Learning to Soar (8 page)

She leant back in her chair and sighed. Damien’s soft lips parted and took her smallest toe between them. The soft, wet heat of his mouth sent a jolt up her leg, but she successfully stifled her body’s reflex to kick. He held her calf between his hands, kneading her flesh, and moved on to her next toe. Chloe studied the silky, soft brown curls of his head as he bent over her foot and slid his tongue between her toes.

“Oh my God,” Chloe sighed. She sipped her champagne and took another nibble of her coconut truffle. Damien eased her big toe into his mouth and sucked. She bit her lower lip and arched her back. Suddenly, her tailored blouse and slim pencil skirt seemed way too confining.

Damien let her toe slide from his mouth and planted kisses down the arch of her foot. “I find that I don’t want to stop with your feet,” he told her. “You ankles appear to need some attention as well. I don’t want to be discourteous to any of your body parts.” He moved his lips to the bumps of her inside ankle and planted kisses on the bony mound. “And your calves,” he murmured. He ran a trail down her calf with his tongue, leaving wet fire in its path. “And the backs of your knees.”

He knelt in front of her and freed her other foot from the heated towel. Damien lifted her left leg and nibbled the tender skin in the crease behind her knee before settling her leg on his shoulder. Then he repeated the motion with Chloe’s other knee.

“And, of course,” he whispered, running kisses up her inner thigh, “There’s one spot that might give you the most pleasure of all.” Chloe felt his hands slide underneath her skirt and gather it roughly up to her hips. She felt trapped, but what a rapturous confinement.

She’d worn her black lace boy shorts today. They were cut straight across her thighs, granny-panties style, but the sheer material revealed everything. Damien nestled his face between her legs and sucked the plump flesh of her labia through the lace. “Mmm,” Chloe hummed, tilting her hips towards him. Damp excitement gathered between her legs, fuelled by the brazen actions of Damien’s lips and tongue. His breathing grew harder, and, without warning, he lifted his face to hers. “I just realised I haven’t kissed your lips, Chloe,” he said with a sideways grin. “Please forgive my bad manners. Would you like that?”

“God, yes,” Chloe replied.

He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her down to him for a long, wet kiss. Chloe tasted her own flavours in his mouth and arched against him, hungry for more of his attention. He held her in a kiss and unbuttoned her blouse with quick, agile fingers. With his warm tongue filling her mouth, he slid the blouse from her shoulders. The peaks of her breasts tightened into hard nubs as he studied them with obvious approval. Damien lowered his mouth to her skin.

Chloe felt shameless, ecstatic, alive. She held his head to her tit and lifted it with her other hand, willing him to suck more of her flesh into his mouth. She wanted him to devour her.

Damien traced one hand down her belly and gripped the front of her panties in a tight fist. He yanked upward suddenly, pulling the fabric against her swollen lips like a lace rope. The abrupt movement shocked Chloe, but the intense pressure on her sensitive skin was divine. She saw his eyes grow dark with desire. Chloe didn’t know what he would do next, but, oh God, she couldn’t wait to find out.

He pulled harder, stretching the lace over her sensitive flesh. Chloe gasped and bared her teeth. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to let go or to never, ever stop.

“These panties,” he growled, “have got to go.”

 Chloe nodded, dazed.

“I’ll buy you some new ones,” he promised. Damien transferred his fistful of fabric to his left hand and stroked her through the lace. He tore a hole in the delicate, damp material and widened it with one wiggling finger, then lowered his face to her spread legs. Chloe shuddered. The tight lace of her panties, still wadded in his left fist, chafed against her juice-slicked asshole and cunt, while he swirled his soft, wet tongue over the stiff nub of her clitoris.

This was
way
better than chocolate and champagne.

Chloe spread her legs as widely she could, writhing against the sweet torment of her lacy binding. She lifted her hands to play with her stiffened nipples. Damien’s tight grip on her underwear loosened at last—he looked at her with unabashed lust and tore the crotch of her panties wide open. The release from the tight pressure combined with the open air felt like a splash of cool water.

Damien pulled her hips to the edge of her desk chair and kissed her offended folds tenderly. He yanked her knees far apart, stretching her legs until her muscles ached, then held them spread wide. “Please let me…” he whispered, and lowered his face over her belly and between her legs. Chloe groaned when he pushed the tip of his tongue inside her. She felt her skin tingle, from her scalp to her puckered nipples to her peppermint-scented toes. He tongue-fucked her faster, deeper, more urgently.

The pressure on her knees eased. Chloe felt Damien’s fingers in her cunt and his lips on her clit once more. She had the sensation of being in a fast river, rushing towards a steep drop-off until there was simply no chance of swimming to shore. “You’re doing it,” she told him. “You’re taking me there, Damien.”

She gasped, yanked his head tightly to her cunt, and plummeted over the edge of the waterfall into welcoming, swirling darkness.

As she came to, she thought, dazedly, of a phrase she’d learnt in a college French lit class, ‘la petite mort’. She smiled to herself, thinking,
There it is, then. I’ve felt the little death. And yes, it was to die for.

Damien kissed the side of her knee tenderly and sat back on the floor in front of her. Chloe ran her fingers through his hair and gave his earlobe a soft tug. “Okay, then. It’s your turn.”

“Huh?” he looked up, looking vaguely startled. “No, Chloe. Remember, this was all about you.”

“Fair is fair,” Chloe answered, tracing her hand down the lightly stubbled side of his jaw. “You got to push me over the edge, and now I get to do the same to you.” She lowered her eyelids in what she hoped was a sultry expression. “Why don’t you just have a seat, Mr Walters?” She stood and gestured to her office chair with a meaningful tilt of her head while tugging her slim skirt down over her hips.

Damien looked down for a moment and stood. He seemed oddly distant. “Come on,” Chloe asked. “What’s wrong?” She pulled his face to hers for another kiss, but this time it was chaste and light. Damien withdrew with a guarded expression and walked to the door.

“I’ve got some work to do, Chloe,” he said. “I need to meet with the decorator about plans for Razzo.” He cleared his throat. Chloe suddenly felt cold and exposed in her sheer lace bra. She slipped her arms back through her blouse. The bucket of emotional cold ice he’d thrown over her head gave her the chills, as well.

“I was hoping, if you were up for it, that you’d assist me with some clients on Saturday evening,” Damien said. “Glen and Danielle are married, and Danielle sought me out because Glen is disinterested in intimacy with her. I thought that you might be able to help with your female perspective.”

Chloe took a step towards him. “Well, sure, I can do that. I can try, anyway. But, Damien, why are you pulling away from me? I hope I didn’t…” She shrugged. “It seems like you’re—”

Damien covered the distance between them in half a heartbeat. “No, Chloe, you’re perfect. It’s me. I just…can’t go there. I can’t let you touch me like that. It’s a big enough step for me to touch you at all. But
you
are nothing but wonderful, okay?” He kissed her, tracing his tongue between her lips. Chloe’s unpleasant chill melted in his arms, but all too soon, he was out of the door.

“Perfect, huh?” Chloe muttered as she buttoned her blouse. “I think you need a dose of your own medicine, Mr Walters.”

Chapter Nine

Chloe blotted her lips and squinted at her reflection. She hadn’t agonised this much over an outfit since her junior prom. She wanted to look professional, yet approachable—attractive, yet not distractingly so—fashionable, while not girlishly trendy. Dressing like a proper sex therapist was
hard
.

She’d finally settled on her lightweight, three-quarter-sleeved, navy blazer over a tailored tangerine skirt, cinched with a skinny silver belt. Chunky turquoise jewellery accented her neck and slim wrist, and dangling silver discs flashed from her earlobes.
Tailored, but creative! Smart, but fun! That’s the idea, anyway,
Chloe thought. She sighed and grabbed her purse.

Damien waited for her in his office to brief her about Gene and Danielle’s session. He wore a version of his usual outfit—tailored flat-front khakis, a soft, moss green Oxford and a sky blue tie printed with swallows in flight. Chloe was nervous about her performance. She tried to remember how anxious she’d been when she’d had her own session with Damien. It was unsettling to talk about one’s intimate problems, especially with a complete stranger. Damien had done a good job of setting her at ease, though. A really good job. Chloe blushed and sat in the armchair next to him.

“Gene and Danielle will be here in about five minutes,” he told her. “I’ll do most of the talking, and you can just chime in when you feel like you have something to add. My plan might change, but right now I’m guessing that a little role playing might help rekindle Gene’s fire.”

“Role playing? Like, some old school Dungeons and Dragons? Can I be an elven thief?” Chloe quipped.

“Role playing is serious business, and no, you can’t be an elven thief. At least not today, Chloe,” Damien answered, with a little quirk of his mouth. “Role playing might help us get to the root of Gene and Danielle’s problems. I’m hopeful that we’ll make a lot of headway today, and I might give them some homework and ask them to check back next week.” Chloe made a face at the word ‘homework.’ “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “the homework I assign is nothing but fun.” His blue eyes crinkled mischievously.

Chloe felt a tremor in her belly. “Damien, we need to talk about what’s going on between us.” She bit her lower lip. “Like, what’s going on between us?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “I loved what happened yesterday, but what does that mean? And do you do that with, you know, everybody who works here?”

Damien shook his head. “Not at all, Chloe,” he said. “You are the first person I’ve…touched since my divorce, years ago. I’ve got my own scars, Chloe.” He shook his head and searched for words. “There are things I can’t bring myself to allow, and I hope you can accept that. I can’t be a partner. I’m not good at give and take.” He lifted one of her hands and bit her knuckle softly. “I’m awfully good at giving, though.” He flicked the tip of his tongue between her fingers. “I can tell you, though,” he promised, “that I’d never, ever pressure you. If you don’t want me to touch you, you just need to say the word. Your job will definitely still be in place. You are an incredibly valuable addition to Volare.”

Chloe cleared her throat. Why was it that being around Damien made the cups of her bra start to chafe and her internal temperature go up a few degrees? And why was he willing to give endlessly without being willing to receive at all?

A tentative knock on the door stifled her response. Damien admitted Gene and Danielle and made introductions all around. Gene was fairly short and solidly built. He wore nondescript blue jeans and a polo shirt. Beneath a deeply receding hairline, Gene’s eyes were shrewd and alert. He described himself as ‘a football-loving plumber who loves his wife’.
Fair enough
, Chloe thought.

Danielle, on the other hand, looked like she lived at the shopping mall and spent weekends at the beauty parlour. Her heavy makeup was expertly applied. Ash blonde highlights streaked through her artfully teased brown hair. She wore a light pink suit with a cropped, military style jacket, and her manicured fingers sparkled with gems.
Danielle is one high-maintenance lady,
Chloe ascertained. After providing everyone with bottled water, Damien asked Danielle to describe what had brought her to a therapy session with him.

She gave Gene a forlorn look and started her tale of woe. “Gene just doesn’t seem to want me anymore,” she began. She described working for his affections—keeping her body in shape, paying attention to the latest styles, having beauty treatments done regularly. She cleaned their home thoroughly and decorated it beautifully. All she expected was some romance from her husband. Were some flowers and moonlight dancing too much to ask for?

Gene simply shook his head when it was his turn to speak. When pressed, he said, “Look, I came here because Danielle asked me to. She’s everything to me. I tell her that I love her and appreciate her, but it’s not enough for her. I don’t know how to make her happy.” He looked down at his knees. “Maybe I can’t.”

 “Okay, guys, I’d like to you try something,” Damien interjected. Gene and Danielle nodded eagerly. “Gene, I want you to be Danielle. Danielle, you’re Gene. Let’s hear a conversation about Danielle not getting what she wants.” After a few moments of hemming and hawing, Gene threw himself into the game. He was a natural. Chloe smiled at the burly plumber’s ultra-feminine portrayal of Danielle.

“Honey,” Gene simpered in a high voice. “Look here, I made you a fancy dinner. It took me all day long! I made some weird French beef dish and got some wine, too. I even put candles on the dining room table.”

“Huh,” Danielle grunted heavily. Chloe suppressed a chuckle at the pig-like sound coming from the dainty, dolled-up lady. “You know I don’t like stuff from France, and I want to watch the game, woman!”

“But honey,” Gene whined, “it’s so romantic! The candlelight looks so pretty with the crystal.” He made a sad puppy-dog face and batted his eyelashes. “Didn’t you even notice that I put on all new makeup and got my hair done today?”

Danielle threw her hands in the air, visibly enjoying herself. “Makeup, schmakeup. You look prettier without it. I’d rather just eat a greasy old pizza in front of the TV.” Danielle, fully committed to her role, choked down some air and managed a tiny, feminine
burrrrp
. She thumped her fist on her chest. “Where’s the beer?”