6 comments/ 19803 views/ 18 favorites Lover Pt. 01 By: DawnJ I. He watched her sleep, her long, plump legs bent at the knees, a pillow between them to straighten her spine. Her breasts and belly sagged to her right side, the skin glowing in the morning sunlight. The hem of his dress shirt rode up her left thigh, exposing dimpled flesh, a thin covering of hair, and the scars and pockmarks of childhood illness and accidents. Her face was expressionless in sleep, the eyelids flickering every now and then the way her cat's eyes did when it was dreaming. He wondered what she was dreaming about. His eyes roamed over that face, and he felt himself falling deeper. She was beautiful to him, and if she would let him, he would spend the rest of his life showing her he believed it. She hated her second chin, as she called it, and the love handles that she insisted were a size B cup. She deplored her breasts, which hung in what she called "an unattractive decline" above her big belly. She hated her arms that jiggled when she waved. Nothing truly pleased her on her body, except her long legs and her dimples, which were hidden by an all-too-often-serious face. Divorce, an empty nest, and an aging body were the realities she lived with. He would make her smile more, laugh more, love more. She made his groin ache with need. She made his heart race with desire. She made his spirit sing with love. She turned in her sleep, and lay flat on her back, her hands on her belly, the fingers of one extended as though she would reach for the mound of sweet flesh that he had spent the early morning savoring. He could still taste her, could still hear her sighs and moans and screams of pleasure before he plunged into her hot depths and rode her to more climaxes than she had ever had from being fucked at one time. He had wanted to give her one of her fantasies, to help her experience the power and pleasure of multiple orgasms. By the time he had fallen over the edge of ecstasy himself, he had lost count of how many times he had made her come with his fingers, his mouth, and his seemingly tireless cock. She had not planned to stay the night. He hoped to persuade her, with those same fingers, mouth, and cock, to spend the entire weekend with him. After that, he would see. She stirred again, and opened her eyes, looking around her and clearly trying to orient herself. He knew the second she realized where she was. She reached for the sheet to cover her body. His voice stopped her. "Don't. I like seeing you all disheveled. You make me ache to touch you again, to hear you scream for me when I make you come. Don't hide from me. You're beautiful and sexy, and I want you." He watched her study his face, her own flaming as she sat up. He knew she did it deliberately, to hide her body without directly disobeying him. He fought to keep the chuckle that bubbled up from sounding. He didn't like the way she denigrated her body, the way she hated it. And he intended to break her of the habit, if he had to keep her in orgasms all weekend. The exhaustion would be worth the effort. He stood up and walked to where she sat on the edge of his bed. Sitting beside her, he ruffled her short braids, and reached in to sniff her neck. She smelled like sleep and perfume and him. His cock swelled and he took her hand and stroked his wakening flesh while he kissed her deeply, holding her securely to his chest, not letting her move till she opened her mouth and let him in. They groaned together, their lips falling apart at the same moment. "Good morning, beautiful. Welcome back. Ready for a shower?" She stared at him, struck dumb, and he pulled her up to stand with him. "Shower sex is hot," he whispered in her ear, nipping her jawline on his way back to her mouth. "Let me show you." II. He was right, of course. Shower sex was better than she had thought, and certainly not like that one failed chocolate syrup experiment of her marriage that had left her feeling slightly sticky, and wholly unaroused. "It's the thought that counts" had been a lame excuse for a sad seduction. But not this time. She had never known there was more than one use for a showerhead, or that she could be wet while she was wet. She had never known giving head while trying to breathe through the water cascading over her face could be so exotic...and it hadn't hurt that she couldn't smell the usual male musk that was normally a total turn-off for her. Nor had it hurt that he had roared when she made him cum hard, though she did not swallow, and he didn't seem to care. She loved the way he jetted, and didn't mind the sperm on her breasts. She could feel the power of his orgasm in the force with which the jets of semen hit her skin, and she felt powerful. Why that was a turn-on, she couldn't say, but the wild taking up against the shower wall, her legs wrapped around him, his hips shoving her hard against the wall as his cock took full possession of her channel, was the hottest thing she had ever experienced with anyone...and her gone fifty already! Now, as she lay on his back porch in a leather recliner soaking in the sun, she wondered what he saw in her. She was nothing exciting to look at. True, her face wasn't ugly, her skin was smooth, she had a pleasant smile, but none of those things said 'siren', or 'seductress'. None of them said 'sex kitten'. None said 'fuckable lady lover'. She was supremely ordinary, with a large side of body fat thrown in at the most embarrassingly noticeable spots. And still, as just a moment ago, he looked at her and his eyes smoldered. Still, he could not seem to walk by her without stopping to touch her, to kiss her, to whisper something sweet in her ears. "What's my beautiful thinking about so earnestly?" His voice broke into her musings. He was standing before her, at the foot of the recliner, a tray in his hand. He had been calling her that nickname since almost the beginning of their acquaintance, and she had once asked him if that was to be his nickname for her. The look he gave her, coupled with his mysterious smile, had been her only answer. When she asked him why, he said, "I say what I see." And that had been that. She brought her attention back to his question. "Nothing," she answered. She wouldn't begin to know how to explain her confusion about his obvious attraction to her, nor why she seemed to need an explanation, instead of being able to accept and enjoy it. He set the tray down on the table next to her, and sat on the edge of the recliner. His legs and arms and torso were bare, and her body stirred at the sight of his. He was golden and glowing, and the look in his eyes as he leaned over her told her that if she planned to leave, as she still did, she would need to do so as soon as possible. He made her forget herself, forget where she was, forget who she was. She couldn't afford to forget. Life gave out no gifts to someone like her, and she had already paid the price once, since her divorce, for believing a lie. She wouldn't let that happen ever again. "If you keep lying to me, I shall have to punish you," he whispered against her lips, before taking them to stop her from responding. He rubbed his own over them, and when she opened her mouth to chide him, he swept into it, uninvited but desired, and suckled her tongue. She couldn't hold back the moan that floated free, nor keep her hands quiet at her side. How was she supposed to break free of his spell if she couldn't even stop herself from returning his kisses, as she was doing now with unabashed fervor? She clenched her hands into fists at her side to stop herself from pulling him closer. This was a madness she could not keep repeating. She was meant to learn from her mistakes, not repeat them. The second time isn't a mistake any longer, and to let him go any further would make this her third time at the starter's gate. "Put your arms around me, my beautiful. Show me how much you want me." His words, spoken hoarsely into her mouth, were like a switch, lighting her up from the inside. Her mind said she should resist, protect herself, back away before her heart was broken again. But her body had other ideas. It wanted to open itself to him, to let him in, to swallow him whole and never let him free. She raised her hands and cupped his tanned face, watching as his dark eyes glittered. He held her gaze, and kissed her again, drawing her closer to his hard body, caressing her nipples through the t-shirt he had given her after their shower. "Do you want lunch now, or shall we have dessert first?" The smile on his face was seductive, the look in his eyes sinful as he stroked her. "I told you I had to leave," she whispered, unable to raise her voice to normal pitch. "Stay the weekend," he coaxed, teasing her flesh with trembling fingers. "There's no one at home who needs your attention. And this is a long weekend, so I'm off an extra day." He slid his fingers down, snaking them beneath the legline of her panties under the t-shirt "Stay with me," he urged her, teasing her flesh as he kissed her. She hissed, and opened her legs, which he noticed at once. "Dessert first, then," he concluded, and pushed her back against the seat. III. She was dozing again, and he lay next to her, propped up on one elbow, watching her sleep. Next to making love to her — and making her come, and watching her fall apart, and listening to her call his name — next to all that, watching her sleep was fast becoming one of his favorite activities. Her breasts, covered by his t-shirt, teased his eyes. He thought again about the scar that marred its surface and made a dent in the top when she was upright. He wouldn't worry about it, and he wouldn't let her worry, either. Every biopsy meant she was being carefully watched, and every negative result meant he could keep her with him longer. She snuffled and closed her mouth, snuggling her cheek against her palm. Her round thighs and long legs turned him on, reminding him of the way they wrapped around him, pulling him into her core when they made love. She was strong, and passionate, and he wanted her all the time. Her ankles were still slightly swollen; she hadn't had enough water today, but he'd fix that. For now, he watched her turn onto her back, and inhaled deeply when the hem of his shirt rode up, exposing her partially shaven pussy. He had stolen her panties from her earlier, once she'd had her third orgasm and had promised that she would stay the weekend. Her panties were his insurance that she wouldn't run out on him. Now the sight of that neat landing strip above her pouty lower lips had him hardening in his shorts all over again. He reached out and let his trembling fingers hover over the triangle of temptation. At the last second, he withdrew. If he touched her there like that now, they'd be caught in flagrante delicto when his brother and sister showed up ahead of the rest of the family to get the cooking going. Instead of ravishing her the way his randy hormones were pushing him to do, he shook her gently to wake her up. "Tom will be here with Sandy in a little while. You need to get dressed. And I need to start getting things ready for the barbecue." He watched her face flush when she reached down and remembered that she was bare there when her fingers glanced off the soft skin of her pussy. "You're beautiful, you know that, right?" "Thank you, Ben." Her smile made his heart ache. He knew she still had a hard time believing him. But he had more than words and orgasms up his sleeve. He'd show that her she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. He'd show that her the age difference didn't matter. He'd show her that his heart was hers forever, no matter what. His unabating desire to kiss her and be inside her were just two proofs of his feelings. "Just remember I stopped playing rounders when I was a teenager. I'll be fifty-one next birthday." "Age is just a number, Abby, and baseball isn't rounders." He joined in her laughter, and reached over to kiss her gently. "Go on. I left some clothes for you in my room." By the time Tom and Sandy arrived, she was decked out in a pair of shorts, complete with sewn-in underwear, and a baseball jersey, her breasts once again bound by her bra. She looked cute, and he gave in to the need to kiss the smile right off her plump lips. His arms wrapped tightly round her, and his lips devoured hers. He felt her lean into him, draping her arms around his neck. He pushed his hardening body into hers, and groaned when she pushed back. The sound of a car on his gravel drive had him releasing her. "Hold that thought, baby." He bussed her lips again and went to meet his family. He could feel her eyes on him all afternoon, as he and his big brother bandied words, and flipped burgers, and grilled steaks and chicken. And while they waited for the rest of the family to come, he gave her some batting practice. Sandy was the coach of her school's softball team, and his brother had been in the minor leagues. He didn't want to embarrass her, but as he helped her find the right grip on the bat, and fix her stance, he felt her surprise that she was handy with a bat, and had a pretty powerful left swing. "Your girlfriend's been having you on, Ben," Tom said, when they finally stopped to take a rest. She froze, and Ben held his breath. She was his girlfriend. She was his. But she needed to know it, just as he and Tom did. Just as everyone would, as soon as they saw him with her. She smiled at Tom, her eyes finding his after a moment. He smiled back, letting his feelings show in his eyes. "Seems like you may be right, Tom," he agreed, going to her, and pulling her into his arms. "What do you think I ought to do to punish her?" He winked at her as he spoke, and his brother laughed. "We'll think of something by the end of dinner." "That we will," he whispered against her lips, kissing her full on the lips before God and his brother. When she relaxed and opened her mouth to him, he growled, and dove in to taste her, kissing her deeply and forgetting he had an audience till Tom's voice broke the spell. "Get a room, bro!" Her blush made him smile, and the beauty of her own shy smile warmed him as he introduced her to his parents, his younger sisters and their families, and his grandmother, who took her aside as drinks were being served. He tried to get close enough to hear what she said, but his mother intercepted him. "She's old enough to take care of herself, Benjamin." His mother only used his full name when she had something to say that he might not like. His hackles rose, thinking she was about to lecture him. "Look, Ma, I don't think..." "No, you don't. You lead in with your heart, as you've done since you were a boy." She reached up to smooth a hand over his cheek. "It's plain to see how you feel about Abby, Ben. She's the only one who doesn't see it. And you've got your work cut out for you, because she thinks she's too old for you." Ben stared at her. "Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?" She reached up and kissed him with a small smile on her lips. "Go get your girl, sweetie." Ben smiled and hugged his mother. "I think I'll do that, Ma." The game was wildly entertaining, and Abby was a delight to watch as she forgot to be nervous and shy, hit the ball and ran, screaming and jumping around like a kid when she made a home run. When he went to hug her, along with everyone else, she wrapped her arms around him and laughed. "Hmmm...do I have to keep planning baseball games to get you out of your shell, baby?" She chuckled and leaned close to his ear. "And maybe add a few beers." Her lips touched his earlobe, and they both froze. Suddenly, they were the only two people in his backyard. The only two people in the world. His need for her, never far from the surface, became the most important thing as he took her lips and sent his tongue into her mouth, not waiting for her permission. He couldn't wait any longer, and he was glad she didn't try to resist. But she ended it far too quickly, whispering as she moved away, "Hold that thought, baby." He burst into delighted laughter as she walked away innocently. He couldn't wait till he had her alone again. He'd show her... IV. Sunday morning. He always slept in on a Sunday morning. It was as though his body knew it was Sunday, and he didn't have to be anywhere so he could lie in and savor the cool sheets, and it stayed asleep an hour longer. But not today. He had been up for hours, long before he usually woke up to go to work, even, his body primed, ready, waiting for him to say it was okay to take her. But by the time everyone had left after the party the night before, she had been dead on her feet. He had showered with her, mostly to make sure she didn't fall over and hurt herself, she was so exhausted. He guessed she wasn't the active type, and the exertion of the ball game, plus the tension from meeting his family and being out of her comfort zone had taken their toll. She had fallen into bed in another of his t-shirts, nothing on underneath, and a gentle snore had told him five minutes later that she was dead to the world. It had been a while before he fell asleep himself. His mind had been all over the place, but mostly on her, on how they had met, and how he had won her over. She had been returning from an extended visit to London, and they had seats next to each other in the first class compartment of the wide-bodied British Airways jetliner. Desultory conversation about the topnotch quality of the service and the food and wine had led to her revealing her fear of flying, which led to a discussion of fears in general. The wine had made her sleepy, and she had excused herself after a wide yawn, and begged his pardon in advance if she fell asleep. Now, as he lay in bed next to her sleeping form, he imagined that that was where his fascination with watching her sleep had begun. Her head had lolled to the side, facing him, happily, so he could watch as her eyes moved beneath the lowered lids, and her lips opened slightly so he could see her pink tongue, which pushed out just a little. He remembered how his cock had hardened in his dress pants the longer he watched her, and how he had had to cover himself with the blanket the stewardess had given him to hide the evidence of his most inappropriate thoughts about a stranger. She woke up when the plane hit some turbulence, as though her body and mind had been waiting for just such an event, and the panic he had caught flaring in her eyes before she lowered her lids and turned away had made his heart swell with the need to protect her, to soothe her, to make promises about her safety that he shouldn't have even been thinking about. He waited in pained silence for her to gather her control about her and hoped the plane would make it through before she fell apart. But when he heard her whimper at a particularly nasty drop, he gave up trying to be restrained and reached for her, invading her space and holding her hand till the air settled. She couldn't seem to release her death grip on his arm for a few minutes after, and when she finally did, her face was a study in embarrassment. She made her apology with lowered eyes and red cheeks, and only a glass of wine and repeated reassurances managed to calm her down enough so she could watch the movie he suggested. Her sense of humor was as quirky as his, but his interest in politics was clearly not mirrored by hers. She studiously avoided the subject, and he had smiled quietly as he enjoyed her silent refusal to be baited. She might be afraid of flying, but she wasn't afraid of him. He had gotten the impression that she found him amusing and a little incredible, but she had been polite and even friendly for the rest of the flight. When she said she was about to embark on a job hunt, he asked what her skill set was and at the end of her little speech offered her his business card. It was an excuse to keep the tenuous link open between them, because he had nothing to offer her himself. Lover Pt. 01 She stirred in her sleep now, and he turned to look at her. A small smile curved her lips, and he wondered what she was dreaming about. She rolled onto her back, pushing the hem of the t-shirt up and to the side, moving her legs sinuously, and when she stopped, they fell open slightly, revealing creamy caramel skin on the inside of her thighs. She flung an arm out, and her breasts jerked. He inhaled deeply, staring at the mounds of flesh pressed against the cloth of his shirt, and resisted the urge to touch them. She was obviously still deeply asleep, and he could wait a while longer before he woke her up. Even in sleep, with a faint smile on her lips, he could see her quiet reserve, like a cloak around her. The baseball game the afternoon before had been the first time she had let herself go completely around him, aside from the times he had made her fall apart in sexual ecstasy in his arms. She kept her emotions and her desires locked tightly away, as though she were afraid someone would steal them from her and leave her bereft. She was always in protective mode. She had been, the second time they met, again by accident, when he was leaving a luncheon meeting with a client. She was also leaving the restaurant, and he wondered how long she had known he was there and had avoided him. She hadn't been surprised to see him, which meant she knew he was there. They exchanged pleasantries, but she seemed determined to keep him at a distance, now that her feet were firmly planted on the ground. Again, he forced himself into her personal space, thanking God it had been raining hard and she needed a ride. Cabs would have been hard to come by, but he had his car, and she accepted his offer of a ride reluctantly. He smiled as he remembered her words to him. "You play this knight in shining armor role very well, Mr...?" "Ben," he had replied. "Please call me Ben." "You play this knight in shining armor role very well, Mr. Ben," she said, making him laugh, although she kept a straight face. "You must have had a lot of practice." Something in her voice sobered him, and a look into her eyes saw the fear again, almost like the panic she had felt on the plane. It occurred to him what she was doing, and suddenly, he was angry and impatient with her, and unwilling to let her escape. She looked gorgeous in a bright blue business suit with a crisp white shell beneath the jacket, both open at the collar, her neck encircled by a string of pearls echoed in the pearl studs on her earlobes, her short curls loose around her beautiful oval face. He let his eyes roam down her body to the heels of her matching blue pumps, and his cock jerked in his dress pants. She was hot, and when his eyes traveled back up to her face, he saw that his reaction to her had not gone unnoticed. "Are you suggesting that my offer of a ride is a practiced maneuver to get women into my car, Ms...?" "Grey. Call me Ms. Grey," she said, her voice even, her face cool. "And I wasn't suggesting anything. I was simply making an observation." The swift irritation he felt spurred him to action. She wouldn't escape him this time, if only because now he had to break the shell she had encased herself in, and if he were honest, he had to show her he was different from the other men she knew. The valet drove his car around just then, and as he gave the younger man a generous tip, he prayed she would get off her high horse just enough to sit in his car with him to her destination. "Where to, Ms. Grey?" he asked, ushering her into the passenger seat when she remained silent. "Consider me your chauffeur." She had looked up at him in disbelief before giving him the address, and once they were on the road, he let her keep her silence till they were almost there. Then he said, "Is it just me, or do you have something against all men?" He had meant to shock her, and he had. "What makes you think I have anything against men? Or against you?" she stalled. ""Your comment at the restaurant wasn't a casual one, Ms. Grey. It was meant to send me a message, and I believe I got it right. You think I'm a player. I'm just curious about why. Is it because that's how you see me, personally? Or is it because that's how you see men in general?" She was silent for a heartbeat, and then she was stuttering out an apology. "I...I'm sorry, Mr...I apologize for offending you." Her face was crimson again, and while one side of him felt she deserved to be embarrassed for making such an assumption about him, the other side wished he could hold her and tell her it was okay, that he understood her caution. He ignored both sides as he stopped outside a low-rise building, and focused on the fact that she refused to call him by name. "Is it that hard to say my name, Ms. Grey?" He waited till she looked over at him and then repeated his invitation. "Call me Ben." They had stared at each other for a beat of time, and then she had relented. "It seems I have to apologize again...Ben. I'm not...usually so rude." She lowered her eyes, her cheeks aflame. "You can make it up to me by accepting my invitation to lunch tomorrow, Ms. Grey." He made it a statement rather than a question, and waited, watching her and imagining the struggle to relax with someone she wanted to mistrust. "Please call me Abby," she had said instead, and he smiled. A small victory, but it was important. "What time shall I pick you up, Abby?" he had asked, taking her silence on the subject as consent to go with him. "Twelve-thirty would be best," she murmured, and turned to let herself out of the car. "Wait," he had said, and got out to do the honors for her. Once she was on the sidewalk, his hand at her elbow, he had added, "I'll see you tomorrow, then, Abby. Take care." A shift on the bed now made him look at her again and he found her eyes on him. They were sleepy and sexy and oh so hungry. He remembered that she might have been dreaming, and as he leaned over to kiss her he asked, "Sweet dreams?" Her smile was all the answer he needed. He sucked on her lips and whispered, "I saw you smile in your sleep. Was I making you come for me, baby?" He didn't wait for her answer, but kissed her again, and slid his hand down her belly to her naked pussy, which to his delight was wet. "That must have been some hot dream!" He pushed two fingers into her, and she raised her hips, begging for more. "One more? Two?" She hid her face in his shoulder as he pushed three fingers into her soaking pussy, and felt her groan against his skin. "I want to be in you so bad, baby. But I want you to come for me again before I fuck you." He kissed her deeply, making sure to rub the tips of his fingers over the rough pad of her g-spot. "What do you mean by me coming for you again?" Her voice was thready with passion, but he saw the puzzlement in her eyes. "You woke up wet, baby. Did you come in your dream?" he asked, still stroking in and out of her slowly. "Yes," she whispered, moving her hips to the rhythm of his fingers. "Over and over." She offered the last part as though she were in confession, and his cock hardened. Grabbing her hand, he let her feel him as he kissed her, and fingered her. He showed her that he wanted her to play and stroke, and led her into a rhythm that matched the stroke of his fingers inside her. Then he let her go so he could hold her to him as they played. Finally, he needed more, and he rolled over her, pulling her beneath his hungry hips and pushing the t-shirt up above her breasts. She was too far gone to notice how he bared her roughly to his gaze, and when she pulled him down completely on top of her and led his cock into her wet center, they both groaned. He thrust in, obliging her, pleasuring them both, and then withdrew. "Did I go fast?" He dropped a wet kiss on her left nipple, licking it, keeping himself just at her opening. "Or was I slow?" A kiss and lick on the right nipple. "Did I go deep?" He pushed back in, so deep he could feel her womb at his tip, and then he withdrew again. "Or did I play with you just where you love the touches most?" He slid in again, letting the tip of his cock rub against her sweet spot once, twice, again. She was trembling beneath him, and his own shudders shook his control to the limit. "Ben...please..." She was breathless and urgent, pushing up to meet his hips, demanding the fullness of him inside her. His control snapped then and he lost it. "Fuck!" Plunging back into her welcoming heat, he rammed her, over and over, taking her hard, deep, fast...all the ways he had just asked her about. And she met every one of his thrusts with a hard answer, their hips slapping together, the sweat between them lubricating their rise and fall, until with one last growling thrust, he came, feeling her walls contract around him in fluttering touches that kept him coming as she reached her own peak. She wrung him dry, and still he couldn't pull himself out of her. She clung to him, when he collapsed atop her, gasping for breath as she was, and she refused to let him go. "One of us might pass out if you don't let me up," he quipped between hard breaths, and rolled off her, but pulled her in to his chest and hugged her to him. "Good morning, Abby. Happy Sunday morning!" Lover Pt. 02 V. She smiled into his chest, and offered a quiet "Good morning!" in return. It was Sunday morning, and she was still in his home, and worse, in his bed, in his arms. Again. How was this even happening? She had arrived on Friday evening for dinner, after he had baited her — she realized it now, hindsight being 20/20 — and she was still here, recovering from yet another mind-blowing orgasm. She hadn't intended to stay on Friday evening, planning to take a cab home after dinner, and instead he had thoroughly seduced her. Not that it had been hard to do, she conceded, remembering his words when he had opened the front door at her ring. "Wow! I hope my humble fare will satisfy your elegance, my lady!" He sketched her a deep bow, and they both laughed as he invited her into a warmly-lit foyer. Leading the way through his living room, he had urged her to drop her pocketbook on the couch and join him in the kitchen where he was putting the finishing touches to what turned out to be oven-baked meatballs. The spaghetti was al dente, the meat savory and delicious, and the red wine to accompany it all fruity and refreshing. His starter had been a hearty salad, and after their meal, she had complimented him on his expertise in the kitchen. "My mother wouldn't have had it any other way," he told her, sipping his wine, and she had wondered what his mother would think if she knew her baby boy — he had told her he was the second son — was messing around a woman ten years his senior, divorced, the mother of twins half his age. She had asked the question, and his answer had shaken her. "I'm not 'messing around', as you so inelegantly put it. I'm serious as a judge. And who I share my bed with is my business!" Now she relaxed in his arms, listening to him breathe deeply under her ear. He had kissed her then, taking her by surprise. It had only been the second time he'd kissed her, the first having been a month earlier, after their first dinner date at a fancy eatery she had chosen, in an effort to piss him off, and maybe chase him away. As she had discovered, and was still discovering, though, he wasn't easy to discourage. Not only had he treated her to a wonderful and sinfully expensive meal, but he had taken her for a drive afterwards, when she said she wanted to see the harbor at night. The way his eyes had roamed over her, as they stood on the pier watching the boats in the distance, ought to have warned her she was in dangerous waters with him, but she had either been too sure of her ability to elude him, or too blind to his intentions to notice until it was too late, and he was pulling her in for a kiss she couldn't deny. The thought of how she stumbled into his embrace as her knees buckled still made her cheeks warm, so thorough and passionate had been the kiss that had left them both breathless, and her aching for more. She had been wet and shaking by the time he stopped kissing her, and all the way back to her apartment, she had worried that he would take advantage of her in her current weakened state and she would sleep with him before she was ready to. So her shock when he had merely bussed her on the cheek at her front door and waited for her to close herself in had been complete. He confused her, and she didn't like feeling so off balance. And the fact of their age difference made her uncomfortable, which only compounded the feeling. She thought she heard a chuckle and turned her face up to look at him. "What's funny?" she wondered aloud, startled that he had been watching her, and suddenly wishing she could read him better than she did. "I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head, beautiful," he said, as if that explained everything. "Let's grab a shower together, okay? Maybe that will help you sort out your thinking." "You just want to take me in the shower again," she answered, a reluctant chuckle escaping her. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "That is certainly a delicious bonus of getting clean with you, yes." He rolled away from her and stood up. "Coming?" He extended a hand, knowing she'd have a harder time holding the sheet around her nakedness if she kept a grip on it, and she wished she could feel irritated with him. But after two nights in his bed, all she could feel, aside from trepidation as she waited for the other shoe to drop, was the glow of a woman who was desired. He made her feel good, special, like a seductress. Even if she knew she wasn't. Taking his hand, she dragged the sheet up with her left hand, glad that it kept most of her chest and belly covered, though her legs flashed out at him every time she took a step. "Lose the sheet, baby," he said, stopping suddenly halfway to the bathroom door. "I've seen it all, and I love how you look. Stop hiding from me." She hated these moments of decision, all of which seemed to involve her letting go of another set of inhibitions. She had hoped he wouldn't bother, but she was getting to know him too well. Nothing escaped his notice. Gritting her teeth and sucking in her gut, even knowing it wouldn't make much difference to the swell of her belly over her mound, she let go of the sheet, and he helped her to step over it. Instead of turning to continue the rest of the way to the bathroom, though, he held his arms wide and studied her. She felt herself coloring up, her body heating from her chest outwards, upwards and down to her toes. The first time he had surveyed her like this, she had been fully dressed, at their first lunch date. He had been prompt, which pleased her as her ex had always been the late arriver. The dress she wore was business smart and girly pretty at the same time — a soft, cool gray linen tunic with a narrow black belt, it shadowed her curves deliciously. She wore low-heeled sling-back sandals, in deference to the injury she had sustained that morning when she tripped over her own feet and bopped her ankle against the hard foot of the bed. The silver jewelry had been understated — a simple chain, long enough to settle between her breasts, with a crystal pendant, silver hoop earrings, a watch and signet ring. His eyes as he had watched her walk out of the building toward him had been heated with sensual recognition, as though he knew she liked being in the dress, as though he knew she felt sexy in it, as though he knew she wanted to show him she was more than a fearful, fat midlifer. His look undressed her, seduced her, ravaged her, and made her cheeks flush with color. She had straightened her shoulders even more then, thankful that she could maintain an outward calm while inside she was all aflutter. That same look heated his eyes now, though she had not a stitch of clothing to cover her imperfections, no corset nor stockings, nothing to disguise what she was under her clothes. He dropped his arms and stepped into her space, crowding her, and when she went to back up, he stopped her with a hand at her back, low on her hip. When she stopped, he moved away a fraction. "Do you remember when I stroked you here?" he asked suddenly, touching her just to the side of her breast, the spot tingling from his lingering touch. "Or when I licked you here?" He traced his fingers down her belly to her navel, an innie by default. She gasped at the simple pleasure his gentle touch shafted through her. "Or when I sucked on this?" He strolled his fingers back up to pinch her nipple and tweak it, before lowering his head to taste it. She sucked in a breath, suddenly aware of every place on her body that he had explored in the last two nights in his bed. Her body felt as if it were on a slow burn, and he was barely touching her. She forgot to worry about what she looked like in the cruel light of day, because she was too busy keeping steady on her feet, concentrating on not sliding to the floor in a messy puddle of liquid desire. How he managed that she would never know, but it was always like this with him. She started out in control, ultra aware of her body, and by the end of the encounter, she was a mass of nerve endings and lust. "I especially loved it when you let me kiss you here," he whispered, sending his questing fingers feathering over the lips of her sex. "These lips are so sweet, baby," he added, spreading them with two fingers, sliding between them, spreading the cream that had her wet there. "So full and ripe and ready for my mouth to devour them." He leaned into her then, and she felt his erection pressing against her thigh. Her body went up in flames. She swayed, and he steadied her, keeping his fingers busy with her lower lips, while he took the ones close to his own in a fierce and hungry kiss. Coming up for air, he said, "Put your arms around me, baby," and when she did, he picked her up and carried her back to bed. "This can't wait till we shower. I need you now." His tone was sharp, needy, deep, and his eyes took her in one last time before he pushed her legs apart and plunged into her roughly. He rode her hard, and kissed her without mercy, and she was helpless before the sweeping passion that ruled him. She thrust up to meet him, giving him back kiss for kiss, and when he pulled out and rolled her onto her belly, raising her hips to meet his invading cock, she cried out as pleasure swamped her. He gripped her hips and rammed her, reaching around to fondle her clitoris till she broke and fell into a powerful orgasm. And still he fucked her, his rod still hard inside her, riding her wildly. When she came a second time, he pulled out again, lay back and pulled her over onto his legs, guiding his cock into her and thrusting up, breathless with desire. "Ride me, beautiful. Show me how much you want this!" She leaned forward to hold on to his shoulders as she raised and lowered her hips, and he helped her, licking and tasting her swinging breasts as she did. When she felt herself tightening again, he pulled her down to his chest, mashing her breasts against him, and demanded, "Come with me, baby. Come hard for me!" His words pushed her over the edge. She gasped as she came, feeling her inner walls swell and contract around his spasming cock. He jetted his load inside her, crying out with her, thrusting up again and again until he froze, his chest heaving, a groan of satisfaction issuing from his parted lips when his hips finally stilled. "You wore me out, lady!" His voice was amused, when he could catch his breath to speak. "Does that mean I'm safe in the shower then?" she returned archly. He chuckled, but his words were serious. "Safe? You're in no danger here, beautiful. You'll always be safe with me." VI. He let her go first. She kept surprising him with the way she responded to his touch, and he kept surprising himself with how often he was ready for her. But he knew she had to be tired, because he was. He could use a respite, and some breakfast, to recoup his strength. He wandered back to the kitchen to set the coffee going while she showered, to lay the table for two, and to put out breakfast fixings. After his shower, he'd feed her, and then go for a walk with her. His neighborhood was pretty, and bordered a nature preserve, so they could walk in the woods as well. Some fresh air would be good for both of them. Normally he jogged on the weekends, but he hadn't wanted to spend even a moment away from her. He'd make it up during the week. When the shower stopped, he walked back into his bedroom and waited till she exited the ensuite bathroom. Clouds of steam billowed out behind her. "Did you use all the hot water, lady?" he demanded, reaching over to swat her towel-clad bottom playfully. "I washed my hair," she said, as though that answered his question. He stood and ruffled her wet hair, loving the heavy silk of it beneath his fingers. "May I have my clothes back now?" She turned to look at him as she spoke. He pulled her into his naked body, loving the way the towel felt on his sensitized flesh. "Have you decided to stay the rest of the weekend?" He watched her face as he asked the question, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she nodded. "Then yes, you may have your clothes back. But only because we're going for a walk after breakfast. Otherwise, you look good in my towel." He kissed her smiling cheeks and added, "They're hanging in the closet, and your undergarments, freshly laundered, are in that drawer." He pointed to his underwear drawer and watched her go to get them, loving the faint blush that stained her cheeks when she saw where he had put them. "I'll be out in a few," he said, and walked into the bathroom. By the time he was dressed, he could smell deliciousness wafting in from the kitchen. He grinned when he walked in to pancakes, bacon, eggs over easy — how did she know? — and tangerine wedges in a small bowl next to his coffee mug. "Ready?" she asked, wielding a spatula. "What would you like?" He was moved beyond anything he could explain. All she had done was make breakfast, but the fact that she hadn't chosen to eat bran flakes and skim milk told him he had made major inroads into her comfort zone, if she was willing to eat what he ate, rather than skimping around as she so often did with him. And he knew she loved to cook, but he didn't want her reprising her role of wife or mother with him. All he wanted was for her to be his lover, the woman he wanted to treat like a queen. "I'd like you to sit down," he said, and stole the spatula from her unsuspecting fingers. "What would you like?" He held her chair for her as she sat obediently. "A bit of everything, please," she said, and nibbled on her fruit wedges while he served her plate. Once he had served his own and taken his seat, she began to eat. He watched her, forgetting he was supposed to be eating too. She was enjoying the food, licking her full lower lip when the runny yolk spilled from the egg she put in her mouth, crunching the bacon, sipping her coffee. When she licked her lips a second time, he followed suit, licking his own, and caught himself. Damn, she was hot even when all she was doing was eating! Or maybe he was just a randy-assed goat who needed to get a grip and eat his own food! He had been without a woman for a while when he met her, but never in his life had he ever been as hungry for any of them as he seemed to be for her. They finished the meal in companionable silence, and when she got up to clear the table, he shooed her away. "I have this," he said. "I don't want you to do anything this weekend. Just be here. With me. Okay?" Not waiting for an answer, he kissed her lips lightly, and inhaled the smell of freshly washed woman, tangerines, and coffee. "I'll be with you in a jiffy," he promised as he shooed her out of the kitchen. Thanking God for a dishwasher, he swiped a rag over the counter one last time and went out. She was looking out the bay window onto his pristine lawn, and the sunlight made her glow. "Let's go, beautiful," he said, and took her hand in his. He was looking forward to walking with her wherever the inclination took them, and as he laced his fingers through hers, he prayed they'd meet no one he knew, so he could have her all to himself. "I thought you said you have a dog," she said as he locked his door behind him and pocketed the key. "I do. But he's on the farm with my uncle the vet getting some good old-fashioned country air." He led her down the curving driveway and asked, "Which way?" She laughed. "I don't know. This isn't my neighborhood." When he remained silent, waiting for her to choose, she asked, "What's over that way?" pointing behind his head. "Good choice. The golf course, the lake, the woods. See, you chose well!" He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him, and they set off across the cul-de-sac. When she tried to walk around the little grass island with its pretty flower border, he pulled her with him directly across the pristine circle, and when she protested, he stopped abruptly. She bumped into him, and he pulled her close and said, "You must learn to trust me, Abby. And you must learn to relax and enjoy yourself. And until you can do those two things, I'll just have to keep punishing you." At the look on her face, he chuckled and kissed her, scandalizing her even more. "Ben, we're in the open!" she protested, and he kissed her again, deep this time. Her skin was flushed, and he wondered if it was embarrassment or anger or arousal, and decided, as he started off again, that it might just be a bit of all three. Which was fine by him. He wanted to rile her up, because when she was riled, she couldn't remain aloof and self-contained. They walked briskly, and by the time they reached the golf course, a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her upper lip. It distracted him, and though he wanted more than anything to steal another kiss, he handed her one of the bottles of water he had brought with him instead. She swallowed gratefully, and gazed across the open green to the golfers slowly making their way towards them. "I've never understood people's fascination with that game," she said, staring at the people coming closer. "It's worse than cricket, which I always thought was the most boring game known to man. Neck and neck with rounders, of course," she added with a twinkle in his direction. He chuckled, and gave in to the need to taste her. He swallowed her surprised gasp in a deep suckling kiss, and when he let her up for air, he said, "It's baseball, not rounders." Her laughter worked its way down into the very core of his being, twisting there, winding him tighter and tighter, tying him to her in ways he had never thought possible. He took her hand again and as they continued, he tried to explain about form and precision in the game. She shook her head at him, and said, as they finally left the golf course behind, "At least baseball burns calories, since it makes you run every now and again!" She surprised another spurt of laughter from him, and he suddenly wished they were back at home so he could do more than wrap his arm across her shoulders and pull her close to his side. The path through the woods was inviting, and he steered her in that direction, pulling her closer to him, slowing his steps. "Sometimes I walk here in the winter, when all the trees are bare, except for the evergreens, of course. It's an almost spiritual thing," he said and they entered the green dusk of the woods. The air was cooler here, and as it did every time he walked or jogged here, the serenity of the place sank into his very bones. "It's certainly a different kind of quiet," she agreed, and when he released her shoulder to take her hand in his, she willingly gave it. He twined their fingers together and wondered what he would do if she decided that all she was willing to give him was this one weekend. Because he knew, as they traversed the quiet path back home, that he wanted her around for a lot longer than a weekend. "I usually visit my mom for Sunday dinner twice a month," he said casually as he walked back with her into the house. "I could wait till next Sunday, or you could come with me today," he ended, leading her into the kitchen. While he waited for her reply, he fetched another bottle of water and handed it to her. "Thank you." She opened the bottle and gulped half its contents before replying, trying to give herself time, he was sure. The decision to ask her to his mother's house wasn't one he made lightly. She would be the first woman he had taken there since Carol, and he had been barely out of his teens at the time. Carol and he had been a bad match from the start; he had realized that when it had been too late to change the road they were on, a road that had led to divorce, and eventually her death in a drunk driving accident. Twelve years was a long time to blame himself for something he knew intellectually he was not responsible for. He shrugged aside the thoughts of his ex, and repeated his question. Lover Pt. 02 "Well? Will you come?" His tone was gentle. He didn't want to pressure her, and if she said no, he would stay in and cook with her. His mother would be thrilled if he brought Abby with him, because she had figured out that this woman was important to him. But it was up to Abby, and while he had not hesitated to force her to stay with him, he wouldn't force her to make such a big move as visiting his family. He knew what that could mean, and he intended to have her, but only when she was ready for that level of commitment. He held his breath, though, while struggling to appear nonchalant. "I wouldn't want to intrude," she said...which wasn't an outright "No". "She may not be prepared to entertain visitors." She turned to look him in the eye as she spoke. He exhaled slowly, smiling to show his relief that she had not refused him, even if she was hesitating. "My mother is the preacher's wife, remember? She's always ready for visitors." He stepped away from her to give her room, so she wouldn't feel trapped, and if he were being honest, to stop himself from kissing her into submission. She was biting her bottom lip, a practice that drove him crazy, because he wanted to be the one doing the biting. "Well, if you're sure..." She paused, then added, "But I can't show up to her house in this." She indicated the clothes she was wearing, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her she looked fine. He had lived with enough women in his life to know that that was the last thing they wanted to hear. "I'll go with you to get fresh clothes, and you can pack a nightie as well. For after." Her cheeks flooded with color, and he let himself relax enough to walk back to her side and kiss her cheek. "You're beautiful when you blush," he whispered in her ear. Then he pulled away and said, "I'll let her know we're coming, and then we'll go get your clothes." The call was short, and though he was surprised that his mother didn't ask any questions, he knew his reprieve would be short-lived once he got there. He could handle her, and he knew instinctively that she wouldn't do anything to make him or Abby uncomfortable. "Let's go," he said, hanging up. "Mom is happy to hear you'll be there, and is looking forward to seeing you again. And she wants me to bring wine." "I have some wine at home," she said. "We can take a couple of bottles when we leave." In the car, they hardly spoke. He had a CD in the changer, and the soft jazz strains were calming. And as Abby didn't seem inclined to speak, he let the quiet ride with them. It gave him time to remember the first time she invited him into her home. He had loved the warmth of the space, and had admired the beautiful decorative touches that he knew instinctively were hers and not a designer's. African masks, Native American sculpture, prints of Monet, silk-covered pillows...everything bespoke a richly imaginative spirit. He remembered how very much he had wanted to grab her from behind and kiss her silly as she lay the table. He had resisted, because he wasn't sure how she would take it. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. At her apartment, he let himself out onto the back porch while she went to fetch things for the rest of the weekend. The sun was up in full force now, and as she was on the ground floor, she had quick access to the community pool and tennis courts. A few residents were already availing themselves of the facilities, and he watched a young mother of two shepherding her little ones around the edge of the pool to the kiddie section. He wondered if Abby would ever want another child, and then stopped the thought in its tracks. She had to be willing to stay with him first before he went there. And he admitted to himself that she was old enough not to want another child, or perhaps even be able to have one. But the thought of her belly round with his baby turned him on, anyway. When she spoke behind him, he started, and turned to see her waiting for him in a simple emerald green dress, high-heeled sandals to match, gold jewelry for accents, and an overnight bag in her hand. Need swamped him, and even though he knew she would need to redo her lips, he could not bring himself to leave her untouched a second longer. The thoughts of babies had set him off, and he was hungry again. He walked back inside, closing and locking the French doors behind him, hoping the action would slow his heart rate, and cool him off. But when he turned again, and she was smiling at him, almost as if she knew the effect she had on him and was enjoying it, he closed the space between them and pulled her face into his so he could kiss her. He took the bag from her limp fingers, dropped it where they stood, and pulled her arms around his neck. "Kiss me back, Abby," he begged her. "I need something to tide me over till we're back at home." He smiled into her eyes and added, "Because I'm sure you know there'll be very few, if any, chances for making out at my mother's house." She laughed, and then he silenced her with his thirsty tongue in her mouth. They were lost in each other, holding each other with trembling hands, and he could feel the tension ease from her shoulders as he ravaged her lips. He pressed himself against her harder, suddenly needing her to know how much she moved him, how much he wanted her. "I'm not changing my dress, Ben," she warned him breathlessly when he let her up for air. But she kept her arms around his neck, and let him nibble on her sweet mouth some more. He chuckled. "You taste so damn good," he commented, in between taking small bites of her swollen lips, as though that explained everything. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?" His voice had lost its sharpness in a flood of emotion that left it raspy. He pulled her back into his mouth for one last searing kiss, and then he let her go completely and moved back to the French doors. "I'd better let you pretty up those lips again, or we're never leaving here." When the lips in question curled into a smile, he was glad he was not standing immediately in front of her. By the time they got to his mother's, he was calm again. Which was a good thing, as his mother was too sharp for her own good, and he was still not ready to discuss his newly-emerging love life with her. VII. His hand at her back as they walked into his mother's house made her shiver all the way to her toes. She needed to have her wits about her today, more than ever, because she hadn't missed the shrewd glances thrown her way by each and every one of his family members who had shown up for the food, fun, and games at his house on Saturday. And especially not his mother's. More than once she had felt the older woman's eyes on her, but she had never had the nerve to look her way, or acknowledge in any way that she was aware of her intense scrutiny. She had a feeling she wouldn't escape a conversation today, and she began to wish she hadn't agreed to come along with him. She wasn't ready yet to meet the family. She wasn't even sure where this relationship — she freely admitted, to herself, if not to Ben, that they were in some kind of a relationship — was headed. The sex was incredible, to be sure, but she was coming to the conclusion that in spite of her years — heck, maybe because of them — she wanted more from a man than mind-altering sex. "Ready?" His voice in her ear startled her, and she looked up to see his eyes devouring her, and that knowing look said he might have some idea of what she had been thinking. Fighting to keep from coloring up yet again around this man, she nodded and let herself be guided to the back patio where everyone else waited. All the same players as last time, plus a couple she didn't recognize. "Benjamin! You made it in time!" His mother's words were spoken with a wide smile and a twinkle, and he groaned too softly for anyone but her to hear. Worse than an interfering mother is a matchmaking one, and Abby saw that gleam in his mother's eye. Ben looked nonplussed, as though he was wondering what had happened to the woman he knew, the one who might already have said her piece about the difference in their age, and about him guarding his heart, because she didn't want her children to be hurt. "Have I ever been late, Ma?" he asked, apparently determined not to let her get the upper hand. "Depends on how you define 'late', son," she said, and Abby figured he had better give it up. Hs mother seemed like the type who would win any game, even this one which she knew instinctively was about finding someone so late. He chose not to pursue the argument, for which she was grateful. She didn't know how she felt about being the means by which a mother berated her son. "Well, I'm here now, with our guest. I hope we won't have too wait long to eat." "Hungry, little brother?" Abby heard the question and knew there was more going on than a discussion of appetite for dinner. She hadn't missed the undertones in Ben's conversation with his mother, and though she wasn't sure she understood the code that had passed between them, she was pretty sure she was the subject. Part of her was annoyed that people — read, 'older family members, like mothers' — couldn't mind their business worth a damn, but part of her was thrilled to know she was the cause of such speculation in a man's life. That hadn't happened in a very long time, and she was flattered by the attention. Which meant that Tom's question was sure to make her blush, if she acknowledged that it was about more than food. She was ravenous, if she were to be honest, and it wasn't for the food she could smell. When Ben took her elbow and led her over to sit with him in a conspicuously empty love seat, she tried to keep the tension from settling in her shoulders, and plastered a smile on her face. It felt like it was cracking, but she was damned if she would let anyone see how suddenly nervous she was. Ben lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "If you don't relax, I'm going to have to help you with that." His tone was full of mischief, and the look in his eye was pure lust. Not willing to test his resolve, she consciously relaxed her neck and shoulder muscles and accepted the confection on a stick that Sandy offered her. It was delicious, and she reached for another before it occurred to her that maybe she... "Don't even go there, Abby. Eat what you want." "I don't know what you're talking about!" She was unaccountably annoyed that he could read her so well, and his next words didn't help to erase her irritation. "Don't forget how I punish lying," he murmured, before filling his mouth with the meats on the stick. She felt her cheeks heat at the reminder of their lovemaking, and lowered her face to her hands, to give herself a moment. The family talked around her, almost as though they knew she needed some time, and when she was back in control of her color and her emotions, she looked up to find Ben's mother's eyes on her. She immediately recalled the conversation she had had with his grandmother on Saturday. The old lady was sweet, and it was obvious to Abby that she loved Ben a lot. And she hadn't bothered to try and hide her curiosity, or mince her words of advice about how to keep a man who's as bowled over as Ben seemed to be. Bowled over? Is that what he was? Is that what SHE was? "Abby, come with me," his mother invited her. "I'd like your take on the question. The other ladies have already told me what they think, but I'd like your opinion before I serve it." Ben elbowed her into rising, and watched her walk off with his mother with a grin on his face the size of Texas. It made his handsome features so appealing that she was glad she had to turn away to see where she was going. How could a man she hadn't known more than a few months have such an impact on her? She was supposed to be immune to the charms of men, for heaven's sake! She wasn't a raw teenager. She was a grown woman. A grown woman about to be skewered by said man's mother, no doubt. "Here," the older woman said, and handed her a plastic cup with a spoonful of some liquid. "Tell me what you think of this." Knowing this was a hoax, Abby obliged and tasted the drink. It was minty and fruity and spicy...quite delicious, in fact. She said so, and then offered the opinion that yes, it would go quite well with the pork chops they were having for dinner. No, she said, wine could always be for after, if anyone wanted it, but this drink was best with dinner. The smoke screen out of the way, she waited patiently for the attack. None came. She was startled when his mother asked her if she was ready to eat. "Um...yes, if you're ready to serve. I don't want to put you off your schedule." "All right then, go call the others, please. Dinner will be served in the dining room. Ben knows where. Ask Sandy to come and help me carry things in, as well, please." "I'll help as well, if you like," Abby offered, but she was shooed away with thanks, anyway. "Sandy and I can handle this. You're our guest. No serving for you today." Predictably, her seat at dinner was next to Ben, and though it was a riotous and fun-filled meal, she was always acutely aware of his knee brushing hers, his fingers reaching for the dressing at the same time as hers, his scent in her nostrils, his voice making her ache. The children sat at a separate, smaller table, just like they would at Thanksgiving, she was sure, and she wondered if this was how Sunday dinner looked every Sunday at Ben's mother's house. "Yes, from the time we were small. We always had guests over on Sundays." Apparently she had spoken the question aloud. She smiled in answer, and scolded herself for not paying enough attention to her surroundings. The last thing she wanted was to have Ben or anyone else know how rattled she was, and how turned on by his nearness and the love for family that oozed out of him and everyone else at the table. She had never felt so much a part of something and yet so apart from it in all her life. His hand on hers under the table renewed her shivering awareness of his touch, and tears sprang to her eyes. He squeezed her fingers gently, and suddenly, the emotions welling up inside her were too much. Pushing back her chair, she excused herself and hurried from the room, muttering the word 'restroom' as she went. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her till she was quite literally lost in the belly of a house she was only now realizing was enormous. "Abby? Are you okay?" Ben waited for her to turn to him. She was reluctant to let him see the tears that had slid down her cheeks, so she kept her back to him and muttered more loudly. "I'm fine. I just need you to point me in the direction of the restroom, please." She couldn't do a thing about the state of her voice, and she ought to have known it would clue him in, if her mad dash from the table hadn't, to the fact that she was not okay. His gentle hands turned her to face him, and he pulled her chin up with a finger. "What's wrong?" She sniffled, feeling embarrassed, and shook her head. "Nothing." Wicking the tears away from her cheeks with her thumbs, she asked again, "Where's the restroom?" He looked as though he wanted to say something more, to challenge her, but instead he took her arm and led her to the one she had walked right by in her rush to escape. She went in and closed the door in his face, hoping he wouldn't still be there when she came out. Vain hope. He was, his arms crossed over his chest. "Dessert will be served on the patio. Ma wants to know if you're okay, and Gran thinks a stiff drink will sort you right out." He was obviously amused by his family, but he was also concerned about her. She could see it in his eyes. She hastened to reassure him. "I'm fine, Ben. Honestly." "Then why the tears?" "Just a moment of weakness," she assured him. "It's gone now. I'm fine." Maybe if she said it often enough, invoked it like a mantra, it would come true. "If you've had enough, we can leave now, Abby." He made his offer quietly, and she was instantly reminded of the time he made a similar offer, and she accepted with alacrity, because she had been desperate to escape the potency of the charge that had been zinging between them all evening. It hadn't saved her from the 'death by devouring' kiss at her front door, though, and she was very much afraid that if she left now, she would not be spared any of the many ways that Ben knew to make her fall apart in his arms. Not that she would be spared, anyway, or that she wanted to be. And that was part of her current confusion of feelings. Still, she knew he wasn't convinced, and to forestall any further cross examination, she stepped up to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Let's go out now," she said, stepping away. "I wouldn't want anyone coming in to look for us." He stared at her as though she were speaking Greek, and then he said, "That was nowhere near enough." When she looked up at him again, she saw the kiss before it landed on her lips, and even if she had wanted to resist, the way he commandeered her mouth and sent his tongue piercing in told her she would have lost that battle quickly. "I'll leave right now if you say the word. Or we can go and make nice over dessert." he said, his voice raspy again. "But you'd better choose quickly, before I choose for you." He sucked her in again, making love to her mouth before she pulled away, breathing hard, and turned to walk away. "Where's my pocketbook?" she wondered breathlessly. "I need to refresh my lipstick." He reached her side and pulled her into his arms, holding her till she stopped trembling. "Lipstick won't take that just-kissed look off your lips, Abby," he teased her. "Why are you so worried about what anyone sees?" She pulled back to look at him incredulously. "We are definitely a different generation, if you have to ask me that!" she snapped, and pulled away from him completely. He was keeping her off kilter, and she was torn between annoyance and arousal. His bark of laughter only added fire to her steps as she marched away, following the sound of voices to the back of the house. The children were playing on the grass, and at least two of the adults were taking advantage of the pool. She found a chair close to the side where the garden bloomed, and somewhat away from the others, and turned her face to watch the children play. "Did my son upset you, young lady?" She turned her head and found herself face to face with Ben's father, whose shrewd eyes were regarding her with a hint of concern. He held a glass in his hand for her, and when she took it, he sat back in the chair he had pulled up next to her without her hearing him. She smiled at him, thinking that 'young lady' was quite a stretch, and taking a sip of the delicious wine he had brought her, she shook her head. "No, he didn't, sir," she said. "As I told him when he came to get me, I just had a moment, but I'm all right now." She was relieved when he seemed to take her at her word, and turned the conversation to talk of his grandchildren. Then they sat in companionable silence until Ben brought them dessert and sat on the floor beside her chair. She strove to ignore him, and he was quiet enough that it wasn't too difficult to do. Which made her very suspicious of his intentions. He was never quiet around her. His hands were always moving on her, or he was making seductive suggestions, or he was doing both at once. "What are you up to?" she whispered, leaning down to his ear. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said without any intonation. "I don't believe you," she informed him and sat back, but not before she heard his reply. "Nothing new there." She knew he wasn't talking about her question anymore. She ate her dessert, wishing he was wrong, and suddenly bewilderingly irritated that he was right. Lover Pt. 02 VIII. He watched her finish her dessert, and was glad his father was sitting there, a powerful deterrent to any hanky panky. Every time she licked her lips, or passed the spoon between them, his body reacted, like a puppet on a string. She had no idea what she did to him, and had never really believed him when he told her that he found her beautiful and alluring. Her curves and flesh delighted him. All she had to do was smile at him, and his knees grew weak, his heart fluttered in his chest, and his limbs trembled for want of her. She was potent; her sharp wit and sharper intelligence, her humor, her very soul beckoned him, and he was powerless to resist her. He had to find a way to convince her. After what seemed like an eternity, during which he managed to steer the conversation away from anything personal, it was time to go. His mother was in the kitchen with Abby, no doubt giving her care packages to take with her, and his father had him by the elbow at the door leading back into the house. "She's beautiful, Ben," his dad said. "Inside and out." Ben turned to look fully into his father's face. "How do you know what she's like inside?" The older man smiled, and patted his shoulder. "I've lived a long time, son. And met a lot of women." At Ben's sharp look, he chuckled. "Just because I'm a man of the cloth doesn't mean I'm beyond the pale, boy. Ask your mother how many women I've had to fend off over the years, how often I've had to drag her with me to counseling sessions with women who seemed determined to get me into their beds, or at the very least into their knickers." His father's English accent became even more pronounced as he continued. "Difficult as ever, but not because I was tempted. I had to disappoint them all without hurting their feelings or losing them as parishioners." He led the way into the front room off the foyer. "That young woman is very uncertain of her position with you. And very attuned to you, and not always comfortable with it. You've a lot of work to do to get her trust, son." "So you like her?" Ben had to ask, because he knew his father had not liked Carol at all. "Do you like her?" his father retorted. "That's the only thing that counts. For you, and for her." Ben wanted to ask if Abby's age didn't put him off, but he felt there had been enough said, and to ask that would seem childish. So when his father spoke next, he gazed at him in open-mouthed surprise. "Age is irrelevant when you feel connected to someone. You know that, son. Now it's up to you to convince her of it." Any further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the subject of their talk, carrying a shopping back apparently laden with goodies from dinner. "Ready?" Obviously she was, and he felt ridiculous for asking, but she made him lose his cool a lot. Like now, when he was gaping at her, instead of relieving her of the bag. rushing to do so, he hugged his mother and kissed her cheek. "Thanks for dinner, Ma. Delicious as always." He kissed her on the other cheek, and slapped his dad on the back as they man-hugged each other. "See you in a couple of weeks, Dad." "Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins. I had a lovely time." She put out a hand, and Ben's dad shook it gravely, but his mother pulled her into a quick embrace. "You're very welcome," she said. "Come again soon, please. We loved having you." He watched as she fought to keep herself from blushing, and wondered how a woman who had lived as long as she had still managed to carry such innocence in her heart. He opened the front door and followed her out to his car. Once inside, he turned to look at her for a second, before backing out of the driveway. He left her to her thoughts as they started off, but by the time he was on the highway a few minutes later, he turned to her again. "So, are you glad you went with me?" "Yes. Your family is really lovely, Ben." She turned her head away to look into the darkness, and he knew she was avoiding him. "What's wrong, Abby?" he asked. He found himself unwilling to tolerate silence if that was caused by her keeping her feelings under wraps. She turned her head back for a moment, and even though he kept his eyes on the road, he knew she was looking at him. "What makes you ask that?" He noticed she didn't deny it, and suddenly he was afraid. What if she was deciding the time to withdraw was now? What if she asked to be taken to her own home instead of going back to his place? He had always been a confident man, but this woman seemed to have the means to reduce him to a mess of uncertainties, and he didn't like it. He bit off the nasty response he was about to make to her, knowing it would be born of his anger that she had reduced him to something he despised in himself. It wasn't her fault that he didn't have his shit together, and if he wanted to keep her, he'd have to approach her without anger. He said nothing in response, deciding that he would turn the tables on her instead, and make her wonder what he was thinking. By the time they got back to his place, the tension in the car was so thick, he could probably have sliced through it. He ushered her out, let her into the house, and asked if she'd like a nightcap before bed. Her eyes when she looked at him were troubled, and perhaps a little bit scared, and when she said, "A glass of wine would be nice, thanks", he hid his smile by turning away to the kitchen while she sat in the wide armchair in the living room. Returning a few moments later with two glasses and the wine, he found her with her eyes closed. He put the glasses down quietly, and crouched in front of her, waiting for her to become aware of him. When she opened her eyes, he saw what looked like the sheen of tears. His heart quickened its pace again. Something was really bothering her, something she was refusing to share with him. "Abby, you need to tell me why you're so upset," he said, keeping his voice quiet, his tone calm. She sat upright, most likely in an effort to put some distance between them. He stayed where he was and waited. "I'm fine," she said, but she avoided looking at him. "Where's the wine?" He pushed up to his feet and served her a glass, seething that she refused to let him in, after all they had shared this weekend. He knew every inch of her body, she knew his. He knew what made her go off like sky rockets. She knew how to make him shudder in ecstasy. Was that all this was for her...a sexual interlude? Was he just someone to scratch her itch? I'll be damned if I let her dismiss me, he thought, fuming. He almost missed her question. "No wine for you?" "I'm fine," he answered. "Maybe later." She sighed and stop up, resting her glass on the coffee table. She walked over to where he stood and put a hand to his chest. "Look, Ben, I've had a lovely time with you, and your family is great." She paused, swallowed, as though she was going to make a terrible pronouncement, then continued. "I've been alone for a long time, even before the divorce. I know where I belong." He frowned at her words. "Where you belong? What the hell does that mean?" He was angry, and suddenly couldn't hold it in. She saw his anger, and raised him female fury. "What do you think I mean?" she snapped. "You have the perfect family, their support and love and full acceptance. I have nothing. No one. And I don't belong with someone like you." She turned away, unable to face him, and walked to the bay window. He paced after her, like a tiger prowling after its prey. If she thought she was leaving him with that ridiculous explanation, she had a second think coming. "Someone like me?" He grabbed her arms and turned her around to face him. "What am I that makes you not belong with me?" He refused to let her go when she tried to wriggle free. "Tell me what makes you not belong with me!" "We're not the same, Ben," she said, almost pleading now. "I'm ten years older than you. I'm reserved, I've made a mess of the one relationship that was supposed to work. I'm fat and out of shape, and I know you must see that, despite what you would like me to believe." He felt his blood pounding in his ears at her words, and a wave of rage engulfed him. "What do you want from me, Abby? Would you prefer it if I said your arms are unattractively flabby? Would you like me to count how many chins you have? Would it make you feel better if I told you your belly is too big, and your tits hang to your knees? Would you only believe me if I told you that your body disgusts me? That it's so ugly it turns my stomach? Is that what you want me to say? Do you want me to be hateful and to humiliate you before you'll believe me? Do you want me to repeat every lie you've let yourself believe? Do you think that will make them true? Are you determined to destroy what we have, what we could have, because you're too damned scared to take a chance on me? Because you're a coward? Because you sure are acting like one right now!" The angrier he became, the lower his voice went, until by the end he was almost whispering. He didn't realize he was shaking her until she cried out and he saw what he was doing. He dropped her arms at once and stepped away from her, his body quaking. He couldn't remember the last time he had lost his temper, and he had never gotten physical with a woman. Not like he just had with the one woman he wanted to stay with him. He clenched his fists, remembering the ugly words he had just let past his lips. If she left now, he had no one to blame but himself. He made himself look at her where she still stood, as if rooted to the spot, and her whole body was shaking. She didn't make a sound, but he knew she was crying. His heart broke, and he stepped back into her personal space, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her fall apart. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean any of that. You know that, don't you? You know how I really feel about your body!" She didn't answer him, nor respond to his words or caresses in any way. She just stood there and cried her eyes out. He held her, stroking her back, kissing her hair, doing everything he could think of to soothe and calm her. Finally, the tears slowed, and she pushed against his chest. Although he was reluctant to release her, he dropped his arms and felt her pull away from him. He remained as he was, watching her, waiting to see what she would do, listening for what she would say. "Thank you," she said, surprising him, and then she left him standing there. He heard her walk down the hall and open a door. It was too early for bed, unless they were going to make love, but with the present climate in the house, he knew that was not in the cards. He poured himself a glass of wine and drank it down without tasting it. He put the wine away, rinsed the glasses, and opened a bottle of beer instead. The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could leave her alone, and hope she didn't ask to be taken home, or he could wait a while and then see if she would talk to him. He chose the second option, and while he waited, he had two more beers. When the door down the hall opened again, he put the empty bottle down and stood up from the chair he had been sitting in. Footsteps came back toward him, and he turned in time to see her stop in the doorway. And she took his breath away. She was wearing a black silk dressing gown, open despite being loosely tied at the waist. The lingerie it was supposed to cover, but didn't, was deep cut in the chest, so her cleavage beckoned him to explore its depths, sheer over her hard nipples, cutaway over the mound of her pussy, showing panties with white bows tying them to her at each side, and a line of bows down the front of her pussy, leading to that place he found himself increasingly wanting to explore. Her warm caramel-colored skin shone beneath the back silk, a beacon leading him back to shore safely. She was obviously nervous, and he wanted to tell her he was so grateful to her for trusting him, for believing him when he said she was beautiful, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth, his throat like dry cotton, his mind a jumble of lust and need. "You were right," she said, walking slowly toward him, her voice low. "I have been a coward. I've lived in fear. I've protected my heart." She stopped in front of him and raised one hand to his chest again, over his pounding heart. "It was easier to accept that I'm old and fat and unattractive, than to accept that anyone, and especially a hunk like you, could find anything desirable in me. Because if I believed that, I'd be vulnerable." She leaned into his hardening body, and his cock jumped in his slacks. "I am vulnerable now, Ben." She looked up into his eyes, finally, and he saw tears again. "Because if you reject me, I have nothing, and nowhere to turn." He moved then, pulling her by her forearms into his body, pressing himself against her so she could feel the effect she was having on him. "Does this feel like rejection to you?" His voice was rusty with lust, and there was nothing he could, or wanted, to do about it. She swallowed. "No," she whispered, and met his lips halfway.