Page 43 of Well Played

Willow

I gaspat the battery-operated candles illuminating Bronx’s living room. “Is all this for me?”

“Wait …” Without releasing my hand, Bronx leads me to a record player, and within seconds a sultry jazz sound fills the room. “May I have this dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He twirls me out of his jacket and into his body, my right hand in his left, his left arm around my waist as his hand slowly caresses the top of my ass. I close my eyes and allow him to rock my body. I always feel safe when sleeping in his arms, but as Bronx holds me while we dance, I feel cherished. I feel as if he had the choice out of all the women in the world, and he still chose me.

When the next song starts, so do his hands. Fingers send shivers up and down my spine as they walk up my arms, only stopping when they reach the edge of my dress.

“May I?” he asks. I respond by unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his trousers. He drops the dress sleeves over myarms, helping me undress until I’m dancing in my shoes and underwear.

I've laid next to his naked chest so many nights, but this is different. This time, I can touch him knowing that there's no pulling back. He can press against my almost naked body and know neither one of us needs to apply the brake. Tonight, there’ll be no stopping.

When he kisses me, I feel an urgency that I've never felt before. This is different. This is special. This is my last first time, I just know it. There will never be another man like Bronx, not for me. I thought I loved the image but that man had only been a fantasy. Bronx, the man in my bed and in my heart is the real deal. He is everything I want in a partner, and in the father of my future children. He is It, and the thought is terrifying and exhilarating.

“Unfair,” I murmur, tearing my mouth from his so I can concentrate on removing his trousers. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Bronx flips the LP and leads me to his bedroom where there are more candles.

“You’ve gone all out.”

“You’re worth it.”

Gently, he lays me under the bed adoring me with his eyes. “You are so beautiful.”

I feel beautiful when he looks at me. I never feel ashamed about my curves or feel the need to suck in my stomach as he kisses me down my breasts and towards my core.

“So beautiful,” he says, reverently cupping my breasts and plying them with even kisses. “These are so beautiful.”

I don’t know what to say, so I pull his face back to mine and hunt for his lips, loving how my hunger is returned. His hands continue to roam freely around my body. I try to tease him by playing with his pecs and counting abs when we both know that it is his dick that deserves my attention.

Kisses, more kisses. With each kiss, I feel more wanting … more needy … more anxious to feel what it’s like to be completely Bronx’s. “Please, I want you to make love to me.”

He reaches over to the nightstand and hands me a condom.

“Don’t you want to do it?” I push the plastic wrapper back into his hand.

“Would you hold it against me if I’m out of practice?”

“What?” Hiding my surprise, I tear open the wrapper.

“Ooh, please tell me that’s the only thing you’ll be doing with your teeth,” he jokes. “Seriously, I haven’t done this in forever.”

“Because she left you, and …”

“No one before you.”

His words mean more than I can express, so I concentrate on unrolling the condom, hold it to his tip, and realize I've done it all wrong.

“I’m so sorry.” I throw my head back in exasperation. “Way to kill the mood – I’m not an expert at these things, either.”

“Do they come with instructions?” He laughs, and rolls me onto my back, straddling me with his erection lying on my stomach. “You know, you put the erect dick in and take the erect dick out, you put the erect dick in and you shake it all about.”

“You what would be more useful than singing about it?” I tease, “looking up a YouTube or TikTok channel on how to do this.”

“You don’t like my singing?” He finally has the condom rolled down his impressive shaft.

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