Riding Out the Storm

By: Emma Jay


He forced himself to relax. That had been a year ago, and clearly Jill wanted to be here, with him. Just—after losing Kit to another man, he couldn’t help being wary. “Not for me, but it seems like it might have been a problem for you. Zach isn’t exactly relationship material.”

She inclined her head in acquiescence and placed her arm on the table, inviting his touch again. “I didn’t like how jaded I was. So I took a step back and decided to, well, cleanse myself, I guess.”

He resumed his caress of the soft skin of her inner arm. He lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed it, just to watch her pupils dilate. “Cold turkey?”

She gave him a small smile. “I’ve burned through a couple of vibrators this past year, especially at the beginning.”

His mouth went dry and his fingers stilled at the picture that conjured. Her celibacy was hell on his self-control. He couldn’t wait to watch her lose hers. “Jesus.”

“But I’m happier than I was. And I’m ready to move on.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, wanting to taste her mouth. He gave into the urge and kissed her softly, a little longer than was appropriate in public. When he drew back, his gaze dropped to her swollen lips, and his groin tightened. “How many weeks until your anniversary?”

“Two.” With her free hand, she reached for her wine glass and offered it in a toast. “And we’re going to celebrate in style.”

****

March 7

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: You’re killing me.

I can’t believe you did that in the theater last night.

****

March 7

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: You’re killing me.

All I did was sit on your lap.

****

March 9

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: You’re killing me.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life. You have the most gorgeous breasts. Not at all what I’d expect from a 70-year-old.

****

March 9

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: You’re killing me.

That’s what you get for Googling me. I told you I was named after my grandmother.

****

March 10

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Supplies

Ten minutes?

****

March 11

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Supplies

NOW

****

Jill couldn’t get to the copy room fast enough, but when she arrived, Ethan wasn’t there. Frowning, she turned back to look at his desk. Empty. Huh. She glanced at the supply closet and saw the door was ajar. Suddenly a hand reached out and beckoned. Biting back a giggle, she hurried toward it, and Ethan pulled her into the dark room. The door had barely closed behind her before he reached for the buttons of her blouse.

“I had to get my hands on you,” he muttered, slipping his hand inside and cupping a lace-clad breast, as he’d done when she’d been on his lap in the theater. She’d never been so close to coming just by having a man caress her breasts.

She let her head fall back in pleasure as his other hand hooked around her waist and pulled her between his parted legs. He was sitting on something—not sitting exactly, but leaning, so that he wasn’t quite so tall and her hips notched against his. He was already aroused, and she rolled her hips for just a moment, to feel the heat and throb of his cock, the hardness. He groaned, pinching her nipple before he dragged her forward and kissed her, finding her mouth unerringly in the darkness.

She was off-balance, at his mercy as his lips caressed hers, his fingers plucked her nipple, caressed the soft skin above. His erection grew against her belly, so she bumped against it, every caress a symphony of pleasure. He released her mouth to coast down her throat, as he’d done at the movies, and the sensation of his soft lips and light stubble made her nipples harder, and sent pulses of pleasure to her pussy. She squeezed her thighs together to try to ease the sensation.

He pushed aside the collar of her blouse and coursed his lips down her chest to the swell of her breast. “Push your skirt up,” he said against the sensitive skin. “Push your skirt up and straddle me.”

She hesitated. “What are you sitting on?”

“A palette of copy paper.”

“I don’t think there’s space.”

“There is.” He drew back, and she sensed he was looking at her, though she couldn’t see in the dark room. “I know you want to wait for your anniversary to make love, and I’m cool with that. But Christ, I need to take the edge off, here.”

She coasted her fingertips down his belly to rest over his straining cock. “I can suck you.”

He groaned. “Not what I want. I mean, yeah, I want it. I fantasize about you doing that all the time. But I want you with me when I do this. I want us both to get there together. Straddle me, Jill.”

He wanted a dry hump? She hadn’t done something like that since her freshman year in high school. But the idea was too tempting. Ethan was too tempting. She tugged at the hem of her skirt until she could straddle his hips. His hand at the small of her back helped her find her balance, and she lowered her already-soaked pussy over his bulge.