Mid Life Love (15 page)

“No, I—” I
suddenly felt his dick slamming into me, knocking my body against the wall. I
tried to unhook my leg from around him, but he cupped my ass and held me
steady.

“I never cross
your mind during the day?” he whispered harshly.

“
Never
.”

He slammed into
me again—
over and over,
making me scream so loudly I was sure the other
people in the restaurant could hear me. He grunted as he squeezed my ass and
impaled me—going deeper and deeper with every stroke.

I clawed wildly
at his neck, wanting him to stop this passionate torture, but I couldn’t bring
myself to say ‘stop’; it felt way too good.

He yanked the
top part of my dress down and began kissing my hardened nipples—sucking them
greedily, nearly sending me over the edge.

I was sure I was
going to cum right then and there, but all of a sudden he pulled out.

“You honestly
only use me for stress relief?” He teased my entrance with his dick, circling
it around and around.

I didn’t answer
him. I looked down and tried to catch my breath, tried to gain back the resolve
he’d so easily broken.

“Answer me.” He
pulled me by my hair and forced me to look up at him.

“Yes...You’re
nothing but
stress relief
...”

And with that
answer he plunged into me even deeper. “Why are you lying to me, Claire?”

“I’m...I’m not...” I
couldn’t focus anymore; he was moving in and out of me at a teasingly slow
pace, hitting every tender spot. “I’m not lying...”

He reached down
and wrapped my other leg around his waist, gazing into my eyes as he gripped my
hips and moved me up and down.

“Claire?
Claire
?”
Michael’s voice sounded from the other side of the room. “Are you in here?”

“
Yes
...” I
felt Jonathan increasing his rhythm, gripping me even tighter. 

“Are you
alright? Did the food upset you or something?”

“No...I’m...”
Tremors started racking through my body and my hips began to jerk. “I’m....I’m...”

“What did you
say? I can’t hear you, Claire. Are you allergic to shellfish?”

“I’m...” My entire
body shook violently and I bit Jonathan’s shoulder to prevent myself from
crying out. “I’m...I’m
amazi
—great...I just....” I sucked in as much air as I
could and tried to pull myself together. “Some food went down...Some food went
down the wrong pipe and I’m just waiting for it to move completely... I didn’t
want you looking at me while I tried to force it... It’s not very
appropriate
.”
I scowled at Jonathan.

He scowled back.

“Oh...I’m so
sorry.” Michael actually sounded sincere. “Well, that’s okay. I would’ve helped
you if you needed me too...Do you need anything? Water maybe?”

“No...” My
breathing was still erratic. I was still feeling the aftershocks. “I’m
fine...Thank you.”

“Okay well, I’ll
go ahead and order dessert. Is chocolate soufflé okay with you?”

“That’d be
perfect... I’ll be right out.”

I heard the door
shut and Jonathan set me down on the floor.

Without saying a
word, he took a few cloths from the dispenser and wiped between my thighs.

He pulled the
dress back over my breasts, deftly securing the fabric into place. Then he
reached down and smoothed my hair—attempting to make it look like it did
before, even removing a bobby pin and sliding it where it used to be. 

He raised his
eyebrow at the Batman Band-Aid, and possessively ran his fingers across the
Harry Winston bracelet.

It took me
several minutes to completely catch my breath, to wrap my head around what had
just happened. I shook my head, still in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong
with you, Jonathan? Are you
insane
?”

“No, but you
must be. You had the nerve to bring a date
here
of all places.” He
scoffed.

“I didn’t pick
this place, but even if I did, how was I supposed to know that your business
meeting would be here?”

“The restaurant
is called
Statham
, Claire. I
own
it. It’s also right down the
street from corporate and my picture is in the hallway. There’s
always
a
chance that I could be here.”

“Fine. A major
oversight on my part, but that still doesn’t give you the right to interrupt my
date
.” I spun away from him and walked out of the stall, over to the
mirrors.

“Do you like
him?” he asked.

No...

“I don’t know
yet. I think I need to get to know him better before I come to any
conclusions.”

His eyes met
mine in the mirror. “You plan on going out with him again?”

“Yes. He seems
like someone who wouldn’t give me a childish jealousy fuck in a public
restroom.”

He rolled his
eyes and walked towards the door. “Get rid of him after dinner. Let me know
when you make it home so I can pick you up. We need to talk.”

“And if I don’t
feel like talking to you?”

“Then we don’t
have to
talk
.”

C
laire

I wasn’t sure why I called Jonathan to let him know
I was at home. A part of me was furious about what he’d done to me in that
bathroom, but another part of me—a part I couldn’t explain, was happy that he’d
showed up and interrupted my night.

As he steered his Bugatti through the city and past
the suburbs, I sat back in my seat and wondered when he was going to start
talking. He hadn’t uttered a word since he’d picked me up, and he hadn’t looked
over at me once.

Why do I even care? I’m not supposed to
like him...

He sped through the sandy lanes of Ocean Beach, way
past the familiar common areas that I was used to going to. There were no more
lampposts or sparkling sand lights that helped lead the way along the shore.
There was nothing but darkness and the pale glow of the moon from above.

After what felt like forever, he pulled in front of
a massive wooden house and turned off the car. He stepped out without saying a
word, and then he walked over to my side and opened the door.

He reached for my hand and led me up the porch’s
steps, pressing a few buttons on a keypad. As his finger tapped the last key,
the door slowly opened and he pulled me inside.

My jaw dropped as soon as I stepped forward. The
vaulted ceilings were at least fifty feet high and they were made of black
glass. There were paintings by Renoir and Amadeo—the
originals
, gently
tucked in their own gilded frames that hung high. The room was filled with
earth-toned furniture—soft brown sofas, emerald green chaises, and bronze
accent pieces, that all reflected against the windows on the back wall.

This is beautiful...

“Take off your shoes,” he ordered.

I slipped out of my flats and followed him into a
kitchen so grand I wasn’t sure if it was real. It reminded me of the royal
British kitchens I’d seen in
Architectural Digest
, the kitchens I
would’ve killed to visit someday.

He motioned for me to sit down on one of the silver
barstools and then he switched on the stove.

He turned his back to me and began preparing
food—never once looking over his shoulder or saying anything to me. He took his
time measuring different oils and sautéing meat, shaking his head every few
minutes.

While he was chopping vegetables, I looked at my
watch and realized an hour had gone by since we’d made it to the house. 

“Here.” He turned around and slid me a plate of
chicken, potatoes, and salad. “I didn’t see you eat much on your
date
.”

“Thank you...”

We ate dinner in complete silence; the sound of
forks scraping against the plates was the only noise between us. I looked up at
him several times, trying to see if he would look back, but he didn’t; he kept
his eyes on his food the entire time.

When he saw that my plate was empty, he grabbed it
and tossed it into the sink. He put on his jacket and walked to the frosted
glass door that was across the room. 

“Come here, Claire.” His voice sounded neutral, but
there was still a look of coldness in his eyes.

I took my time walking over to him and he wrapped a
warm blanket around my shoulders. He opened the door and I realized the Pacific
Ocean was only a few feet away.

I thought we were going to walk along the beach
since I was still barefoot, but he led me onto a beautiful black yacht that was
docked nearby. He helped me up the steps, and signaled for a man—who appeared
out of nowhere, to start the ship.

He started tugging me through all types of elegant
rooms—tea room, sun room, living room, Jacuzzi room—and then he suddenly
stopped.

He turned around and stared at me, looked at me long
and hard, as if he were contemplating what he wanted to do—what he wanted to
say.

“I don’t like being lied to.” He pulled me into his
arms and kissed me, pressing himself so tightly against me that I could feel
his erection through his pants.

He possessed my mouth with his tongue, hardly ever
giving me a chance to breathe—instantly turning me on.

I knew he was upset, but I wanted to feel him inside
of me again. I wanted him to take me right then and there so I reached down to
unbutton his pants, but he broke off our kiss.

“Why did you do that?” He snarled.

“What?” I panted. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me any fucking sarcasm...”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter.” He pulled me down onto a couch.
“Why were you on a date with that doctor?”

“It wasn’t by choice...” I leaned back and touched my swollen
lips. “My mom set me up... I showed up to her house ready to go to the opera,
but she told me she’d set me up on a date with him.”

“But someone like him is who you
want
to
date, right?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Someone your age or older?”

“Yes...”

“Explain that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Explain why you feel that dating someone your age
or older is what’s best for you. Better yet, just tell me why I’m not good
enough, because that’s clearly how you feel.”

“It’s not that you’re not
good enough
, it’s
just that...” I saw him clenching his jaw. “Whenever I do decide to date again, I
want to date someone with a little more life experience—someone who didn’t have
everything handed to him, you know? Someone who knows what it’s like to love
and lose and someone who would go out of his way to make sure neither of us
felt that again...”

“And because he’s older with
life experience
,
that means he’ll treat you right?”

“There’s a greater chance of that. Yes.”

“For the record, I didn’t have
anything
handed to me. Believe it or not, I had to work for every dime that I have. I
know exactly what it’s like to love and lose, and I would never
ever
hurt
you. If you—”

“You never had
anything handed to you?” I scoffed. “Have you read your bio in the company
handbook lately? You were born and raised in an
upper class Boston family and you
went to an expensive prep school—
Phillips Exeter Academy
, in New
Hampshire. And you and your—”

“All of that
shit is
a lie
, Claire.” He hissed. “I had my best friend, who happens to
be my security director, make up a past for me. I even
paid
Phillips
Exeter to create an old transcript and Photoshop my face into old yearbooks...I
didn’t think trailer trash kid with meth-head parents who almost killed their
own kids sounded very inspiring.”

What?

My mind went
blank. All these weeks I’d been trying to come up with excuses to use should
this very conversation ever happen, but his lack of life experience was one of
my biggest ones.

“I’m...I’m so
sorry about your parents, Jonathan. I didn’t know...But still, it’s only a matter
of time before you find someone your age or younger and you’ll want to date
her—which is perfectly normal and understandable. I mean, the past couple
months have been fun, but I honestly think you’re going through a MILF phase.”

“A
MILF
phase?”

“Yes. Mother
[You’d] Like to Fuck. I don’t think that—”

“First of all,
I’ve already fucked you—
numerous
times, so consider that point null and
void. Second of all, I’ve told you over and over that I don’t give a damn about
your age. I don’t know how else I can make that fact any clearer. What do you
want me to do? Send out a company memo about it?”

“I just don’t
want you to think that you and I could ever have something serious...I know you
say you don’t care about the age gap now, but that’ll change with time. It
always does...And while I’m extremely flattered by your little crush—”

“
Jesus
.”
He balled his fists at his side and glared at me. “
I like you
,
Claire
.
Point blank. Period. From the moment I saw you at Pacific Bay Lounge on New
Year’s Eve, I was captivated by you and I’ve never been this drawn to a woman
in my life. I’m not hung up on your age at all.
You are
. All I see is a
beautiful and intriguing woman who is hell bent on frustrating the shit out of
me. If I thought you weren’t interested, or if you would have
convincingly
told
me that all you wanted me for was sex, I would have left it alone. But, since
neither of those things have happened, just admit that you like me and say that
you want to date me because I know deep down you want to.”

I wasn’t sure
how to respond. I just sat there, blinking at him, trying to process everything
he’d said. I didn’t remember ever seeing him at Pacific Bay Lounge. I thought
our first encounter was at the grocery store.

I put on my best
poker face and sighed. “It’s—”

“It’s not that
difficult.
I’m
not asking for your heart or anything. I’m just trying to get to know you
better in
other
ways...
Just say, ‘I like you Jonathan and I want to date
you.’ That’s it.”

“I think that—”

“
I like you,
Jonathan, and I want to date you
.” He fumed.

“What’s the
difference between what we’re doing now and dating? Public dinners? Movie
nights?”

“Admit that you
like me and I’ll
show
you.”

“And if I don’t
admit it?”

“We’ll keep
sailing out here until you do. I’ve got all year.”

Just say it...

“I’ll think
about it.”

“Close enough.”
He pulled me close and draped his arm around my shoulders. “Was that so hard to
say?”

“I didn’t say
anything. I said I would think about it.”

He rolled his
eyes. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about, but not here. Lunch
on Monday?”

“Together?”

“Yes. When two
people are dating, they typically eat
together
.”

“I still don’t
want people at work knowing that—”

“I’ve been
eating lunch with a different director every day for a month now. No one is
going to suspect anything. They’ll think I’m having another business lunch.”

I sighed.
“Okay...”

“Good. Now that
that’s settled, there’s one thing I’ve wanted to do to you all night.” He moved
his arm from around my shoulders and held my face in his hands.

He looked deep
into my eyes and I braced myself for another passionate kiss—closing my eyes
and taking a deep breath. Then I felt him ripping off my Batman Band-Aid.

He reached into
his pocket and pulled out a different Band-Aid, a
clear one
, and softly
pressed it onto my hand.

“No grown man
should be carrying around Batman Band-Aids.” He pushed me down onto the couch.

“Seriously? Are
you
that
insane?”

He covered my
lips with his. “You have
no idea
...”

––––––––

I
was sitting in my office, listening to one of my
associates present his idea for the
s
Tablet. It was conversations like
this that made me wish the Golden Gate Bridge was closer so I could run out
there and jump off of it.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Travis asked. “With this idea we
can capture our lowest demographic market of kids between the ages of ten and
twelve. We’ll be forcing their parents to run out and buy one!” He held up his
board and pointed at the colorful clowns.

“Travis...” I sighed. “Our target market for this
product is adults aged twenty-five to thirty four. I’m not sure if—”

“No, wait! I haven’t told you the best part yet! The
magical clowns are delivering all these cool
s
Tablets to the kids after
school, right? So, once the kids get them in their hands, the clowns start
shouting, “Use your imagination!” and the kids suddenly disappear! ‘
sTablet...It’s
Magic
!’ See? Awesome, right?”

I refuse to deal with this today...

“Get out of my office.
Now
.”

“But—”

“Right now.”

He gathered his boards and rushed out, slamming the
door behind him.

“I’ll be down to your office in ten
minutes so we can finish our conversation from Saturday
.”
Jonathan texted me.

I looked over my schedule for the day and realized I
had to sit through eight more associate presentations. I wasn’t sure how I was
going to be able to do it. Although Travis’ idea was a bit far-fetched, his was
actually the best one of the day.

I slipped my comfy slippers off under my desk and
reached for my pumps. I had a feeling I was in for a long conversation with
Jonathan today. We’d discussed a few things about dating each
other—exclusivity, keeping it private, and not rushing things—but the
conversation had been cut short with sex.

There was a sudden knock at my door.

“Come in!” I was still changing my shoes. “I thought
you said ten min—” I looked up and realized that it wasn’t Jonathan knocking at
my door. It was
Michael
.

I stood up and smoothed my dress. “Um...Hi?”

“Hello, Claire. I hope you don’t mind me stopping
by.” He walked in and handed me a fresh bouquet of yellow roses. “I was
delivering some prescriptions to the nursing home down the street and I
remembered that you worked here. Since you were sick Saturday and had to go
home early, I was thinking we could try it again? How does this Friday work for
you?”

Shit...

“Umm...”

“No seafood. I promise.” He laughed. “You can pick
the restaurant and I’ll bring my epi-pen just in case you break out in hives or
something.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds very
very
sweet of you, but I...Actually, I’m kind of—”