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He had been cooped up for so long in his apartment alone that the sound of so many people filling the cramped space was deafening. He felt like he was moving underwater as his ears and brain tried to work in tandem to block out the noise. Then it was just a faraway murmur, buried under the waves.
He’d been stopped so many times by guests—and there were only maybe fifteen people in attendance—who asked conversationally, “So how do you know Juli?”
Juli. He definitely preferred Anjuli to the diminutive Juli. Her full name was classy and alluring. “Juli” was just “Julie” without the “e.” Too standard for someone of her radiance.
He watched her circulating within the crowd like a queen amongst her court. He didn’t have a good answer for the guests who asked him to define their relationship, and he doubted they would find it amusing if he simply claimed to be “the Queen’s subject.” But that is the way he felt looking at her, his eyes trailing over her the way they might a gleaming gold throne, upon which sat the most dazzling light.
It was much too trite to say he’d run into her at the liquor store.
What kind of first-meet story was that?
It sucked.
He’d have to come up with another one.
He was quite sure she was unaware, but he had already devised how he planned to undress her. How he planned to move so subtly and fluidly that she wouldn’t even know what was happening to her until her clothes were falling to the floor.
He didn’t get the afternoon romp he’d envisioned when they first met over the shattered wine bottles, but he would now get something so much better: a night with her. A night after she’d played hostess and was too exhausted to lift anything but her hips as he sunk his cock deep inside her.
He hadn’t been with a woman in...
Well, not since Mara.
But Mara was a young, vapid co-ed. She was hardly a woman.
Anjuli was the very definition of a woman with her elegantly rounded shoulders and her wide, swaying hips. She was not dressed in business attire as she had been at the liquor store, but instead wore an off-the-shoulder black gown, a simple gold choker at her neck. And in the center was a fully-bloomed rose. If Mara was a tightly sealed rosebud, then Anjuli was at the peak of blossom, her petals exposed and ready to be stroked, savored...devoured.
He couldn’t wait for all these people to leave so he would have his chance. This is just what I need, he thought, just what I need to have my confidence restored. Sure, seeing Nigel was great, and there were a half-dozen other guys he’d seen off and on in the past few years, but it was all chartered territory. All of those butterflies and first-time nerves had been conquered. What remained was the easy comfort of a body your own body knew, with no thrill of discovery to tease and tempt the imagination.
He had gathered from his conversations with fellow party-goers and his own sleuth-like observations that Anjuli was single—maybe divorced?—and had a daughter in college. There was a photo of her and her daughter decked out in a high school graduation gown. In the adjacent frame, the daughter was holding a pennant that read Penn State, so Anjuli was A) old enough to have a college-aged daughter and B) her daughter went to school far enough away that she wouldn’t be home on the weekends.
Not that any of that mattered to Garrett. This was a hook-up and a hook-up only. But gathering this type of information always proved valuable in the art of seduction. One couldn’t approach an unknown, especially a woman of such considerable maturity and elegance, without every tool available. He could slip in a mention of her daughter’s school or how she couldn’t possibly be old enough to have a child in college.
Women loved it when people thought they were younger than they actually were. Hell, men loved it too. Garrett had always looked older than his age, especially when he was a kid. Being 6’3” definitely contributed. He could see that in another decade, he’d be flattered by someone thinking he was still in his thirties. But he had a ways to go yet.
Plenty of time to figure out my life before I turn forty, he thought with a self-deprecating smirk. And it was just about that time that he wandered into what appeared to be Anjuli’s home office. There was a metal and glass desk, very sleek-looking and probably impossible to keep clean. On top was a laptop and another monitor, speakers, keyboard. There were some motivational quotes on the walls, all #girlpower type stuff. But it was one wall, the wall just above the long, completely filled bookcase that really caught his attention. There were diplomas neatly displayed in beautiful cherry frames.
And one of them was for a PhD in...he leaned closer to inspect...Clinical Psychology from Duke University.
Though it was like a sucker-punch that the one thing he’d been trying to achieve for his entire adulthood was hanging adroitly on this woman’s wall, it made his desire for her burn even more intensely. He wanted to fuck that fucking degree right out of her, her back arching, her mind numb, her throat scratched from screaming out his name over and over again as she clutched the sheets and forgot how to even spell “clinical psychology.”
He heard the front door of her apartment close and realized the din of the crowd had dissipated. The video playing in his mind of what he planned to do as soon as everyone left abruptly ended as he made his way down the hall to see if they were indeed alone. He found her at the door with what appeared to be the last guests, all smiles and alcohol-induced red cheeks as they bade each other farewell.
When she closed the door for the final time and spun to face him, he was ready, armed with the boyish grin he’d given her earlier at the liquor store. “I guess I should be heading home too,” he said, though he in no way meant it.
Her eyes traced the outline of his figure before returning to his face, where she studied his mouth and its upturned corners briefly before suggesting, “One more drink?”
He hadn’t had anything since early in the evening. He’d done a few shots with a couple he might have considered trying to go home with if he wasn’t so hellbent on fucking the hostess. They were definitely down. He could tell the man was bi, too. He kept winking at Garrett and was obviously aroused when his wife rubbed her ass against Garrett’s backside when some new dance hit came on Anjuli’s Pandora station.
Ordinarily, he’d jump at the chance to play with a couple, particularly one with a bi male—it was the best of both worlds, and he loved the look in the wife’s eyes when he impaled her husband with his enormous cock—but not tonight. Tonight, he only had designs for one bedmate. And she was standing in front of him with her hair still tightly coiled in that sleek black bun she’d been wearing when they’d met earlier in the day. He wanted to unravel that tight, dark coil so badly. His cock ached thinking about it.
He didn’t need to answer Anjuli’s offer for another drink because she poured him one without waiting for a response. He joined her in her small but efficient-looking kitchen. The appliances were all stainless, and the only illumination was a strip of LED lights beneath the cabinets, which reflected on the shiny flecks in the black granite countertop.
“Cheers,” she said, swallowing it down.
“Damn, what is this?” He shuddered as it burned his throat.
“It’s Indian,” she answered with a sly grin, licking the remnants of the bitter drink from her lips.
“Thanks for having me here tonight,” Garrett said, stepping closer to her. He was prepared to lift her chin toward him and press a soft kiss on her lips, but before he knew it, she threw her arms around him, tugging his face down to suck his lips into her mouth as if starved for human flesh.
That was all the encouragement he needed to lift her by the legs and slam her against the wall between the kitchen and living area. Her deep moan resonated through his ears as he lowered his lips to her neck, feasting upon the curve that extended to her bare shoulder. This dress is history, he decided, and that was the next move he made, setting her on the ground just long enough to whip it off her head according to his best-laid plan. So to speak...
She stood before him, her bronze skin glowing under the soft lights cast from the kitchen, and her full, luscious breasts held in place with jade-colored satin and lace. When his eyes traveled down her sumptuously curvy torso, they fell on matching panties clinging to her hips in the most delicious of ways. All he could think about was ripping those babies off her thighs and feasting on the succulent fruit that lay between them.
“Fuck,” he murmured as she reached behind her back to unclasp the bra. As gorgeous as it was, lifting her beauties high and proud, the end result was even more spectacular as her luscious mounds fell softly against her ribcage, revealing two dark, erect nipples pointing directly at him and begging for the attention of his mouth.
He was so mesmerized by her, he must have frozen, his eyes stuck to her like super glue. She broke him out of his reverie when a single word expelled from her lips on a soft sigh: “Please...”
“Where?” he asked, innocently enough.
In only her jade-green panties, she led him down the hall to her bedroom, the one room in her apartment he had not dared to explore during the party. He hoped he’d see it, though; he’d hoped for the grand tour. Actually, the only part of the room that interested him was the bed with her in it. Just as she was now in all her curvy beauty, except for the panties, of course. But those Would. Come. Off.
Now I have a body to strip. My own.
Before he could begin to work on the buttons of his shirt, her fingers were on the scene, deftly sliding those round plastic disks through the holes with the dexterity of a surgeon. Once the last one was undone, she tugged at the sleeve, and he finished the job. He took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, and yes, he had to admit, tightening his abs just a bit as her fingertips trailed over them, inciting all the hairs on his arms to bristle. He doubted she could see much in the dark, but her fingers certainly seemed capable of sending the message to her brain about how badly he wanted her. They marched right down his rippled abs to the button on his pants and twisted it impatiently. She let out a deep growl of a moan when it came free, and she was pulling down his zipper with her next breath.
He maneuvered out of his pant legs, and now they matched each other, his cotton boxer briefs against her silky panties. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her body close to his, feeling the heat of her skin soak through his pores and igniting every one of his nerves. He’d had a bulge in his pants since their kiss in the hallway, but now his whole body was flooded with desire. He couldn’t wait to release the beast from its confines and sink it deep within her soft, honey-soaked folds.
She was just as voracious as he. He had gotten used to Mara—who could be forward to a point, but then as soon as clothes came off, she was coy and submissive. Not this fully bloomed rose. She obviously felt at home walking the thin line between control and mind-shattering rapture. Her hands and lips were everywhere, and for a moment he wondered what he had gotten himself into.
Then he remembered that in spite of all of his failings, all of his miserably pathetic attempts at making a life for himself, crawling out of and away from the shitshow of his youth, the one thing he had always been proud of, confident of was his sexual prowess. Male or female partners. Young or old. Experienced or inexperienced, he prided himself on his ability to transcend his lowly terrestrial stature and deliver an experience that bordered on the divine. When he bragged about his abilities, some called him cocky. But afterward, they were typically too breathless to speak. Put up or shut up, he always said. And the cliché go big or go home seemed to apply as well.
He worked Anjuli’s body toward the bed. If anyone had ever wondered how much kissing two humans could possibly do, they were answering that question. His lips never broke from hers as he pushed her onto the mattress, swallowing the sigh that escaped her mouth when her backside made contact. She felt solid beneath him, a writhing mass of curves and need, and he wondered when she’d last been fucked.
If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been a while, he thought as he slid down her damp body. Desire was oozing from every pore, or maybe it was sweat. Some combination thereof. He’d know more once his mouth made contact with her pussy, which he was not at all surprised to find had soaked her silky panties. He could have wrung them out, they were so wet. He worked them down her quivering thighs with the flourish of a performer. Which he was. Through and through. She had no idea what was coming. She had just purchased a ticket to The Navigator Show, and her body was his stage.
“I want to taste you,” he growled once he resumed his position between her full, luscious thighs. He was already envisioning them wrapped around his head, squeezing him senseless as she rode waves of ecstasy under the direction of his mouth, but he was trying not to get ahead of himself. Despite the ache of his cock as it pressed into the mattress, craving a wet, warm refuge, he would reach deep within himself and pull out his patience. It was in there somewhere.
“Fuck yes...” Her words were so breathy and desperate for his tongue that there was barely any voice behind them.
She lifted her hips to him like an offering, serving herself to him upon a silver platter. His instincts told him she was the type of woman who wanted a quick release and was probably capable of multiple orgasms. Impatience radiated off her, but he knew making her wait...gradually edging her...would pay dividends. He intended to see if his theory proved true by lowering his face to her wanton mound and slowly, intentionally breathing in a deep whiff of her, then exhaling it like a burst of radiant heat, inflamed by the moisture on her skin.
He was pleased when her hips bucked against him. She threaded her fingers through his hair, forcing his chin to graze against her neatly groomed triangle of dark curls. His beard was growing and would likely be too scruffy if she were clean shaven, as were most of the women he’d been with. But against her soft, springy adornment, the extra friction drove her wild. He took his time delineating all three sides with kisses and delivering additional blasts of heat with each breath he exhaled.
Her entire pelvis lifted off the mattress. “Garrett...please...”
He wondered if she felt his wicked grin spread against her sensitive flesh. “Please what?”
“Please just fuck me,” she begged, her voice dripping with need, with desperation. “Fuck...”
His cock twitched as that syllable escaped her lips, then he delved his tongue out to collect the pool of desire dripping from her sealed slit. The tip of his tongue parted her sex, and she let out a gasp. “You want my tongue or my cock?” he asked, raising his mouth from her.
She answered by grabbing his head and pushing him back down onto her mound. He liked that. That she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to tell him. He’d always appreciated that about older women. Sarah Lynde—the sociology professor—had been like that...yet she was submissive in her next breath. He loved the layers of her, the complexity. Maybe Anjuli would prove to be the same.
He was careful not to give too much attention to her clit. Her back pressed into the mattress, and her thighs squeezed around his head, trying to control his speed and pressure. But he’d have nothing of that. He recalled one partner who quipped, “They must call you The Navigator because of how you know your way around a pussy...”
She was clawing the bed, arching her back with deep primal moans gurgling up her throat, and yet he would not concede and let her climax. So I have a bit of sadistic streak, he thought, but only when it’s in my partner’s best interest. He suddenly didn’t want her to come on his tongue at all. He wanted her to build up every single ounce of need behind a huge, towering wall and feel it all explode around his cock when he finally slipped it inside her.
Her wriggling only intensified, the begging too. “Fuck...please,” she gasped, barely coherent at this point. She was not a woman used to waiting, that much he could tell.
“What do you want?” he asked, breaking contact. He felt tremors surging up and down her thighs as her body clamored for more of him, more tongue, more fingers, more anything if it would relieve her need.
“Fuck me,” she begged. “I want you inside me.”
He was impressed she was able to articulate her desire so emphatically in her compromised state. He nodded, leaning over the bed to retrieve a condom from his pants pocket. She was panting as she watched him roll it down his engorged shaft, the light from the hallway just enough to illuminate his silhouette.
“How badly do you need to come, Anjuli?” he asked with an evil grin as he pressed the crown of his cock against her swollen pussy lips. Between her own juices and his saliva, he could tell it would only take a swift thrust to bury himself to the hilt inside her. He typically had to warm up his partners quite a bit to take his enormous cock, but Anjuli was as primed as could be. She was a case study on the results of masterful foreplay. This should be in a fucking textbook, he thought with a proud smirk.
She shifted her hips, trying to impale herself on him, but he held back, waiting for an answer. This delay only seemed to intensify her frustration. She half-sat up, threw her arms around him, and pulled him down on top of her, her hands digging into his firm ass cheeks. “Fuck, please...I want to come on your cock,” she rasped out. Her nails were like daggers in his hips as she writhed against him.
She’s ready. I’ve tortured her enough.
He leaned back just a bit, enough to reposition himself at her entrance, and when he was sure he was properly aligned, he impaled her with one powerful thrust. The scream that tore from her lips probably landed somewhere near the Atlantic coast, 100 miles or so away, but it sounded like heaven in his ears as her legs wrapped around his hips. Her body tensed, a moan caught in her throat, then she exploded around him with the force of an undersea volcano, spreading her ash and ecstasy as far as the waves would carry them.
