I clean off her wound with alcohol and a cotton swab. She hisses in discomfort, but doesn’t stop me as I make sure her palm is clean and there’s no glass embedded in her skin.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“A little cliché having a dickhead ex-husband who didn’t appreciate what he had in front of him,” I say as I apply ointment to her skin and wrap her hand up.
She blushes beautifully and I kinda like the fact she must not spend a ton of time in the sun. It helps you see when she’s flushed.
“Do you usually bring recent divorcées into your boss’s office after plying them with cocktails and then charm them into submission?” she says, before looking up at the ceiling. Clearly, the alcohol did remove some of her filter.
I don’t correct her and tell her that this is my office, that I’m the boss, and that no, I haven’t actually brought a woman here. Usually I fuck women at the sex club I pay for to avoid the need for courting. But every now and then when the mood strikes and the night feels right, I do sometimes treat myself to an unplanned drunken night of fuckery.
“Actually, divorcées are my favorite,” I say with a grin, her lush lips parting in shock at my words.
“What?” she asks, confusion written in her furrowed brows.
“Divorced women are the best lays,” I say plainly, placing a band-aid over her palm.
“How do you figure?” she asks, like she thought less of herself for ending a relationship that was consummated with the government. Like people don’t break up all the time, no one thinks less of them.
“Well, they’re usually so sexually frustrated it takes very little effort to make them come. Plus, they aren’t looking for anything serious. I don’t do serious, I do casual. Very casual.”
She blinks at me, her dark long lashes shutting over the top of her calculating eyes.
“Casual?” she asks, a woman of very few words.
“Yes. No girlfriends, the occasional hookup, and other arrangements,” I say vaguely, not wanting to spook her.
She licks her lips, glancing down at her bandaged palm. She could leave now, go back to her friends and the night would be over and we’d both go home unsatisfied. Either way, the ball is in her court as to where this evening should go.
Though it doesn’t seem like she grasps the memo. Maybe she needs continued outright bluntness, which I can more than handle.
“Would you like me to take you back downstairs to your friends? Or would you like me to bend you over my boss’s desk and prove to you why I love to fuck divorced women?”
She opens her mouth to say something, and then abruptly shuts it. Her eyes meeting mine head on, no shyness, just analysis.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks.
“I do,” I say, tugging at that sweet pretentious bow wrapped around her neck and tugging. “Are you sure, Kate?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s uh…it’s been a while for me.”
“Do you want me to promise to be gentle? Or do you want me to give you a memorable fuck that you can go back downstairs on wobbly legs and tell your friends about?”
Her throat bobs as my fingers trail along her collarbone, non-avoidant of the aged scar there. Kate’s eyes search mine for a moment, and she doesn’t respond with words.
Instead, she fists my dress shirt, dragging me down and capturing my lips against hers. At first her kiss is messy, unsure, and unpracticed. But as I tangle my hand in her curling hair and direct the kiss, she melts into the touch.
Soft whimpers and pants slipping out of her mouth.
I don’t kiss the women I fuck very often, but as I kiss Kate, I wonder why. I find this enjoyable, erotic, even. Maybe I should change my stance on the act. While enjoyable and hot, I don’t find it attaching me to this woman I just met. It just makes me want to fuck her even more.
We break apart from the kiss, both of us breathing heavily.
“All right sweetheart, take off your dress and turn around,” I order her, and she immediately follows directions.
It has my dick hard as she grabs the hem of her dress, removing the garment completely, showcasing a mismatched set of black panties and a white bra.
I forgot how alluring it can be when a woman wasn’t expecting to get fucked that night.
