Second Time Around Read Free Page B

his finger hooks inside me, making me gasp. “Only then will you really and truly be in charge of what makes you happy.”
    It sounds like New Age mumbo jumbo, but beneath the words I see the wisdom. It makes age-old sense, and my ex-husband is primal. He’s male and he’s alpha and he’s been that way all along. He just made concessions to me, out of love. In error, but because he cared.
    And now, because he still cares, he’s become himself again.
    But I’m afraid. In a way I never have been before. “I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a breath.
    “Don’t be,” he whispers back, stroking my hair in a way that’s gentle and sweet, while his other hand is rude and wicked between my legs. We stand there for long, long moments, him soothing me with small kisses and wordless whispers, while all the while, the finger inside me owns me. Eventually though, he slips it out, and with a last brush of his lips against my hair, he steps away from me. “Undress,” he says quietly.
    It’s a command.
    Heart lurching in my chest, I slide off my jacket and place it on the chair at my side. Everything seems unreal, yet hyper real as if we’re living it in high definition. The sounds of the buttons of my blouse sliding out of the buttonholes are so distinct they seem to reverberate, and the whisper of the cloth as I drop that on the chair rings in my ears too. I know that at any moment someone might find it necessary to revisit this old haunt, but still I unsnap the fastener on my bra, ready to remove it. Cupping myself through the lace, I hesitate. James quirks an eyebrow, his blue eyes steady. I swallow, breathe deeply, bracing myself, then let the garment slip off me, exposing my breasts.
    “Stop.”
    My hands falter on the zip of my skirt and he steps close again, reaching out to fondle my breasts with both hands. He lifts them slightly, cradling them, as if assessing their weight and resilience. I have to close my eyes, the sensations are so intense, and I bite my lips, stopping the moans that spring to them as my pussy ripples, so excited.
    “Look at me.”
    I toss my head, unable to look.
    “Look at me,” he repeats, voice still low and calm, yet full of heat. His eyes are full of heat too, when I meet them. And as they hold mine, he tweaks my nipples, lightly at first, then with more force, plucking and twisting and playing.
    I’m a bottle of sparkling wine and he’s shaking me. I’m ready to explode, to effervesce. My sex aches in a hard, grinding ache, and my clitoris seems to swell between my pussy lips, crying to be touched. And still he torments my nipples in a way that transcends both pleasure and pain, yet is both.
    “Ah!” I gasp as he squashes them between finger and thumb, and when he glances downward, I realize I’m clasping myself between my legs, my hand squeezing and massaging through my skirt.
    “Uh-oh, now you’ve done it!” he teases, still strumming my nipples, “That will cost you, Willa, my love.” Dipping down, he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks hard on it, sending me beside myself. Unable to control my actions, I rub myself hard, pressing on my clit through the fabric of my skirt, and it jumps suddenly, and hard, and I’m coming. My knees buckle as quick, unexpected pleasure ripples through my sex and my belly and my entire groin. I clench on nothing, the muscles working, working, working as I groan. But James has me, holds me, keeping me aloft while I’m out of my body, yet more in it than I’ve ever, ever been.
    After a few moments, I get it together again. I’ve climaxed, but it wasn’t enough. It was just a taster orgasm. I want more and I want more of this strange new lovemaking James has shown me. As I feel him release me, I know he knows I’m ready.
    “Skirt now, baby,” he urges, but not before he presses a last little kiss on the very tip of my breast.
    I unzip, slide my skirt down, step out of it, taking care not to catch my heels in the hem.