“And how did…” I asked before being cut off with an upraised hand.
“Once I was fully awake and raised up off the massage table to see better, the moans stopped, his hands were on her thighs, and Thea eased me back down on the table. I questioned whether I had seen what I had seen. The masseuses finished up and left us in bathrobes.”
He paused and met my gaze. I had listened intently to his story. His eyes were intense and dark. He hesitated. Can he really not recognize me? I wanted him to continue. “What happened next?”
“Scarlet led me by the hand to the kitchen where a candle lit dinner awaited me. She had Renaldo, my private chef, prepared my favorite: New York strip, medium, baked potatoes with butter, sour cream, and bacon, a tossed salad with plenty of tomatoes, and steamed broccoli. The food was still steaming, and I heard the front door close as Renaldo exited. She had gone to a lot of effort to make that night special and in my relaxed state, I enjoyed it very much.”
“Had the anxiety to perform for her disappeared?” I asked. This sounded like a romantic effort on her part. Perhaps, while Dirk said he liked to be in control, maybe his sexual blueprint wasn’t sexual. Perhaps he was more sensual or energetic.
“It hadn’t disappeared. But I was hopeful.” His face relaxed as if he pondered his last statement. “That’s not entirely true. I had warmed up to the idea of taking Scarlet in the bedroom after dinner. Again, that feeling of conquering my day and the upcoming merger had me feeling a bit… aroused.”
“By the time we had finished dinner, I definitely had plans. I took Scarlet by the hand, led her to the bedroom and slid off her bathrobe. When mine fell to the floor, I began kissing her.”
I imagined him kissing her lips, her neck, her shoulders. The thought of him massaging her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples, had my own suddenly hard. The vision of him caressing her from her shoulders to her ass had my body tingling.
I felt the wetness between my thighs. The interrupted masturbation session earlier. Memories of my night with Dirk on Saturday night. The memory of his hands on my body as I imagined his hands on his wife. His hard dick inside of me as we fucked in the Cherry Pit. These thoughts triggered my arousal.Fuck Reggie. Snap out of it.
“I laid her on the bed and pleasured her. I brought her to orgasm with my tongue. The excitement was building. I felt this lust and desire to take her, to fuck her hard. And then…” he stopped speaking and looked back at the window. The sun had reached the perfect point so that it shone on the couch. It illuminated his face.
To me, he resembled Apollo, the Sun God, in that moment. Handsome. Bright. Majestic. His demeanor had changed, though. He adjusted so that his face was in the shadows before he turned back to me.
“When it came time to have intercourse,” the word came out oddly, as if he wasn’t accustomed to saying it. “I…”
There was a silence again with just the ticking of my wall clock beating out the slow rhythm of time.
“Go on Dirk. It’s okay,” I offered, my voice soft.
“My… penis wasn’t erect. I couldn’t get erect. I had this beautiful, sexy, thirty-three-year-old goddess in my bed, and I couldn’t get a hard-on.”
There it was. That was why he came to see me. Erectile dysfunction. If I had been less excited and more present, I probably wouldn’t have said what I did next.
“But you had no problem two nights ago,” I blurted.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on me. They held surprise. Suspicion.
“What are you talking about?” he said sternly.
“At the Cherry Pit, you had no problem…” I stopped myself even though I’d gone too far. Maybe he didn’t really recognize me. My hair was tied up in a bun. I had more clothes on and much less makeup than I did that night. The Cherry Pit itself isn’t a bright room. Oh, my god.He has no idea.
He stood up and strode to the window. He stared into the distance for a while, not focused on any one thing. Turning to face me, those big, dark eyes of his drilled into me.
“Come here. In the light,” he commanded.
My body responded, and I pussyfooted over to him.
He pulled me into the light with his two muscular hands on my upper arms. He examined my face. I saw the recognition enter his eyes. They didn’t express joy in that moment either. It was more like anger.
“You,” he whispered.
I was suddenly embarrassed, and I tried to look apologetic. Meek. Remorseful. Anything other than the lust that stirred within me.
He let me go and stormed to the door of my therapy room. He opened the door and then turned to face me again.
“Do not forget. You signed an NDA.” Then Mr. Dark Eyes, Mr. Dirk Baxter, walked out of my office.
I had this sinking feeling that I would never see him again. The feeling actually hurt, physically. Would he ever trust me again to help him? To work through this problem with him? Had I thrown two-hundred thousand dollars out the window? Worse, would I ever see him again?
You know you want to, Reggie.
