The Truth

“By the way, he hates Harry Potter.”

It’s like Elle drops a bomb. Tiffany wheels toward me, outrage on her face. “You hate Harry Potter? How could you? That’s it. Dealbreaker. I’m going to the hotel with Elle. I’ll bunk up with Neve, you . . . you . . . muggle!”

I chuckle and take her in my arms again. “You’re staying here, Tiff.” It’s not a request, nor a question, and my voice has gone rough. A shiver works its way down her spine, and I chase it with my fingertips.

“Uh-oh, the dad voice,” Elle says.

Tiffany smirks, looking happier than she has all evening. “You mean the Daddy voice.”

“And on that note, we’re leaving.”

We say our goodbyes, and I close the door behind them.

In the silence, I glance at Tiffany, who looks a bit better. Maybe conversation about tonight can wait until later. Because the truth is . . . with everything going better than expected with Elle, I want to reassure Tiffany that we’re good.

I want to celebrate this milestone—inside her, with her coming on my cock and crying my name.

“Well, I suggest we go to bed,” I tell her, picking her up in my arms. “And then we’ll see about what I might be able to conjure up. I might even have a good expelliarmus in my wand.”

She laughs at my bad attempt at a Harry Potter joke but then turns serious. “Mmm, I definitely could enjoy that.”

It’s not far to my bedroom, and Tiffany’s light as a feather. I walk her in with strong, sure strides, carrying her to my bed and laying her down like the precious jewel she is.

“You are so beautiful. I only wish I’d truly seen you sooner,” I tell her. “That you love me is the biggest mystery of my life and the most precious gift.”

“I’ve always seen you as the amazing man you are. This is more than I ever dreamed.” Tiffany runs her fingers through my hair, her eyes hooded as she pulls me down for a kiss. I press her into the bed, tasting the last of the apple pie on her lips.

And she’s all mine.

I kiss down her neck, nibbling at the soft skin of her throat and relishing in the vibrations of her moans under my lips. “Yes, Daniel . . . yes. Please, make me feel good.”

“I will,” I promise her, stroking her body through the thin fabric of her blouse and down to her skirt. It’s not one of her work skirts but rather a looser, flirtier one.

Exactly the way she makes me feel.

“Close your eyes,” I tell her as I move my hand up to her waist and start tugging her blouse free.

“Daniel?” she whispers, though her eyes snap shut. She trembles when I find the soft skin and flat muscles of her stomach. “Daniel.” There’s no question in it this time, just a moan of my name on her lips.

“Tonight, you don’t get to see what I’m doing,” I tell her, unbuttoning her blouse to expose the lacy cups of her bra and the sweet swells of her breasts to my eyes. “Just feel. Feel me, feel us and how right we are together.”

Tiffany nods, squeezing her eyes closed as she fights to obey.

“Good girl,” I growl softly, enjoying the gasp of arousal my words bring. I kiss down her body, tracing the edges of her cups with my tongue before reaching below her skirt to lift her hips and ease her panties down.

This is my secret, one of the small benefits I can offer her as an older man. I appreciate the full experience of being with Tiffany. Connecting in this way is not merely about the orgasm I’ll eventually have or even the multiple I intend to give her. The power of our intimacy is in every touch, taste, and moan. I want to explore every inch of her body with my lips, my fingers, my breath, and my eyes.

I want her to know without a shadow of a doubt how sensual and beautiful she is.

When I was younger, I’m ashamed to say I was more selfish, even as a lover. I can see that now. But with maturity comes the realization that every moment is worthwhile and should be enjoyed fully. No rushing, no racing for the finish line, but simply taking the time to worship Tiffany the way she deserves.

The way I want to.

Using my fingertips, I pull down one cup of her bra to find her stiff nipple. I nuzzle it with my nose, inhaling her before tugging on it with my teeth until she arches beneath me with a cry.

"Too much?” I ask, and her head thrashes on my pillow.

“More,” she pleads. “Again.”

I pour myself into her. With my lips, I give her breasts electric kisses. With my tongue, I taste the sweat that forms on her skin, and with my hand . . . well, with my hand, I trace the softness of her pussy.