Socks and Stockings Ch. 03

"Thanks," I smiled back. Wow, how stupid are you Eve, I thought. It was ridiculous for me to be nervous. Even if he had seen something, it wasn't anything he'd never seen before. After all, he'd been married for years and he had a teenage daughter.

"I got a fire going for us," he said, opening the fridge.

"Oh, that's great," I said happily. The smell of wood and kindling lifted from his sweater as he rummaged through the shelves for something edible.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked.

"Anything. It doesn't matter," I answered.

"How about beef tips and green beans?" he asked, retrieving a container of frozen beef pieces from the freezer.

"That sounds… fantastic." I said, smiling. The kettle began to whine and I pulled two cups from the cabinet. Jack opened the microwave above the stove and put the beef tips in to defrost. A plastic bag from above the fridge yielded some fresh green beans. He painstakingly washed and cut the beans then set them to cook on the stove. It was interesting to watch this large man work with tools that required delicate precision. Though the handle of the knives seemed dwarfed in his large hands, the stainless steel blades obeyed his whim as he trimmed the defrosted steak tips.

The pot was finally screaming and I removed it from the heat. A tea-bag in each cup, I poured the hot water over each and gave the leaves time to steep. Meanwhile, Jack took a deep cast-iron cooking pan from a hook on the wall. He put down a layer of extra virgin olive oil to heat. Once again he commanded the blades well, chopping up a few leaves of fresh sage. Using the low heat to his advantage, he dropped the beef cubes into the oil. Immediate after that, he stirred in the chopped sage. Salt, pepper, and minced onion followed. The smell was heavenly.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked, swirling the tea-bags in the steaming cups.

"I didn't. I just cook with smell and taste. More often than not, if two things don't smell good, they won't taste good."

"That's how I cook too, but I first learned from my grandmother's recipes," I said, remembering my grandmother's masterpiece apple pies. I could almost smell them.

"You'll have to cook for me sometime," Jack said, opening the spice cabinet and finding a bullion container. He handed it to me "Make two cups of beef stock for me please," he said, turning his attention back to the beef. I followed the directions on the package and was soon pulling a glass measuring cup full of beef stock from the microwave. All the while, I was aware of how close together we were. Though I was one-thousand percent sure there was no way it meant anything, I could have sworn he tensed when I came near. "Thanks," he said, receiving the cup. He de-glazed the pan with about half a cup of stock and turned up the heat. The flame hugged the bottom of the pan.

"So, what happened?" he asked.

"Hm? When?" I said, taking a sip of my tea.

"What I mean is, what happened between you and Bryan? Why did you leave like that? He called me and sounded concerned." With a broad stir of the pan, the meat was collected to one side and the stock began to cook away faster.

"I, uh… don't really know if we should talk about it." I took a big sip, washing down the lump in my throat.

"Well. You've already told me you were having problems. Does this have anything to do with that?"

"I... I guess. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you'll have to talk about it sooner or later," Jack pointed out.

"I hope it's later," I came close to emptying the coffee cup into my growling stomach. Jack took a small sip of his while the meat simmered. The green beans were simmering on very low heat in butter. His looming figure crossed the narrow kitchen to me. His hand went to my shoulder. He looked into my eyes

"Just remember, we're here for you. I'm here. If you need something, don't be afraid to ask." His hand was warm on my shoulder.

"Thanks Mr. Denton." I couldn't help but bubble over at his kind gesture.

"Please, we're all adults. Just call me Jack," he said with a smile. His fingers tightened at my shoulder, the muscles in my neck tensed and then relaxed at his touch. Why am I getting so worked up? I thought. A moment later he was tending to the stove again and I retreated to the living room.

Jack and Bryan weren't related by blood, but they were very alike. Even though Jack hadn't sired Bryan, they both had the same dark hair, same intense eyes, and mannerisms that seemed mirrored at times. There was something about how Jack held himself that was intriguing to me. I had met only a handful of man as seemingly powerful, naturally charming or as captivating as Jack. No wonder Katherine had fallen for him so long ago when Bryan was a toddler. My mind strayed into its earlier tangent but after a moment I shook it off.

Jack set the table and we ate without saying much. What we did say was pleasant. Afterwards, Jack loaded the dishwasher and I toasted my hands at the fire. Beneath the robe, my body was supple and heated. From the top of my head to my toes, I felt as if I'd been sunning.

"I can see you're enjoying the fire." Jack stood in the doorway to the den, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. His eyes reflected the fireplace. "I bet you want to get out of that terrycloth robe."

I almost choked. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

"What?" I was frozen in terror at the inclination that he wanted me to remove the robe. Was he asking me to get naked?

"Well, you don't want to wear my robe to bed do you? I think I've got some pajamas you can borrow." I breathed deep and giggled stupidly.

Pajamas! Right! Jesus, Eve! I thought.

"This is your robe?" I asked, my hand fidgeting at the collar. "I didn't know."

"Yeah. I thought you knew. Inside the collar are my initials." He chuckled.

"I must have missed them." I laughed nervously. "Pajamas would be awesome, thanks."

His smile stuck as he gestured for me to follow him to the bedroom. I did so, my body still burning despite the absence of the fire. We reentered the master bedroom.

"Kathy keeps her pajamas in the top drawer there," he said pointing to the dresser. "You can have anything you want out of there. I'll wash it before she gets home."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it, Mr. Denton. I mean... Jack."

"I'll be back in a few minutes to see if you need anything," he said, stepping out. I dropped the robe to the floor. It was warmer than I expected standing naked in the master bedroom. I pulled open the drawer and rummaged through the neatly stacked underwear and pajama sets. Most felt very cottony and heavy. I'd burn up wearing them. A small box in the back of the drawer yielded a pink satin camisole and matching shorts. They were slightly big for me, making me glad for the tight elastic in the waist band.

I hung the robe up in the bathroom again and borrowed a bottle of body cream from the dresser. I sat on the bed and began applying it diligently to my arms. I heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said, following a sigh of satisfaction. The cream melted on my skin, filling the room with the scent of amber. I propped my leg up on the bed, smoothing more of the expensive-smelling salve over my skin. Jack entered the room and stood silent for a moment.

"I see you found something," he said. I switched my rubbing action to my other leg.

"Yes. This was in the back of the drawer," I said, smiling at him. "Thanks so much for letting me borrow something."

"No problem." He crossed the room leisurely and picked up the cream bottle.

"Kathy never uses this. She doesn't like the smell of amber." He looked over the labels.

"Really? It's so good," I said, reveling in the smell again. "It's so deep and earthy," I added.

"Mm hm," he said. It was quiet again for a moment and I noticed just how close he was standing.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked setting his hand fidgeting on the bedspread.

"I think I'll be fine," I said feeling a rush of heat through my body again.

"Okay, well. Goodnight," he said quickly, making his way to the door.

"Wait," I left the bed, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "I can't take your bed. Where will you sleep?" I asked as he turned the doorknob to the suite.

"I'll take out the air mattress and sleep in the office. It's really not that bad." He smiled at me over his shoulder then stepped into the hall. He would have closed the door but I held it open.

"But, Mr. Denton, you've already done so much for me. I can't take your bed too. I can sleep on the air mattress."

"Nonsense, little Eve. Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning," he smiled wide and though unsure of the fairness of our sleeping arrangement, I giggled at his use of 'little' before my name.

"I guess… if you insist." I ran my fingers through my hair.

"I do insist. Good night," he disappeared down the hallway.

I felt a wash of comfort over my whole body, an ease I hadn't felt for a while. I pulled back the covers on the right side of the bed before sinking into the mattress. I always slept on the right side of the bed, but the scent of Jack's cologne startled me. This must be his side of the bed, I thought.

I closed my eyes and felt myself drift off.

I was only half aware of the door opening and the sound of footsteps approaching the bed. For a moment, I suffered a confusion from my girlhood that sometimes set in at slumber parties, usually in between dreams, when I couldn't remember in whose home I was sleeping. The haze usually dissipated after a moment, but this time it stuck and I was forced to open my eyes. Through my cracked eye-lid, I saw a shadowed figure approaching. I could smell the faint scent of cologne in the darkness. Whose cologne? Bryan's? No... too musky. My brain struggled with the scent, with the sudden presence and then the alarm of realization set in. I wasn't at home... this wasn't my bed... the man nearing the bed wasn't my husband.

"Who's there?" I said quietly, though I wanted to shout it out. I rolled onto my back as I felt a weight enter the bed. The mattress gave easily, expressing familiarity with the body. My eyes were fully open now, though I still couldn't see. I tried to roll over towards the table-lamp, but a hand caught my arm.

"We don't need the light," came a voice. I sucked in a frantic breath. It was Jack's voice in the night. Something in me leaped with excitement, but simultaneously I thought the darkness would crush my chest.

"Jack what are-" a pair of fingers covered my lips.

"Don't speak," Jack said, his voice taking on a primal huskiness. His free hand lightly grazed my arm from wrist to shoulder, where the camisole lay loose against my skin. His fingers dusted away the satin and I could feel the feather-light touch of his lips and the exhale of his fevered breath against my neck. The hand that had silenced me cradled my neck as he kissed his way to my jaw.

"Jack," I said, the tension in my arms lifting as I felt a once-dormant desire reawaken in my core. "What are you doing?" I asked. His lips were at my ear, where he tasted my earlobe. He paused for a moment, his hands on both my arms, running down them to my fingertips.

"Loving you," he said in a whisper.

After those words, tears came to my eyes, an intense ache rose my chest as I opened my body to him. Still fully-clothed, himself, he held me and I wept soundlessly in his arms. His kisses resumed their route, from my earlobe across my wet cheek and to my swollen lips. I sobbed for a moment as he lifted his face away from mine. The breeze of his tempered breath wandered over my throat till his lips pressed against my collarbone.

He moved over me, an unstoppable but forbidden force, the weight of him feeling perfect for this moment. My hands clung to his back, his pajama shirt falling mercy to my desperation. The drawstring on his pants tickled my partially-exposed stomach as the space closed between us. He slipped the satin over my heaving chest until I shuddered with the sudden onslaught of cool air. My nipples tightened painfully, soothed only by the moist sanctuary of his mouth.

My mind was conscious of what was happening, my heart aware of my betrayal, but both were powerless to stop my body as it obeyed instinct. My limbs trembled at the waves of pleasure traveling through me. The inexplicable fire from earlier rediscovered itself in my cheeks. My entire body coursing with heat, he away the satin away from my hips and left them hanging loosely at my knees. One hand kneading my breasts, the other rubbed in a single, fluid motion down my stomach to the part of me that ached the most for his touch.

He stroked his fingertips over the shaved lips there, extending his reach between the folds of my slit. With very little effort on his part, I was moaning, the evidence of my arousal dripping over his fingers. His lips followed the erstwhile path of his fingers until the tip of his nose teased the inside of my thigh. His breast-attentive hand now gripped my hip, his wet fingers probing deeper still.

While making me feel delirious, he was pressing kisses to the inside of my thighs. They were soft, deliberate kisses, like flutters of butterfly wings. Each was a momentary distraction from the mounting intensity in my womb. He pressed an impossibly thick digit into me and I clamped down on it with a desperation that made my heart ache again. It was so long since anyone else had touched me there. I had forgotten the sensations that came with lovemaking. My brain fought with me, telling me not to feel pleasure, telling me that this was wrong... but it was losing the battle. With each slide of his finger and with each clap of my sex around it, I was coming close to losing my senses completely. I felt the breath as his mouth opened.

And then I exploded.

I was lost.

My pleasure peaked, the kind of pleasure that represents itself in bolts of lightning and fountains of fireworks behind closed eyes. Behind the eyes of a woman who is coming with her entire body, not just the obvious parts. The trigger had been the slight brush of the tip of his tongue as it connected with my clit. As I came down from the highest point of pleasure, I was deaf to all sounds, save for the rush of blood in my ears. The next sensation was his soft, stuttered breath on my puffy, wet lips. Goosebumps populated every inch of my skin. I was sure I'd forgotten to breathe for a moment and I inhaled deep. I was grateful for the air suddenly felt on my face, chilling the beads of sweat produced by my climax.

Feeling returned to my fingers then wandered through my limbs. My scrunched camisole and draped pajama bottoms felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds each. I tried as best as I could to center myself, prepared to... prepared to...

What was it that I was going to do? My eyes floated open as I looked down between my hips. His gaze was there to meet mine. Was I too far gone to stop him? Instinct drove me on, told me to surrender. I had already allowed him to go so far. Would the sin be anymore a sin if I allowed him to take me altogether? I knew the answer to the question but didn't get a chance to think of it for more than a second. I was suddenly aware that after my orgasm, he'd left his finger planted inside of me and it was moving again. Though this time, it was tortuously slow.

"Please..." I started. My hands moved in the direction of his face, unsure of whether they were going to pull him away or drive his mouth down to me. His free hand caught one of mine and in a gesture of immeasurable tenderness his lips brushed my fingertips. It was an old-fashioned way to kiss a woman, chaste, secretly intimate. It was the way that a man kissed a woman in more innocent times to show that he treasured her. His eyes opened again, his hand still holding mine. His pumping finger had slowed to a tolerable speed, but somehow the pressure was still growing inside of me.

"Tell me what you want..." he said in a whisper. His finger left me and my entire being waited for the reentry that did not come. His lips were deliberate again: from my bellybutton to the crest of my thighs, on the sweetness of my yearning womanhood, threatening to drive me crazy. "Tell me what you want..." he repeated.

"I can't..." I whispered back, my head falling against the pillows, my arms slack against the sheets.

"You can," he argued quietly, his lips traveling up my stomach, stopping at each breast before spending time at my neck.

"I can't..." I reiterated, tears rolling from my eyes. I wrapped my arms around his neck. My fingers dove into his hair. I felt the unmistakable nudge of masculinity against my bare sex. All of my muscles cried to clasp around him, to be loosened and wearied by him. I craned my neck, finding a lazy, sensual pleasure in the way he kissed my neck. Not just with his mouth but with the tip of his insistent tongue.

"If you can't tell... me... then I'll... tell... you... what I want." His sentences were broken, each word gruff and almost indistinguishable from the next. "I want to fuck you," he said as he crushed his confined erection against my overflowing pussy. His grinding repeated. Like an animal he breathed heavily, his throat sounding as if it were full of gravel. I could smell his desire, the primal cologne that nature provides a man when he's ready to mate. Strong and musky: a mix of pheromone, testosterone and that salty smell of pre-cum. My mouth watered wantonly as I imagined the how it would feel to taste the rhythm of his throbbing cock as it slid over my tongue.

I uttered a soft cry, my brain's ability to form words utterly disabled by lust.

"Don't move," he said. My eyes remained closed as he lifted away from me but I could hear him removing his clothes. I remained mute, awaiting his inevitable return. My arms lay lifeless at my sides, my fingers under the pillows, my knees touching as if closing them would keep them from opening at the slightest order from him. His weight bent the mattress toward the foot of the bed. He crawled forward and rested a hand on my knee. My legs butterflied. I yielded to the hands that mysteriously knew me. My clit stiffened against his fingertip. His hand held quick conversation with the tiny button, grazing it with his fingernail.

I bit my lip. The sting was maddening. His fingers tickled from the entrance to my body to my clit. Again I spasmed madly, unabashedly spilling juiced over the bedspread. I buried my face in my hand, feeling my searing face in embarrassment, suppressing a squeal of surprise. I had never been so wet, never caught up so strongly in anticipation. I could sense that the go flag waved in his eager brain, the final signal that I was ready for him. I didn't have to beg, thankfully.

He removed his hands from me, moved himself forward until his knees pressed the rounded edge of my ass. In one fluid motion, he grasped my legs by the back of my knees, lifted me from the bedspread, tucked his knees where my ass had just been and slid himself inch by raw inch into me. My knees quivered in his hands. I hung suspended... officially... in every sense... filled... and fucked.

His withdrawal gave the walls of my sheath time to close and touch before he reentered. His stroke was flawless, his technique the stuff of novel and legend. I was out of my mind with aphrodisia... nearly sick with it. My body flashed hot and cold, one minute I felt flushed, another I felt as if I were covered in ice.

I began to shake... not the normal shaking of orgasm, but the physical shake of one being thrown around in a storm. My shoulders were jerking violently. My breathing and heartbeat didn't match up and my vision floated from here to there until I was able to focus.

Tears were still in my eyes. The lamp clicked on. Jack's cock was markedly absent from my body, the sound of his breathing dead in my ears. Two strong hands were gripping me by the shoulders and when my eyes adjusted to the light, Jack was there... but... he was wearing pajamas and further clothed in a bathrobe.