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Still leaning against one side of the doorframe, Midas says, “Get dressed.”
He’s already seen me change, but this feels different. In his room. With his bed. Dangerous. Risky. So hot. My nipples feel like they’re straining to get to him. I’m even wetter than before, which I didn’t think was possible. I really wish I still had underwear on. The coarse fabric of my leggings teases my uncovered clit when I clench my thighs.
“On the bed,” he says.
I quiver as I walk towards the bed, pulling my sweater off as I go, ready to climb on top of it and strip, then do whatever he tells me to do next. But when I get closer, I notice the dress and newly washed underwear laid out for me.
I look back at Midas, wondering how long he’ll stand in the doorway staring at me while I change, like he did in the dress shop. Will he torture me by making me wait, or will he pounce at any moment and throw me down on the bed?
He pushes a button along the wall and the glass doors close. I notice there’s a fire in the fireplace near the bed. It looks like a wood fire, and smells a bit like one too, but it must be gas because I didn’t see him light it. One of the many buttons by the door probably turns it on.
“I’ll be downstairs.” He turns and saunters out of the room with his hands in his pockets. I almost call him back, but there must be a reason he didn’t take advantage of the situation. It was clear I wanted him to.
Maybe there’s just not enough time before the party. I shimmy out of my pants, leaving the door open, hoping he’ll change his mind and come back.
The dress fits like a glove. But when I put it on, I realize I don’t have shoes that go with it. Midas thought of everything but that. Maybe he just wanted me to be comfortable. The dress is definitely long enough to cover my tennis shoes.
I examine my reflection in the full-length mirror that stretches almost from the floor to the ceiling next to the fireplace. It’s as wide as my bedroom wall and cleaner than any mirror I’ve ever seen, offering a perfect reflection of the entire room. Including the bed.
I lick my lips. The bright lipstick the woman at the salon put on me doesn’t budge. She said it was smudge proof, but I honestly didn’t believe her. I kind of want to test how smudge proof the lipstick really is by calling Midas back in here and sucking his cock until he comes on my lips.
I haven’t given a man a blow job since I was in high school—haven’t done much of anything with a man since then, honestly. Between school, work, and taking care of Finley, there hasn’t been much time. But I used to love sucking a man off. It never failed to get me all hot and bothered, worked up for whatever came next.
Just thinking about it has me squeezing my thighs together, trying to find some friction.
There’s so much I haven’t gotten to experience. Life has constantly taken from me. It’s time I start taking from life, seizing it by the balls and making it my bitch. I giggle. Okay, maybe I’m a little delirious after all that’s happened today. It doesn’t entirely feel real.
But I’m ready to make the most of whatever happens next.
With a giant grin, I march out of the room and down the stairs, ready to suck the marrow out of life. And the cum out of Midas’s cock.
He’s sitting in a chair by the open fire, reading a book, the perfect gentleman. He’s wearing a white tux that’s perfectly tailored to show off his physique. Normally, I’m of the opinion that tuxedos should only ever be black, but he might be my one exception. He looks like he’s glowing.
When he glances up at me, there’s a flickering flame in his eyes. Must be a reflection from the fire. He blinks and it’s gone.
“Come here,” he says, setting down the book on the chair next to him.
I step closer and give a slow twirl. “What do you think?”
“You need one more thing. Sit.” He stands up and motions for me to sit in the seat he just vacated. When I do, he sinks to his knees in front of me and picks up a shoebox I hadn’t noticed before.
My breath catches in my throat as he pulls out two shiny red heels. They’re the exact color of the flames that line the bottom of my dress. I’ve never been obsessed with shoes the way some girls are, but these are gorgeous.
“May I?”
I nod, and he slowly unties my tennis shoes, one at a time. Once he’s finished, he picks up my right foot and slides it into the right heel. A perfect fit. The man is a wizard.
His hand trails up my calf, then back down before taking my left foot and slipping on the other shoe. This time, with his eyes still on me, he lifts my leg a little higher and kisses the inside of my ankle. Another kiss, this one on the inside of my calf. Then, the inside of my knee.
Before he can get where I really want him, he stands and pulls me up with him.
“In three centuries, I’ve never seen anything as lovely.”
I laugh at his exaggeration. “Monica really did a great job tailoring the dress. And the shoes are perfect.”
“I wasn’t talking about any of that.” He sets his hands on my hips, gliding his thumbs back and forth along the soft fabric that gathers there. A tingly, fluttery feeling races from those gentle touches down towards my core, flooding me with heat.
Unable to wait anymore, I slowly lower myself down to the ground, coming to my knees before him.
