Cherry Popper (Cherry 1)

Slate’s reaction didn’t indicate his feelings on the matter. He stared at me without blinking, several heartbeats passing. His dark eyes hinted at the darkness in his soul, his disturbing tastes. “Did you do it last night?”

“That’s a personal question…” When we shared that kiss by the elevator, my back wanted to hit his mattress and my thighs wanted to separate. All my logic disappeared when his mouth was on mine, sucking my soul right from my lips. I left his penthouse unsatisfied, and even after the fifteen-minute drive home, I was still charged.

“The second you were gone, I stripped out of all my clothes, got into bed, and pulled out an enormous bottle of lube from my nightstand.” He described his solo event with little regard for the people around us. It didn’t seem like he cared if he was overheard or not. He painted a vivid picture of his evening with his hand. “I dumped it all over my length, closed my eyes, and pictured that night we had together. The tears in your eyes…the way your tits bounced…the way you clawed at me when you both enjoyed it and felt the pain. I squeezed my hand as hard as I could to replicate the feeling of your unbelievably tight pussy, but I couldn’t. I’ve fucked a lot of cunts in the last five years, and none of them compare to yours. I only lasted a few minutes before I exploded onto my chest, pretending I was stuffing your pussy with come.”

I was mesmerized by the imagery, imagining his sexy, naked physique on the bed with his hand wrapped around his impressive length. My mouth suddenly felt dry, so I took a drink of my wine to make it moist again. The restaurant had felt cool a moment ago, but now I felt like I was in the desert on a hot summer day.

Slate watched me battle my discomfort. “What about you?”

“What makes you think I did the same?”

“That kiss in front of the elevator. I thought it would be enough to make you stay.”

It nearly had.

“So?” he pressed. “I shared my story. Now share yours.”

I was equally aroused and humiliated by the conversation. It was too intimate for a public place, but the discussion happened anyway. Hopefully, the waitress didn’t walk over at the wrong moment. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I did.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Give me more than that, sweetheart. I rushed to the bedroom without even putting the bottle of wine away. The glasses were left there until morning, when the maid cleaned them up. I had to jerk off so bad that nothing else mattered. And that’s all you’re going to give me?”

“Alright…I came home, left my shoes by the door, and then changed into my baggy t-shirt before I got into bed. I brought my knees to my chest and opened myself wide before I rubbed my finger against my clit.”

His eyes narrowed as he listened to me, probably imagining my story the way I imagined his.

“My eyes were closed…and I thought about our first time together. I thought about your expression, the way your jaw was clenched so tight, like you couldn’t enjoy it too much without exploding. I thought of the way it hurt…the way it felt good.”

Slate hung on every word, his jaw slowly tightening and his eyes burning.

I thought he might lunge at me over the table.

“Are you happy?” I asked, grabbing my glass again.

He didn’t blink as he stared me down, his expression still focused with laser precision. “Yes. Very.”

After we finished dinner, we got into the back seat of his car.

“My place or yours?” He asked the same question every single time we got into the town car.

But I was surprised he’d asked it at all. After the conversation we’d had, it seemed like we both wanted the same thing.

He stared straight ahead. “Think about it. The second we’re inside my penthouse, I’m ripping off your clothes and taking you to bed. Nothing will stop me. So if you aren’t ready, tell me to take you to your place. That’s the only place where you’ll be safe.” He placed his arm on the armrest as he looked out the window, the darkness illuminated by the street lights and business signs. The middle divider was up, so he spoke without fear of being overheard. He probably would have said the exact same thing anyway even if his driver could hear. “What’s it gonna be?”

I had no intention of going home alone and touching myself. I was still disappointed in Slate for the way he treated me, but I couldn’t resist him anymore. It’d been nearly a month since the last time we were together. My anger couldn’t keep me away from him much longer. “Your place.”

“Thank fucking god.” He hit the button so he could speak through the intercom. “My place, Tim.” He lowered his hand and looked at me, his muscular chest stretching the front of his t-shirt, making it tight against his physique. His hand moved to my thigh, his fingers touching my bare skin because my dress had risen when I sat down. He gave me a gentle squeeze. “Is your shot still current?”