Page 37 of Say You Love Me

Finity is sitting at the table, shoulders slumped, her fingers toying with the stem of a wine glass. She’s dressed in white, the outline of her bra and panties plain to see under the translucent material. The sight of her causes me to swallow deeply.

She looks over, but there’s no welcoming smile, no light in her eyes. The table is set with a roast dinner, too much food for just the two of us. “Surprise,” she says dully.

She stands, a little unsteady on her feet which are clad in stupidly high heels that make her legs appear as though they go on forever. Her hips sway as she walks over to a chair and pulls it out, a strained smile plastered on her face.

“Take a seat.”

I step closer, my hand stretching out to brush her cheek, but she moves just out of reach, arching her eyebrows and nodding to the seat.

As I lower myself into the chair, she takes my plate and leans across the table to serve me. She bends low each time she dips a serving spoon into a dish and her lace-covered breasts flash me from the low scoop of her dress. Once she’s done, she lowers the plate back in front of me, her breasts so close I can almost taste them.

I know the game she’s playing. She had this all ready for me, the dinner, the candles, the outfit, and I was late. She’s annoyed and she’s punishing me, but if taunting me with her body is punishment, I’ll take it every day of my life.

When she walks away, she moves her hips, swaying them from side to side. From this angle it’s easier to see how short the dress is. The hem dances as she walks, showing just the finest hint of her ass cheeks. She’s wearing white lace panties which don’t start until halfway up her ass, giving me the most delightful of views.

As tempting as the food she set before me is, it’s not food I’m hungry for. It’s her. She’s all I can think about as I spoon the cold meal into my mouth. Work is forgotten and even though the stress of the day is bunched about my shoulders, there’s only one way I want to release it.

“I’m sorry.” My gaze darts about her body as though it doesn’t quite know where to settle. Her nipples are peaked, poking through the material of her dress. They tease, begging me to lick, bite, taste. Her hair is draped about her shoulders, dark and glorious, and I want to run my hands through its thickness, tug on the strands.Her eyes are dark and burning, but her gaze holds a slight detachment, or maybe it’s a challenge. A challenge to remind her that she’s made for me, she’s mine.Lately, the only times I’ve seen her smile is just after I’ve been buried inside her. She craves the connection as much as I do and we’ve both been suffering from a lack of it.

“Eat your dinner,” she orders.

I take another mouthful, though I don’t taste a thing. I’m too distracted, too taken with her. She knows her power over me, always holding her body just out of reach as she walks by, letting her scent wash over me, but not letting me touch.

My dick is so hard it hurts by the time we finish dinner, but she still keeps her distance, still holds herself from me. Every time I reach for her hand, she pulls away. When she walks past me, bringing each of the plates to the bench, I step in her path, demanding she look at me, but she simply steps around me, keeping her eyes locked on the ground.

She’s playing a game. A game I must win. I wait until she’s walked back and forth a dozen times, rinsing each dish and putting it into the dishwasher. My eyes devour her hungrily when she stretches high or bends low, until it all becomes too much and I stalk over and cage her against the wall. I don’t touch her though. I tower over her, my hands on the wall either side of her head, resisting the urge to press my body against hers.

“What do think you’re doing?” My voice is a low rumble, the sort of tone which I know sends shivers down her spine. And sure enough, her body responds. Her breath catches, her nipples harden even more and her gaze flicks up to mine defiantly.

“You’re late.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

“I wanted to cook you a nice meal.”

“You did.”

“I wanted you to fuck me.” She looks up slowly as she says the words. Slowly and seductively. I don’t know how she does it, but she has this way of making her eyes go all wide and innocent, and she runs her tongue over her bottom lip in such a way that makes me groan.

I grip her chin between my thumb and my finger, forcing her to keep her gaze on me. “Oh, I will.”

But just as I’m lowering my mouth to claim hers, she ducks under my arm and runs away, laughing like a schoolgirl. I turn around, just in time to watch as she pulls her white dress over her head and lets it float to the ground. She stands tantalizingly, dressed only in white lace underwear. Her eyes flash playfully, teasingly, and I lunge toward her, only to have her dash away at the last moment, running into the living room.

She stands on one side of the couch, while I stand on the other, trying to gauge which way she’s going to run. She squeals when I leap over and runs up the stairs, laughter falling in her wake.

I chase her, taking two steps at a time as I try to gain the ground between us. I have her pinned in the bedroom but she clambers over the bed to escape me, giving me the most perfect view of her ass.

Her laughter alternates between screams and squeals as she runs down the stairs, her breasts jiggling with each hurried step. I leap as she passes the couch again and we both go crashing to the floor. She thrashes and squirms but she’s trapped. I’m kneeling over her, my knees holding the sides of her body still, my hands wrapped tightly around her wrists. I hold her hands over her head.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, Mrs James.”

She laughs and bucks her hips. I keep her wrists trapped with one hand, while I use the other to lower the straps of her bra. I suck on her breasts hungrily, nipping the bead of her left nipple between my teeth, before undoing the clasps and tossing her bra away.

She’s still laughing and squealing but when my eyes lock on hers, she begins to still, the teasing glint to her eyes fading to lust.

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