Exceed My Expectations

Author's Note - This story is part of the Literotica 750 Word Project 2020.

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Home two months and everyone's nagging. 'Find a nice man. Get married. Make babies.' Can true happiness only bloom in pairs or clusters?

Mama picked everything for this special night: candle-lit restaurant, tight dress, and Jason, an athletic accountant with fair eyes and curls. Too bad Jason's a pretender. Smiles a lot to show off expensive, capped teeth. He asks basic questions, never deviates into real conversation. Mention of the CIA makes him flinch. Typical male insecurity.

This feels more like a mission than a date. Just an agent sizing up her mark. What a tedious effort for a guy whose only contribution to saving the world is recycling water bottles.

Sorry, Mama. Jason will never surprise or impress your girl.

He's no Stefano.

Boredom sets in with the arrival of the main course. The pasta proves bland, like Jason's aspirations. Breadsticks are superb, though— crunchy, buttery crust worth a few more minutes of humdrum before executing an artful getaway.

Jason's phone rings. He apologizes, vacating his seat to wander toward the restrooms. His eyes say what his lips will repeat in a moment. Date's over. He arranged his own backup and cover story. Perfect. What a gentleman.

In the lot, a figure lurks in the shadows near the Mercedes. Jason heads over, clueless to the possible danger. His attention's consumed with excuses that continue to flow, demonstrating his inexperience lying.

Grab the assailant as he eases from concealment, expecting a gun or knife, but find only a crisp set of agency credentials. Stefano's dressed for the field, dark and tidy— a classic look the imposing Italian-American wears well.

Jason startles, flattening against the sedan.

Stefano flashes his badge. "This is about her. You can go."

With a fumble of keys and slamming door, Jason takes his leave on squealing tires. Thank goodness for small favors.

"He's cute." The words sound smirky, but he's the usual statue of self-control.

"Jason was Mama's choice." Arms fold. Engage the leer. "So, what do you want?"

He pockets the badge. "Come back, Angela."

"Why?"

"Your country needs you."

He sure could be daft at times.

"Nope. Try again."

"Things can go back to what they were before."

"Before was a bust." Jab a finger into his muscled pec. "You know why."

"Not meeting your family?"

"Damn right! It's a package deal, you know."

His head lowers. Consideration relaxes the broad shoulders. "You're right. A relationship should be balanced. Give, take and all that."

Is he serious? Or just giving in out of desperation?

"Really?"

"Yeah, and Mama agrees."

Gasp. "You didn't?!"

A chuckle escapes him, revealing a glimpse of a rare smile. "She's charming, actually— a shameless flirt. Fierce cook. I liked her elote."

Genuine glee bursts forth. Attempt to tackle him, but he evades, trapping me instead within his secure embrace. A willing prisoner. Legs lock around his waist. Skirt strains, rucks up. Strong hands caress, cradle my frame.

"Careful." He eyes the asphalt. "Not the best of landing spots."

Nuzzle into the heat of his neck for a seductive whisper. "Then find one."

His dark eyes narrow with the challenge, scanning the concrete landscape. Twelve paces from the lot, down a hill away from view. Off goes the suit coat and heels. Drop to the grass in a clumsy heap. Laugh when he grunts in discomfort. Attack his mouth. He clutches my hips. One eager hand delves lower. The kiss breaks.

"Pantyhose?"

"Mama insisted."

I buck. He tugs. Twisty, tangled nylons and panties get cast aside. Go after his pants, brushing against a primed hardon. That's Stefano, always exceeding expectations. Teamwork quickens the task of sorting through the layers to free the prize. Mount my virile Italian stallion. Take him fast and neat, like loading a cartridge into a gun.

Two-months abstinence urges a wild free-for-all of grinding and thrusting. A sparring match of selfish desires. A brannigan of passion. Together friction builds— hot, wet, raw with need. Pleasure rises with every plunge. Nails dig into flesh, marking worthy partners. We cling, grunt, moan, battling forward until the chase explodes in pure satisfaction. A glorious release captured in a moment.

Lovers tremble in the loosening embrace, gathering wits with each soothing, strategic touch. It's such torture trying to delay inevitable loss.

Stefano sounds mournful. "Please, Angela, return with me to Langley."

"Okay—" Kiss his uncertain frown barely seen in low moonlight. "—after you meet my brothers. One night. Dinner and dessert. Final offer."

He groans, but with a hefty sigh, agrees.