Page 12 of Midlife Tiger’s Last Chance

CHAPTER SEVEN

Minnie

“I don’t think there’s anything in the world I would like more,” Brock says.

I smile a bit bashfully and open the door for him. As I step over the threshold, Brock right behind me, I realize this is the first time I have a man in my home since my ex-husband. The few dates I manage before Brock, if they end up in more than just a platonic capacity, are always consummated at a hotel or the guy’s place. It’s strange to suddenly be fully aware of my house and whether or not it’s clean. I feel a moment of panic but then thank whatever twist of fate made me obsessive-compulsive about things. At the very least, I know my bedroom is as perfectly clean as any hotel room might be. I’m caught up enough in the moment that several seconds pass before I remember I have a guest.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask. At least, that’s what I intend to ask. I manage to say, “Can…” but then the memory of that kiss outside of the dress shop takes over and my words trail off. I am the least forward human being I know. I’m also damned out of practice when it comes to being with a man. Nonetheless, I move quickly toward him and put my mouth on his. This time, the kiss doesn’t begin awkwardly as it did on the street. On the contrary, I immediately feel one of his hands between my shoulder blades, pulling me against him as I put my hands around his waist. The kiss is far more aggressive and speaks far more of what is about to happen.

His other hand slides down to the small of my back. I love that. I love even more that he keeps sliding it down and once it’s on my ass I let out a soft moan against his kiss. He doesn’t just rest his hand on my ass but squeezes. Perhaps I’m just overly dramatic. Perhaps I am just starved for a man’s touch. Whatever it is, the feel of him squeezing my ass cheek feels not only like the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt but, in addition, like the most romantic thing. I don’t get it, but I don’t give a damn either. I kiss him passionately and he kisses me back savagely. When there’s finally a break in the kiss, his voice sounds gravely and rough as he says, “Bedroom.”

God! I can’t tell if it’s a command or a question. I breathe out, “Upstairs,” and his mouth returns with a kiss even fiercer than before. As he kisses me, he slides the hand between my shoulder blade down and suddenly I have two hands on my ass. He uses them to lift me up and I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking. I realize we’re moving as he kisses me and he doesn’t break off the kiss until he’s carrying me up the stairs. I say, “Only bedroom… only bedroom on the left.” He kisses me again and it feels like the kiss lasts forever. It finally ends when he sets me down and I stand with him at the foot of my bed.

I don’t stand for long. He reaches for my dress but I am already on my knees, tugging at his belt and yanking his pants and underwear to his ankles. He still wears the suit jacket on top and as my lips close around his cock, the visual of me as his employee sucking my boss off in his suit is incredibly tantalizing and I feel my pussy grow wet as I moan around his thick member.

He’s so big! I’m almost afraid I won’t be able to fit him inside me. God knows it’s already hard enough to fit my mouth around him.

He moans and I lift a hand to caress his balls while I suck. I look up into his eyes and let my tongue travel around his shaft as I suck back and forth, moaning each time I go deep.

Finally, he pulls me to my feet and tosses me on the bed. I open my legs, expecting him to thrust into me but instead, he drops to his knees and buries his face in my pussy.

I cry out and stiffen as pleasure shoots through me like a thousand electric shocks. His tongue flicks expertly around my clit and his hands continue to travel all over my body, stimulating me and intensifying the sensations in my clit and my pussy.

“Oh my God, Brock!” I cry out.

I can’t believe the intensity. It’s overpowering, really. I am careening toward an orgasm that’s certainly going to be extraordinarily powerful. I can’t believe it’s just like my fantasy.

No.

Not quite.

Remembering my fantasy, I groan and cry out, “Fuck me, Mr. Matheson!”

He stands and slams into me, growling and thrusting fast and hard. The intensity in his gaze turns me on to no end and after only a few minutes, I can feel my orgasm drive right to the edge. I lift my head, and he tilts him down to look at me. I intend to tell him I’m going to cum, just like in my fantasy but I’m breathless now, completely unable to speak. He holds tightly to my waist as he thrusts into me hard and fasts.

Here's what I don’t get.

He’s fucking me.

I mean that with an emphasis on the word fucking.

His body moves with a great deal of power and speed. The sheer physicality of this moment is unmistakable. This man, this business icon, moves with as much athleticism and aggression as I might expect in the most powerful boxer or football player or… or, well, whatever kind of sportsman requires a whole hell of lot athleticism and aggression. He moves with that kind of strength and power, and it’s all but impossible to even think because of how he just devastates my body.

The part that I don’t get is simple.

Despite the fact that he’s delivering a thorough pounding, this whole situation feels just as magical as the kisses, just as sweetly overwhelming as the way I was treated in the dress shop, and just as flirty and tender as our whole date. In fact, despite the fact that there is no way to avoid describing what he does as fucking the hell out of me; this feels like making love.

Making love!

I’m not saying that description makes sense at all. I’m not trying to say that. Nonetheless, that’s how it feels, and I can’t help but feel an emotional response as deeply profound as the physical response. It’s pretty much the opposite, too. I mean, sure, there’s excitement but the sex is like getting lambasted in an amazing way while the emotions are more like a sweet and soft caress.

“Oh, God! God!” I cry as the orgasm seems to hit even harder.

He moves forward and suddenly he’s not standing at the foot of the bed and fucking me. On the contrary, he’s above me, his weight pressing down on me and the closeness beautiful. I throw my arms around him and hold tightly to his back. I lift my legs, too, crossing them over his waist and using my legs to help me meet his thrusts. Speaking of his thrusts; they are still very powerful. However, they don’t feel as violent now, probably because of the intimacy of the closeness.

Hell, I don’t know.

At times like these, I wish the attention to detail that really makes me incredible as an insurance claims specialist would give me a break. What’s happening at the moment is beyond explanation and beyond comprehending. I hear his breathing change and I moan loudly, “Oh, God, Brock. Cum. Cum, Brock!” I feel a strange burst of pride that I’m able to get this man to cum twice. I think it’s probably a silly thing to be so proud of but I can’t help myself. It’s how I feel. It’s how I feel and it’s a wonderful thing.

When he groans and empties himself in me, I feel another burst of that same triumphant feeling. Mustering whatever energy might be left in reserve for me, I claw at his back and move frantically beneath him, wiggling my ass back and forth and pulling myself up as rapidly as I can. My orgasm ratchets up about three pegs and I know I’m pushing his climax up another level as well. When I finally can’t move anymore and just kind of go limp, I notice Brock isn’t moving either. I wonder how long I kept moving after he stopped.

Naturally, the two of us are breathing very, very hard. I feel lightheaded and wrecked. I feel wonderful. When I can get my hands to move, I run them softly up and down his back. I intend to say something beautiful and romantic. Instead, I blurt out in an exhausted whisper, “Jesus. I just fucked Brock Matheson!”

He chuckles and kisses my throat. “Jesus,” he says. “I just fucked Minerva King!”

The giggling that has intermittently threatened the entire day finally breaks through.

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