Page 40 of Unwanted Vows

I turn toward him, placing my hand on his face. He has a light stubble on his cheeks, so blond I can hardly see it in the low light of the bedroom.

Andrew grabs his phone and turns on some classical music. As the piano notes dropped slowly into the room, he snuggled me up and asked, “Charles mentioned some kind of alarm system here. What’s the alarm phrase?”

“There are a couple,” I say, “but the big one, usable by anyone is you say the system’s name, just like you did now, then you say, “Hey, rube, the enemy’s at the gate. The system will pick it up, and relay it as a priority, and even put it on an external speaker.”

“Why that phrase?” Andrew asks, slowly undoing the buttons on my blouse.

I suck in my breath as he slides a hand inside my blouse, his palm gliding over my nipple. I order my thoughts and say, “According to lore about circuses and carnivals, it was something the circus people would shout if there was a problem with the ‘townies’ as they called the local people at each stop.”

“No cell service in those places, I guess,” Andrew says, easing my blouse off my shoulder.

It shouldn’t have been erotic, him talking softly as if we were having a polite conversation over cocktails or tea, but it was. I had to struggle to keep my mind on his words as he undressed me as delicately as if I were a trauma patient he did not want to frighten.

After the blouse is out of the way, he goes to work unclasping my bra. He slides those long, graceful hands over my back, lifting me gently so my back arches to display my breasts to an advantage.

“No,” I gasp as he runs his tongue over my nipple, “not back then.”

“Interesting to use such a simple code phrase,” he says, giving his attention to my other nipple. “But possibly more effective than inventing something new.”

He began to drop tiny kisses along my breastbone and then across my stomach.

“Did you have a panic word? Out there in . . .” I gasp, as his kisses trail south of my belly button. I am in a flutter of anticipation laced with a tiny bit of terror, as he progresses lower.

“You are going to think it stupid,” he says, then blows a hot breath through the fabric of my panties. I fight down a moan, along with the desire to lift my hips and beg for his attention.

He slides my undies slowly over my hips, watching my face as he does so.

“Tell me,” I say, digging my fingers into the mattress, trying to remain cool and calm.

“We’d announce over the speaker, ‘Mr. Right, report for your appointment. Report stat, Mr. Right.’ If there was a fire, we’d say, ‘Mr. Right, please check your coat tails.’”

Then I lose interest in code words. I suck in another breath, dig my fingers deeper into the mattress, and tilt my pelvis, opening myself wide to him as his tongue flicks across the spot that most guys can’t find with a road map and GPS.

I’m melting. His tongue is like magic, finding all the secret places that have longed for attention all these years. I writhe, a soft moan escaping my lips.

He eases back away from me. I feel bereft, neglected, empty. I need … I need to be filled, to be loved, to be fucked.

He grins at me, as he slowly removes his shirt, then slides out of his slacks, watching me, watching me react as his penis springs free from his briefs.

He helps me finish getting undressed.. Then he climbs back on the bed, like a big stalking cat, and stretches over me. He doesn’t put his weight down on me. Instead, he holds himself just close enough that I can feel his heat on my skin but I am not rewarded with the pleasure of his touch.

“Do you want this?” he whispers in my ear.

“Yes,,” I respond breathlessly, desperate for him to touch me.

“Beg,” he demands, the tip of him teasing my opening.

I spread my legs wide, tilting my pelvis to welcome him, pleading without words for him to fill up the aching need inside of me that nothing else has been able to fill.

“Pay the toll,” he says with a little growl in my ear.

I huff with laughter, despite my frustration, then I grow more serious as I meet his gaze. “Please,” I whisper to him, nipping my teeth into my lower lip. “Please fuck me, Andrew.”

His mouth curves into that smile that I love so much and he starts to press forward into me, then stops again. He looks down at me almost regretfully.

“What?” I ask, starting to feel desperate. It feels like I’ll die if he doesn’t fuck me.

“I don’t have any protection,” he replies, looking around the room as if condoms were going to magically appear out of thin air.

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