Chapter 5: The First Taste
The confession about Julian hung in the air between them for days, a shimmering, provocative thing. It flavored their morning coffee, charged the silence during evening TV, simmered beneath the skin of every casual touch. Dave watched her with a new, focused intensity, as if waiting for the next chapter of a book he couldn’t put down.
Friday night arrived, the week’s tension coiling tight in Kelly’s lower abdomen. She’d spent the afternoon secretly shopping, not at Nordstrom, but at a small, discreet boutique downtown. The bag was hidden in the back of her closet.
After a dinner of takeout Thai eaten on the couch, Dave rinsed the containers while Kelly poured two glasses of rich, dark Malbec. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he said, his voice carrying a familiar, promising roughness.
Kelly took her glass and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. The late evening sun slanted through the windows, painting long, amber rectangles across the rumpled linen of their bed. She set the wine on her nightstand, next to her stack of books. The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the dishwasher.
She opened the closet, retrieved the boutique bag, and let the contents spill onto the bed. Not La Perla.Something different. A bra and panty set in a deep, blood-wine crimson. The material was a heavy, stretch-silk satin, not lace. It would gleam under the light. The bra was a classic demi-cup, designed to uplift and present. The panties were a high-cut brief, severe and elegant, meant to sculpt and reveal the full curve of her bottom.
She undressed slowly, listening for Dave’s footfall on the stairs.It was silent. She stepped into the panties, the cool silk a shock against her skin, hugging her hips, riding high. She fastened the bra, adjusting herself in the mirror. The color was devastating against her milky skin. It looked less like lingerie and more like regalia. Armor, of a kind.
She heard him then, the soft pad of his feet on the top step. She didn’t turn. She watched him in the mirror’s reflection as he stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his wine glass in hand. His eyes traveled from her bare feet, up the lines of her legs, over the crimson silk hugging her rear, up the exposed slope of her back, to meet her gaze in the glass. He took a slow sip, saying nothing. His approval was a physical warmth in the room.
“You like it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s… sexy as hell,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. He set his glass down on the dresser. “You look like the most gorgous thing on eartht.”
“Maybe I am.” She turned to face him fully, placing one hand on her hip. The pose felt natural, powerful. The soreness from the pole was gone, replaced by a fluid confidence. “I was thinking about what you said. About my… boyfriends.”
Dave’s eyes, which had been drinking in her body, snapped to hers. A slow, deep breath expanded his chest. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm.” She took a step toward him, letting her hips sway just a fraction more than necessary. “It got me thinking. I only have one, really. So far. But what if I had more?” She stopped within arm’s reach, close enough for him to smell her perfume—jasmine and sandalwood—but not close enough to touch. “What if I had a few? Each one… for different things.”
He was utterly still, a predator fascinated by the dance of its prey. “Tell me.”
She reached out and traced a single finger down the center of his cotton shirt, over the firm plane of his chest, down to the buckle of his belt. “This is just for us,” she said, her finger pausing at the metal. “This is home.” Then she looked up, her eyes wide and innocent, belying the filth of her words. “But what if I had a boyfriend for when I feel like being… adored? Someone who brings me wine and tells me I’m a masterpiece. Who looks at me like Julian looked at me.”
Dave’s jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. “What would you do with him?”
“I’d let him undress me,” she said softly, her hand sliding down to palm the growing bulge in his trousers. She felt him harden under her touch. “Very slowly. Like I was made of glass. He’d kiss every inch he uncovered. He’d worship. He wouldn’t be in a hurry to get inside me. He’d just… want to look. For hours.”
Her fingers worked his belt buckle open, then the button of his jeans. The rasp of the zipper was loud in the quiet room. She pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him, his erection springing hot and heavy into her cool hand. She didn’t stroke him yet. She just held him, her gaze locked on his.
“And then,” she continued, her thumb brushing the slick bead of moisture at his tip, “I’d need a different boyfriend. One for when I’m not feeling like a masterpiece. One for when I’m feeling dirty. And greedy.”
She dropped to her knees.
The view from the floor was one she loved. The strength of his thighs, the trail of dark hair leading down, the powerful, vulnerable jut of his cock. She nuzzled the inside of his thigh, breathing him in—soap, skin, pure musk. He shuddered.
“This one,” she said, her breath ghosting over his heated skin, “wouldn’t bring me wine. He’d push me against a wall in a dark bar. He’d kiss me like he was trying to steal the breath from my lungs. His hands would be rough. He’d call me names. Pretty, filthy names.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “He’d want to use my mouth. He wouldn’t ask. He’d just… guide me.”
To illustrate, she took his hand and wrapped his fingers firmly in her hair, not yanking, but establishing a solid, controlling grip. Dave understood. He tightened his hold, a low groan escaping him.
“He’d fuck my face,” Kelly whispered, the crude words leaving her lips like a prayer. “And I’d let him. Because with him, that’s all I am. A mouth.”
Then she took him in, slow and deep, her tongue flattening against the sensitive underside. She hollowed her cheeks, creating a perfect, tight suction. She established a rhythm, steady and deliberate, her head moving in his grip. Her own need was a throbbing, insistent pulse between her legs, dampening the red silk. The friction of the material against her clit with every small movement was a sweet torment.
Dave’s free hand came to rest on her head, not pushing, just feeling the motion. “What else?” he gritted out, his hips giving a slight, involuntary thrust.
She pulled off with a wet pop, trailing her lips along his length. “Then there’s my workout boyfriend,” she said, her voice husky. “The one I meet at the gym.After hours. We’re both sweaty. The mats smell like rubber and sweat.He lifts. He has big, strong hands.” She took him back into her mouth, deeper this time, hitting the back of her throat, relaxing into it. She lingered there for a moment before pulling back, a thin strand of saliva connecting her lips to him. “He bends me over the weight bench. He doesn’t care about the lingerie. He just pushes it aside. He fucks me hard, from behind, while I stare at my own reflection in the mirror. He makes me watch.”
Dave’s breathing was ragged now. “Do you come?”
“With him?” Kelly asked, licking a broad stripe from his base to his tip.“Always. He makes me. He says I’m not allowed to leave until I do. And I’m so loud, Dave. The echo in that empty gym…” She swallowed him again, the fantasy fueling her, making her hungry, aggressive. She bobbed her head faster, her hand joining, twisting at the base. The wet, rhythmic sounds filled the room.
“And me?” Dave managed to say, his voice strangled. “Where am I?”
She released him, panting slightly. Her lips were swollen, glossy. She looked up, her eyes blazing with defiance and love. “You?” She gave him a slow, dirty smile. “You’re my husband. You get to hear all about it. You get to see the marks. You get to taste them on me.” She leaned forward and swirled her tongue around his crown. “You get me after. When I’m spent and full and buzzing. You get to put me back together. Or,” she added, her gaze turning sly, “you get to take me apart all over again.”
That was it. The switch flipped.
With a growl, he pulled her up by her hair, not roughly, but with undeniable force. He kissed her, devouring her mouth, tasting himself on her lips and tongue. He walked her backward until her calves hit the bed and she fell onto the linen. He came down over her, his weight a glorious anchor. He shoved the delicate red silk aside, not bothering with clasps, the material straining and tearing slightly at the hip. The sound of it ripping was a bright, shocking spark.
He entered her in one deep, claiming stroke. She cried out, her back arching, her legs wrapping around his waist. There were no more boyfriends in the room. There was only this: his scent, his sweat, the driving, piston rhythm of his hips, the slap of skin on skin. It was pure ownership, a primal reassertion of the bond that made all the games possible.
She came first, a sharp, surprising climax that tore through her, her internal muscles clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. He followed moments later, his own release a hot flood, his groan muffled against her neck.
For a long time, they lay entangled, slick and breathless. The torn red silk was a ruined flag on the pale battlefield of their sheets. Finally, Dave rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so her head rested on his chest, her leg thrown over his.
He played with a strand of her dark hair. “So,” he said, his voice a rumble beneath her ear. “Three boyfriends, huh?”
Kelly traced a meaningless pattern on his damp skin. “At least.”
“Julian would be the first one? The adoring one?”
She smiled against his chest. “Maybe. He has good hands. You can tell by the way he folds a sweater.”
Dave laughed, a deep, joyful sound that shook his whole body. Then he grew quiet. “And the second one? The rough one in the bar. The one who fucks your mouth.”
A fresh, treacherous heat bloomed low in her belly. “What about him?”
Dave turned his head, his lips brushing her temple. “What’s his name?”
The question hung in the darkening room. It was a line, drawn in the sand of their fantasy. Naming it made it a possibility.An option.
Kelly was silent for a full minute, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. The wine-colored silk, now torn, felt less like armor and more like a first draft. A prototype for something real.
“I don’t know yet,” she whispered finally. “But I think I’d like to find out.”