The intercom buzzed.
I ran to it excitedly, answered breathlessly. “Yes?”
“Alexis, this is Mrs. O'Hara. I seem to have forgotten my keys.”
Of course. I guess I'd been expecting Mr. Thorne, or a delivery from him, like when he'd sent me the dinner invitation. As I took the elevator down to help my elderly neighbor, I considered how time plays tricks on memories. After I'd been ditched at the restaurant, having been rode hard and put away wet (in Grace's equestrian terms), I'd been so pissed at Mr. Thorne. But now, thinking he could have been downstairs pressing my buzzer, my passionflower had blossomed in my panties, just at the possibility.
Indeed, talking to Mrs. O'Hara while I was walking her groceries into her condo, hyper-aware of my engorged labia rubbing deliciously against each other, was a mix of pleasure and annoyance.
She showed me the cyst she'd had lanced, and still, I couldn't get turned back off again. I kept thinking about Mr. Thorne and that sexy body of his. He wasn't as thick and muscled as my friend Jacob, the fireman, but he was graceful. The man knew how to move.
When he'd been behind me in the dark restaurant, thrusting in and out, I'd tilted up, opening myself more to him. I wanted him deep inside me. I wanted to see his face as he came, make him say my name, kiss me, forget everything in the world but me.
Dear old Mrs. O'Hara knew something was up. She chided me for trying to put her crackers in the fridge and took them from my hand. “Man trouble?”
“Sorta. It's fine. Just the usual.” I was reluctant to discuss my love life issues with her, as she'd only lost her husband a year earlier, and I didn't want to bring up painful memories.
She opened a box of cookies and offered me one. “The technology has changed, but the heartbreak, the nerves, the anxieties, that hasn't changed at all. So, what's the issue? Is he dating multiple girls or just commitment phobic?”
“He's very rich.”
“Just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. What's the real issue?”
I laughed at her ability to simplify. “What we have so far has been built on sex. Just pure, crazy, unbelievable sex.”
Her white eyebrows shot up. “Nothing wrong with that. If two people give each other some pleasure, that should be considered a victory for love.”
“But how do I move from sex to love?”
“The third time's the charm. Or maybe the fifth.” She rubbed the fine white whiskers on her chin. “Or is it four. Doesn't matter. Why don't you give him a little surprise. Stick one of your fingers up his bumhole.”
“Mrs. O'Hara!”
She tipped her head to the side nonchalantly. “You gotta know how to work the pipes, dear. Play the mouth organ at the same time.”
I was still giggling when I got back to my condo down the hall.
I'd learned a lot about Mrs. O'Hara, including that she'd been a dancer back in the day, and quite the little fox. She'd had a number of male suitors, and when she set her sights on the one she wanted, Mr. O'Hara, she'd hit him with every trick she had, but mainly the finger up the bum. I wasn't planning to go there myself, but … perhaps if I did see Mr. Thorne again and he was being cheeky, I'd give him a little surprise.
Come to think of it, my fireman friend Jacob had fingered me in my second hole, and it had felt rather nice. Tingly.
Inside my door, I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door. I visited my bedroom to grab a waterproof toy, and I filled the tub with hot water and a few drops of aromatherapy oil.
Thinking about Mr. Luthor Thorne, and a little about Jacob, plus some David Duchovny for good measure, I gave myself three orgasms in short succession. Then I conditioned my hair.
On Tuesday morning, Suzanne finally called, yet she wouldn't tell me anything about the arrangements she'd made with Mr. Thorne. She kept saying it was a surprise, but definitely a good surprise, and she asked if all my shots were up to date for traveling.
I said, “Yes, I just got a bunch for my trip back at Christmas. But wait, traveling where?”
“You'll see.” She giggled, and though I couldn't see her, I knew her eyes were squeezed shut with delight. The woman loved to put one over on me.
“For how long? When?”
“Just a few days. His schedule's so busy. We leave on Friday.”
“What do you mean we? Are you going?”
She gasped. “Oh, shit. I wasn't supposed to tell you that.”
“Hah! You suck at secrets. Now tell me where I'm going. And, hey, why are you going? Don't tell me … did he make you talk dirty to him again? Is there something …”
“No, Lexie, Mr. Thorne is all yours. I'm taking my dear husband with me.”
“Ohmygod, is this some sort of double date?”
“I'll pick you up early Friday morning. Pack light. Just a bathing suit.” She giggled. “Maybe one dress. No underwear required.”
“Why do I get the feeling that pimping me out is the pinnacle of your life's achievements?”
Sounding a little hurt, she said, “Hey!”
“I have to get to work,” I said, and I ended the call.
On Wednesday, I did a very naughty thing.
I called up my fireman friend-with-benefits Jacob to have Thorne's-not-the-boss-of-me sex. The idea that Mr. Thorne wouldn't approve only made it better.
Jacob showed up at my place after he got off work.
He'd eaten dinner at the firehall, so he wasn't interested in the pasta I'd made, but he was extremely interested in what I was wearing.
I'd gone to a lingerie store that afternoon and picked up a few kinky things. I'd picked out the tackiest thing of all for that night: a tiny g-string and a matching purple bra with a ridiculous amount of frou-frou and lace. Over this, I wore a sheer “cover-up” with even more frou-frou.
Jacob couldn't take his eyes or hands off me.
As he pulled me onto his lap in the living room, I squealed and said, “I look like a cupcake.”
In his best caveman imitation, he said, “Me like cupcake.”
I squealed again, and then things got more serious. His eyes were still on me, so attentive, and he moved his big fireman hands gently all over my body, examining the lingerie as much as me.
Still sitting on his lap, I squirmed at the sensation starting in my pu**y. I had been turned on for an hour before he got there, from the second I'd put the lingerie on and seen myself. I didn't think I could get more aroused, but I did, to the point of desperation.
He pulled me in for a kiss and I devoured his juicy lips as I ran my fingers through his dark, curly hair.
“Good,” he said. “Yes.”