Window Shopping
Stella already has her own family problems, she doesn’t need the judgment from mine. I’ve been in that seat many times, faced the disapproval, felt it burn layers off my skin. The thought of that happening to her when she’s already so raw from the last four years, has me pacing back and forth in front of the wide window, the half-eaten carcass of my fourth donut lying forgotten on the ottoman tray.
There’s a huge part of me, a protective part, that toys with the idea of rescheduling the unveiling, but I don’t know that it would stop my family from descending on the proceeding like vultures. Nor do I want Stella thinking I lack confidence in the final product.
With no clear solution in sight, I duck into my second bedroom-turned-gym and start lifting weights. I throw myself into some pull-ups in the doorway and rush through crunches—because I hate them—in the hopes of blowing off this stress that’s plaguing me. But when no amount of exercise seems to loosen the tension in my mid-section, I finally relent, admitting to myself that there’s only one thing that will help.
The very second I give myself permission to beat off, I tent my sweatpants. My dick gets hard so instantaneously, I get dizzy on my march to the bathroom. Undressing quickly, I turn on the shower to hot and step in underneath the spray, reaching for the soap before I’m fully wet. Lathering my palm with suds. As soon as I close my eyes and press my forehead up against the misty tile of the shower wall, there’s Stella. Topless in those tights.
Pouting at me.
She thinks that glare makes her look so ferocious, but it’s the hottest damn thing east of the Mississippi. Makes me want to work to get her five percent crooked and one hundred percent perfect smile back. Makes me want to find out which buttons have to be pushed to erase the wariness in her eyes—and glaze them right over.
Damn, though. I hate that this feels like a violation of the rules. I’m doing something seedy when I’d rather be dating her out in the open. I want to pursue her the right way. Instead, here I am, gripping my cock and feeling my balls tighten with the ungodly mixture of lust and shame. “I’m sorry,” I whisper against the mouth of Imaginary Stella. “For what I’m about to do to you.” She’s sitting on my desk in the office—an ethics violation if I ever heard one—and she’s playing with her tits. Peeking up at me through her bangs, fingers teasing her nipples into little points.
One soapy stroke of my erection and I’m already panting.
Am I a kind man? Yeah. To a fault, some might say. But the niceness slides right off of me now, circling the drain. The only time I’ve ever been able to completely cut loose is during sex. My mind turns off and my body engages. There is still an expectation for me to meet, but it’s a different one. Giving pleasure doesn’t require me to be kind. Or smile when I don’t feel like it. And the permission to drop my guard and go is exhilarating.
In the past, women have been unable to connect with one of my two sides. They either want an all-around gentleman, thus recoiling from my aggressiveness in bed. Or they don’t even make it past coffee with me, assuming I’ll be too nice in all other aspects, as well. Including the bedroom. Without the benefit of proximity, Stella might have fallen into that latter category. Thank Christ that didn’t happen. There isn’t a chance in hell I could have forgotten about her like I did with the other women.
“Don’t apologize,” she murmurs, teasing the seam of my mouth with a light sideways drag of her tongue. “Just make it extra good for me, okay?”
“Fuck that, I’ll make it great,” I growl against the tile, the grip of my hand cinching tighter, speed picking up already. “Just let me in.”
Looking me in the eye, she opens her thighs wide, so perfectly wide, showing me her damp pussy and the strip of trimmed, dark hair. Goddamn. She scoots to the edge of my desk and walks her fingertips up the center of my chest, wrapping her hand around my tie. “Show me what it feels like to be yours, Aiden.”
“Yes,” I grunt, not even sure I’m going to make it to the end of this fantasy before I blow. It’s too much, hearing her say she wants to be mine. Because I can’t deny that when it comes to Stella, I’ve been experiencing an unfamiliar sense of…greediness. I want to gather her up and learn her. Better than anyone. As far back as I can remember, I’ve envisioned myself in a committed relationship. Someday. The idea of coming home every day to the same person and knowing how they want to be pleasured, what they like to eat, how to coax them out of a bad mood…God, I’ve dreamed of that. To be depended on like that.