in one long, fast stride. I react instinctively, wanting to hit him again, but he’s suddenly too close to me. His hands are on my face. He’s holding me against him, our bodies pressed together, his lips smashed against mine. For a fraction of a second, I’m lost and floating. My arms stop trying to hit him and my mouth stops protesting. For just that blink of time, there’s bliss, and I’m somewhere else.
But then I push him away, harder this time.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What you want me to do.”
“I don’t want you to—”
He comes forward again, his hands back in place. This time I only half-protest for a couple of beats. Then my pushing hands circle his firm torso and become pulling hands, spreading open against his dress shirt, kneading, pulling his hips into mine.
We pull apart, our mouths separating. We lock eyes. There’s a small moment where I think one of us might say something — a quip from me about his failure to be strong, a protest from him about how my heat is keeping him from working — but then it pops and we’re suddenly one again, moving, undulating, pressed together from top to bottom.
He backs me up and my ass hits the table in the center of the room. His hands move lower, rubbing down my front, pawing my breasts with urgency.
Then he steps back. His lips are smeared with my lipstick. He drops his arms back, shakes off his blazer and tosses it behind me.
“Get on the floor,” he says.
“Take off your panties and get on the floor. Hurry.”
I still stand there dumbly. All the blood in my body is one giant throb. I’m practically dripping. I catch sight of Anthony’s slacks, and see the huge protrusion.
This is really happening. Me and Anthony. Anthony and me.
How many nights have I dreamt it? And is it wise to move from fantasy to reality after all this time?
No. No, it’s obviously not.
When I don’t move, Anthony comes back to me, lifts my skirt, and drags my panties to the floor. He puts his hands on my hips and moves me down. “The carpet will chafe. Lay on my coat.”
I look back. I’m kneeling now. I see the discarded blazer behind me — not a random toss, apparently, but a sex blanket instead.
My mind says, We’ll ruin it. But I say nothing because Anthony has guided me to it already, and my ass is on it, and the lining is soft and luxurious.
His big hands open my legs and lift my skirt. He looks hungrily at my pussy, then reaches forward to run a finger between its lips.
“It has to be the floor. There are people in the rooms around us and the walls are thin. The table is too shaky. It’s here or nowhere.”
“I meant, here in this room?”
“I’ve got you on the floor with my finger in your pussy. We can’t stop now and pretend it’s all the same, so don’t make me second-guess this, too.”
I do. My head is in the clouds. I feel every heartbeat in every part of me. My pussy wants more of him, and grips his finger. I’m so wet. I want all of him and I want it now.
I sit back up, then lean up enough to fondle his hard cock through his pants. I begin to unbuckle his belt but he pushes me back down.
“I’ll do that,” he says. “We need to hurry.”
“Why?” And then I think, Oh, right. The time. Marcy only had fifteen minutes with Anthony, and that probably means I only had fifteen minutes, too. “How long do we have?”
He looks at his watch. I don’t know the brand, but it looks phenomenally expensive. “Seven minutes.”
“It’s enough.” I hike my skirt higher and lean again for his hard cock, wanting more than anything to have it inside me, but again he pushes me gently down.
“It’s enough to fuck you,” he agrees. “But first, I need you to come for me.”