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12
Peter
I arrive back in New York City a day early. Some of my West Coast locations were having trouble getting masks in for their workers so I asked a friend in the textile industry to make some for me. I paid to have some of her machinery re-fitted to produce the masks, and paid her seamstresses time and a half too. It makes sense, after all. I value my workers and want them to know I appreciate them working through this difficult period. But now, I’m ready to get home to see Whitney again.
We video chatted while I was away, but she seemed a little distant and I couldn’t figure out why. I asked her multiple times if something was wrong and she insists there wasn’t. But my inner self tells me that something’s off. I wonder if I pushed her too far out of her comfort zone when we had sex. I don’t think she realizes how powerful her sexual presence is.
I want to make it up to her, so I’ve arranged for a picnic on the terrace. That cam show she did where she set up the picnic on her bed was one of my favorites. It comes in second only to the roller skating carhop, which still gets me hard whenever I think back. Whitney, wearing nothing but knee-high socks and old-school roller skates? Yes, please.
But tonight, I’ve pulled out all the stops for our date. I’ve had sod rolled out to create a grassy area for a plaid blanket. Pots of tulips in colors called sunshine, salmon, scarlet, and merlot surround a small picnic area. There’s cheese and fruit ready to snack on while I prepare dinner, and a bottle of rich cabernet waits to be uncorked. There’s only one thing left to do: to text Whitney.
Peter: My driver has a package for you. Please it on before you come over, sweetheart.
Whitney: You didn’t have to get me a present! You’ve already given me so much.
Peter: Consider it a present for me then.
Whitney: Uh-oh. Can I wear it out in public or do I need to put a trench coat on over it?
Peter: LOL, no trench coat necessary. See you soon.
Whitney: Can’t wait.
Finally, reception calls up to tell me Whitney’s arrived, and my heart begins racing. I meet her at the elevator with a cocktail in hand. The door slides open, and she looks ravishing, her brown curls bouncing and those chestnut eyes soft and warm.
“What is this?” she asks as I hand her the martini glass in exchange for her overnight bag.
I grin.
“That is an alcoholic version of my peach white chocolate milkshake. There’s peach schnapps, white chocolate liqueur, whipped vodka, and a splash of peach nectar in there.”
She takes a sip and smiles at me. My heart begins pounding. How does this girl get under my skin so fast?
“This tastes too good to be a martini. Are you trying to get me drunk?” she sasses.
I grin.
“No. In fact, let me hold that while you give me a 360-degree view of that dress.”
I was right. My gift is perfect, and as Whitney twirls, the halter dress flares and looks stunning on her. It has wide vertical stripes alternating between midnight blue velvet and sapphire blue satin with black velvet buttons down the front and the black lace of crinoline peeking out the bottom. She’s paired it with strappy black heels and a black satin ribbon tied in her hair.
“You look stunning, Whitney. It’s a shame I can’t take you out on the town dressed like that.”
Her smile melts for a moment, but then it’s quickly back in place. Did I imagine that?
“No, it’s okay. Pete, this dress is exquisite. You have quite the sense of women’s fashion for a guy, but it really wasn’t necessary.
“It is necessary. Come see.”
I take her hand and lead her towards the balcony.
“I see you don’t have your hands stuffed in your pockets this time,” she teases. “Am I less irresistible this time today?”
I set her drink on the kitchen island and wrap my arms around her waist before lifting her off her feet. Then, I kiss her like I’ve wanted to all week, deep and passionate.
“To answer your question, you are definitely not less irresistible. But we’ll be in bed soon enough. I can wait.”
“Well, Mr. Coleman, how presumptuous of you,” she says with mock outrage. “What makes you think I’m going to sleep with you tonight?”
I grin, my eyes twinkling merrily.
“Even if you hadn’t come prepared with an overnight bag, I think I could seduce you with what’s out here on the terrace.”
I set her down in front of the open French doors to appraise the picnic area I’ve created. She gasps.
“This is so sweet, and it explains the dress too. Is that real grass, by the way?”
“Sure is. It may not be Central Park, but damn it, we’re having a picnic. I’m going to cook us filet mignon with Crimini mushrooms in a burgundy sauce with roasted asparagus and rosemary potatoes. How does that sound?”
