“Look at this,” she said, pulling up a picture on her phone.
It was a picture of Ava eight years ago, dressed up for Halloween as a snooty bartender. I hid a chortle. She looked anything but snooty. She reminded me of what Pam fromThe Officewould be like if she had auburn hair and wore a tiny tank top over jeans while holding a shaker tin.
“Are you sure that’s you?” I asked, bending down to nibble at her earlobe. The way she leaned into me told me she liked it. “That’s way too racy for my Ava.”
“I so can be racy,” she said with a content sigh as she pulled the phone closer and scrolled up for older photos. “Look at this one.”
At the next image, I had to work really hard to suppress a laugh. She was actually dressed like Pam fromThe Office, her neck covered up to the topmost button.
She turned to me and put her arm around my neck in a way that was trusting and comforting. Her breasts grazed my chest, and I leaned in, cupping one of them over the blanket as I took her lips in a hungry kiss. As if I’d been starved for her love all these years and only just met her.
“I confess,” she said when we finally pulled apart, my fingers stroking her nipple in circles, “this is the limit of my raciness.”
Our week had been wonderful. In addition to amazing dinners at home when I ordered in, we’d made some stealthy visits to some of New York’s most beautiful waterfronts, always after the sun set. It felt safer, being outdoors together that way. During our time together, we’d been filling each other in on all the details that we’d missed in the past ten years. The rest of our time together had been spent on a bed that seemed perpetually welcoming.
I lifted my fingers to her forehead, where I could see one vertical crease as she looked at me thoughtfully. “Is something the matter?” I asked.
She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling a few times, her lips pressed together, as though she was steeling herself. “I got a confirmation from Bianca,” she said in a small voice. “She wants to interview me tomorrow.”
Ah. Now, I understood why she had that crease on her forehead.
“After seeing how those reporters troubled you a few days ago? I’m nervous.”
I drew in a deep breath. “Can I do something to make you feel better?” I asked, rubbing my fingers on her temples and slowly getting to the crease on her forehead. “How would you feel if I got my assistant to convert this into a work interview? And we give it together?”
The crease on her forehead disappeared. “An interview? With the two of us?”
I nodded. “It’s my company. I’ll be standing by my restaurant investment.”
She seemed to consider it.
I pulled myself over her, bending down to kiss her desperately. It would mean the world to me if she agreed. It would mean I got one more hour in the day with her instead of waiting to see her in the evening. It’d mean I got to protect her from any unwanted questions a seasoned reporter like Bianca might have. It’d mean I got to keep her safe.
I bit down on her lip gently and then trailed my kisses down her neck and stopped at a sensitive spot at the base, which I knew she liked. Her ragged breath gave away everything while I took my time.
The blanket fell off to reveal round breasts, rosy peaks, and a curved waist. I wanted to reach out and caress her. I leaned on my elbow, resting my head on my hand. I ran my fingers over her plump lips.
She was silent for a minute before she turned to me. “As much as I like the idea of us giving that interview together, I think I’m not ready for the speculation that it would set off.”
Now, that sparked a new train of thought. “I wish I could be seen with you in public, gossip and all,” I said, the words out of my lips before I was ready for it.
The statement surprised me, just as it did her. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she considered it.
She kissed me back urgently. I could sense that I’d made her feel better, and I felt myself hardening against her.
“I know,” she breathed out against my neck. “It’s just that I’m not ready for it yet.”
I understood.
Her kisses got hotter, and she reached down to palm my erection. She started to stroke with one hand. Her hand was wrapped perfectly around me, and I groaned as I shut my eyes at the touch. With Ava’s knowing touch, I always came faster than ever, and I found it ridiculous, the way my body gave in to her so quickly.
“Go slow,” I said, leaning in to kiss her hair.
None of the fantasies I’d had about Ava in our years apart even came close to the real thing. And irrespective of the number of times I’d had sex with her, I simply couldn’t get her out of my system. If anything, I was harder around her every time than I’d ever been in the past. Her hand slid up and down over my hard, straining shaft, and she made tiny, whispering sounds as she moved, almost destroying me.
I didn’t want to come, and I didn’t want her to let go of me at all. She was moving faster now, squeezing harder, and I leaned in to tell her to wait.
I pulled her up, and once she spread her legs apart, I paused to slip on a condom quickly before I entered her. I moved gently at first and then began to thrust into her with increasing intensity while wrapping her legs around my waist.
