Seduction and Surrender Ch. 02

Chapter II

I woke up gently, as the light leaked through the open blinds into the room. My body felt tired, but a good type of tired, full and tender, worn, and my mind was lighter, emptier. I hadn't realized how much I needed to properly cum until that moment, how much the accumulated stress was weighing on me until I got rid of it. My alarm started to ring and I turned it off as I got up - I hadn't been that well-rested in months, and I did my morning routine easily. There was a little voice in my head telling me that I should stop to consider the previous night and all its implications, but I kept putting it off. "Let's not ruin a good thing with overthinking... God knows how much you love to do that".

I went into the kitchen to make breakfast, Kate Bush playing in my headphones. I could already hear Elizabeth in the kids' room, helping them out. I turned on the coffee machine, put the bread in the toaster, and took the butter out of the fridge so it could start to soften. I was wearing a simple t-shirt and a pair of old biking shorts, my face bared, and felt weirdly sexy as I moved to the beat of the song. I cut some leek and red pepper and let them cook in a skillet while whisking the eggs, adding pepper and salt, shaking my head as I reached for the milk in the fridge.

"Morning!" Georges' voice sounded like it usually did after waking up, a bit hoarse and lower than normal. Images from the previous night flooded my mind, all of them imagined and yet so vivid - his cock deep in my throat, the expression of pure pleasure on his face as the pleasure overwhelmed us both -, and I tried to blink them away as I started to make his coffee. He was already dressed, ready for the day, wearing a well-fitted blue suit.

"Important meeting?" I asked.

He nodded. "Might define the rest of the semester. Make the coffee a double - gotta stay sharp today".

I complied, keeping an eye on the eggs as I did it. I got him a piece of toast, though he usually didn't eat in the morning. "It's better for concentration than coffee," I said, and he took it.

Elizabeth walked into the kitchen in one of her long dresses, just tight enough you'd be tempted to try and guess the figure underneath. She had long silver earrings and just a bit of lipstick, not enough to leave a mark on George's lips as she kissed him. I saw one of his hands grab her waist as she did so, squeezing it softly, and couldn't stop myself from imagining how those hands had done that same exact motion the previous day, no cloth in between them, just skin on skin, desire burning on desire. I started to heat the kids' milk, trying to focus on something else.

"Did you sleep well, dear?" Elizabeth asked. She treated me a bit like a friend, a bit like a daughter, unable to stop herself from slipping into that motherly role that came so easily to her. She turned to the kids' room and called. "Amy! Grace! Breakfast is waiting!"

"I slept very well, thank you." I put her eggs in a bowl, added a fork, and gave it to her. "Did you?" The kids sat down as I got them their mugs and toast.

"Yeah, thanks for asking". She took a bite out of the eggs and moaned softly. "These are so good... Did you change anything?"

She looked at me, waiting for an answer, but I was frozen, her little delicious moan running through my bones. "I... Uh yeah, added a bit of... How is it called? Alho-francês..." I was trying to search for the English word for it, but her moan had triggered something in me. I replayed her muffled moans as she took George in her mouth and as I looked at her, mouth once again open while she took another bite, I could imagine the exact expression she would have made as she sucked his cock. "Leek! That's it, I added Leek," I said, as I turned away to hide my quickly reddening cheeks.

"Good idea. You know, you should do a Portuguese dish one of these days! You cook so well, and I would love to try something from your culture."

"Sure! I could do bacalhau com natas tomorrow. It's cod with potatoes and cream." Words were coming out of my mouth, but I wasn't talking - all my attention was focused on restraining my thoughts, trying to ignore the memory of George's painfully urgent gasps as he entered her, Elizabeth's soft breathing as he went in and out and in and out and in and out of her. "I just need to find a place with salted cod. Maybe there's a Portuguese market somewhere around here?"

George nodded. "I know one in the city, close to my job. Why don't you meet me after lunch and we can go?"

"Oh, I have quite a lunch break tomorrow," said Elizabeth, as she absent-mindedly reached for his hand. "Why don't I join you? I wanted to get some more of that wine we got last time."

They both looked at me, waiting for my answer. Elizabeth was beautiful under the morning light, her pale skin creasing just a bit around the eyes, betraying the presence of an almost constant soft smile. George had a presence to him, a slightly unbothered confidence that commanded the room, his eyes always in between a question and an evaluation. They were in a way a bit like gods to me, distant powerful perfect creatures controlling my world through means I couldn't quite understand. And now they awaited my judgment.

"Ok, that sounds like a plan!" My voice sounded preppy and juvenile to my ears. "I'll meet you after lunch then".

They left shortly after. As the last vehicle drove away, the sound fading in the distance, I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn't predicted how hard it would be to see them, to be with them, after the previous night. I had fantasized about people before - the cute cashier at my usual place, the friend of a friend I would sometimes meet when the stars aligned - but never someone so close, and never like this. Imagining distant scenarios with a man who barely knows my name is nothing like being inside someone's life, hearing them in their most private moments, and then using that as fuel. I was feeling hot just thinking about it. I had to stop - the only moral option was to decide to stop, and do it right there and then. To close that door forever, to swear, to commit to never thinking about them in that way again, to shut down every little wandering thought. I could almost see it in front of me, the physical door I shouldn't have crossed, solid dark wood, strong hinges. I pushed it a bit and heard it creek. Thought about closing it... And then, from the other side, soft moaning sounds. Light, escaping through the gaps, and some kind of warmth coming through, spilling underneath... It was teasing me, calling to me. I opened my eyes, the image of the door gone, but certainly not closed. I had never been good at denying myself pleasure.

After lunch, I tried to get ready as usual, but could sense myself being a bit more critical than normal, a bit more demanding. I was wearing a long black skirt and a black top, and then about seven layers of cardigans, jackets, and scarves. I didn't use any makeup (guided subconsciously by a feeling that George preferred it that way), got some long earrings that highlighted my delicate neck, and left the house, phone in one pocket, keys in the other, the umbrella George and Elizabeth had given to me on the first day in my hand.

The bus was quicker than I thought, and I arrived to the outside of George's office about 20 minutes before the agreed time. The wind was freezing and fierce, flapping my scarf around, and I could see the thick dark clouds growing heavier by the second. "Absolutely freezing out here - ok if I come in?" I texted.

George didn't take long to shoot back "Get insise, I'll go get you", followed by "insise*", before a last "INSIDE**".

I went into the lobby as the first drops started to fall, the light clinks of sound quickly turning into a chaotic downpour, the people outside looking for shelter. I turned away from the street and admired the hall of the building, the tall ceiling and clean surfaces screaming money with every perfectly white square corner. There were a few plants (all a lively green and devoid of any blemishes), a beautiful waiting area with sleek modern chairs, and a reception desk where three men worked, two of them looking busy as they took calls, one of them silently scrolling on his phone.

My phone lit up, a message on the screen. "Running late! Meet me 8^th flour".

The man on the reception desk was looking at me now, measuring me with his eyes, and I went in his direction.

"Hello ma'am, how can I help you today?"

"Hello. I'm here to meet George Graham," I said, and at the mention of the name, he nodded. "Eight floor, I think?"

"Yes, I know who George is". He said it like it would be silly for someone to not know who George was, and I felt something shift inside me. Though the building clearly had climate control, it was still a bit cold for my Mediterranean tastes, and through the several layers of clothes, I could feel my sensitive nipples against the lace of my thin unpadded bra. "Is George expecting you?" he asked, and once I nodded he took the phone to his ear and waited as it rang. "Hello, there's a young lady here to see you, should ... ok, thank you. Goodbye, sir".

That "sir" was almost as delicious as if I had been the one to say it. The man pointed to a corridor. "Go to the lift, eighth floor, last office on the right. Can't miss it."

I thanked him as I left. The lift was completely silent as it went up, and opened into an almost equally silent corridor. I turned right, passing conference rooms, some empty, some not, and walked until I was looking at a glass door with a plaque. "George Graham", it said, in big thick letters, and underneath it I could read "Chief financial advisor". To be fully honest, I wasn't sure what George's job was. He talked about meetings sometimes, having to deal with this or that guy, and I could see him working at his computer almost every day, but if anyone asked me what he did - what he decided or discussed or was responsible for - I wouldn't be able to answer them. I knocked on the door and heard George's familiar voice ("Come in!") as I opened it.

His office was big, divided into two areas - a desk with a computer and a chair on the right, and a small center table surrounded by couches on top of a rug on the left. There was a water machine on one of the corners, a few paintings on the walls, and a big window with a wonderful view all through the back. George was standing next to the couches, talking to a tall woman in a suit. There was another woman in the room, younger, who seemed to be taking notes.

"Hi Maria, I'll just be a second," he said, before turning to the tall woman. I couldn't understand what they were saying, the distance and strong accent mixed with technical terms making it so I could only get one out of every ten words, but George seemed to be explaining something to them. The tall woman listened attentively, sometimes nodding in agreement, sometimes turning to her assistant and telling her to add something to her notes. I watched them and noticed the woman did not take her eyes off him for a single second, drinking every word in. I changed the weight from one leg to the other, feeling restless. They talked for around 3 minutes as I watched. George's confidence shined in a space like this - his tailored blue suit all straight lines and creased corners, his strong shoulders dominating his silhouette. I was feeling hotter, and fidgety. They said their goodbyes and George walked them to the door, one hand in his pocket as he closed it.

"God, I thought they would never leave. I'm so sorry, Maria!"

I shook my head. "It's ok, don't worry about it. It was really interesting to see you at work, actually".

He went to his desk and sat down. "This? Oh, this wasn't real work. I was just giving some pointers on an old client. You should see me in a board meeting". He said it playfully, but I didn't doubt it would be quite a sight. He started to type something, his wedding ring reflecting the light, catching my eye, and again that feeling deep inside me, an almost subliminal squirming, something unfolding, awakening. "Ok, let me just send her this file, and... we're good to go. Elizabeth is already at the market".

"Great!" I said, walking towards the door. I shouldn't have, but I made sure to move my hips as I walked, imagining his eyes on my ass. I didn't turn to check if he was looking.

The rain was barely a drizzle when we left, and we walked the four minutes it took us to reach the little market. Elizabeth was at the door, her long brown coat cinched at the waist, always emphasizing her delicate figure, and she opened the door for us as she got in. The market wasn't anything special - some Portuguese brands that weren't worth the price, some ready-to-eat traditional foods that would taste much better if I cooked them myself, and then the things we came for. Vinho do Porto, or port wine, the very best, and salted cods, just like home - it was clear which items kept that place afloat. I examined the cods while George and Elizabeth discussed the wine, and listened to them laugh and bicker through a dozen options.

"I got my fish. Are you guys done?"

Elizabeth had two bottles, one in each hand. "We are absolutely not done. We cannot choose."

George clearly disagreed. "We?"

"I cannot choose," Elizabeth corrected herself with a little smile. They went back into their argument, Elizabeth measuring the options like her life depended on it, George half exasperated trying to support the option that would get him out of there sooner. They were lovely, each one perfectly knowing the other, fighting like an old couple, completely in love. George always melted when next to Elisabeth, all his expressions softening under her glistening eyes. They were charming, yes, at first, but it was more than that. Their little private rituals, their inner world, all of it being displayed in front of me - it was like an invitation, and it felt alluring in a way I could not excuse as innocent. Watching their interactions, the way they predicted each other's movements and responded perfectly, and the way they danced in total balance, I could only imagine what they were like in bed. Lovers of twenty years... I had lovers before, young inexperienced lovers with too much to win and not much to lose, selfish or just negligent lovers lacking the time or the patience to take care of me. George and Elizabeth would never have that problem - I knew, just from looking at them, that they knew exactly where and how to touch the other. I imagined what they could teach me, how they could teach me. "I think you should take both," I told Elizabeth. "Two is always better than one, no?"

"Ah, there's an actual solution. Thank you, Maria," said Elizabeth. She turned to George. "You could learn something from her, you know".

They gave me a ride home before going back to work. I sat in the back of the car watching them as they drove and talked - sometimes they would ask me my opinion on something, but I gave them short, concise answers, more interested in basking in their presence than intruding on it. Once I was home alone, I had planned to have some more "me" time, but I couldn't - the memory of them was too fresh in my mind, too close. I decided to start prepping the cod for Sunday dinner since it had to soak for a bit, and as I finished my phone lit up with a message.

"How is your afternoon/night tomorrow? Would love to go out again. -Andrew"

The house was empty and cold without the Grahams. I looked at the message, looked out the window, looked at the message again. Sometimes it felt like George and Elizabeth were this absolute force of nature, pulling me in, unescapable, and other times it felt like it was all in my head. Was I imagining things? Was it all one-sided? Did I just need one good fuck to get it out of my system and then everything would go back to normal?

"I'm free. Just tell me when and where," I texted back.

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"I think it looks great on you!"

I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't disagree. I was wearing a flowy skirt and a tight top, and the white of the clothes looked great against my tan skin. I was still in Britain, though, so I had to ask Elizabeth for a nice jacket I could borrow. She got me several options and as I tried the last one on, she seemed sure of her decision.

"That's the one. Not too big, warm enough, classy but something more. Do you like it?"

"Sure! I mean, it's not that important".

"Of course it is! It's your first official date since you've got here. If you had told me before, we could have gone to the hairdresser".

Her excitement was sweet. My mum was a nice lady, but not too emotional, and surely not too present - there was always something else to do, somewhere else, and all the things that for me were new and important were things she had seen or experienced before. Elizabeth's reaction to my first date since I moved was a nice change of pace.

"So, what is the plan?"

"He's picking me up at 7," I looked at my watch, "in 5 minutes, actually. We're going out to eat and then we'll go dancing, but I'm not sure where - he wanted it to be a surprise".

"In a romantic way or a creepy way?"

"Undetermined, for now". My last word coincided with the bell ringing.

"I think being early is a good sign," said Elizabeth. She walked me to the door, took a step back to check my outfit once more, and then hugged me. "When you get back I'll tell you all about my first date with George. Now, be safe, and have fun!"

She smelled like cinnamon and baked goods. I hugged her back, unintentionally feeling her body against mine, her warmth cutting through the layers, biting my skin. "I will! Bye!"

I opened the door, ready for the cold wind to take all that warmth away, but Elizabeth's jacket held its position. Andrew stood outside the gate, classic pants and a white shirt, relaxed yet formal, one hand resting in his pocket.

He drove us to the city and then we walked for a bit, waiting for our reservation hour to come up. We talked the whole time - family, work, fun. He was living alone, though his family wasn't that far away, just a 20-minute drive, and he wasn't working yet, didn't need to, plus it would take too much time away from his studies. He was used to people assuming he was a nerd, and made sure to mention he played soccer everytime he met someone new - he hadn't told me yet because he assumed I liked nerds (he was partially right). We talked about books, mostly, and kept talking about it as we moved on to dinner. He was studying linguistics but knew enough literature to hold his ground. I told him all about my thesis, Portuguese literature, and then the conversation moved further back, to past relationships, old friends, new regrets. The lights on the restaurant were warm and low, and the single glass of wine I'd had was making its way through my system, untangling some knots, opening some doors.

"I was stupid. She was... She clearly wasn't the person for me. I knew it wouldn't work from the start." He took a sip from his glass and his lips were briefly tainted red.

I refilled my glass, tilted my head. "Then why do it?"

"Well... Mostly because it felt incredibly good," he said, and I laughed. "I don't mean it like that! Though that was one of the factors, it wasn't only the... well, you know..."

"The sex?" I said, and he nodded. "Are you getting shy on me, Andrew?"

"Wine works a bit backward on me, I think," he justified himself. "But yes, it wasn't only the sex. It's mostly the build-up to it. Knowing the other person knows you want them, and knowing they want you back. Knowing it's inevitable, mostly".

"I understand that, but you moved in together. If you knew it wasn't going to end well... I mean, that is a big investment," I said. He was looking at me now, trying to catch something in my face, studying my expression. I could feel my breathing slowing.