Audrey Hastings glanced anxiously at the clock as she bent over the open oven to check on the pot roast that cooked inside. She had forty-five minutes before Ben was scheduled to be home. More than enough time to finish getting ready. She closed the door with a snap and laid a hand on her jittery stomach. The grumbling there had nothing to do with the luscious smell of pot roast, rosemary roasted potatoes, or the grilled asparagus (Ben’s favorite meal). No, the thing making her tummy flutter was anticipation of what was to come tonight.
Valentine’s Day. The night she was going to ask Ben to marry her.
It made perfect sense, she thought as she padded her way across the living room and down the hall towards their bedroom. They’d been dating for two years. Living together for one. She loved him. He loved her. He told her so every night as they lay exhausted yet satisfied from lovemaking. He would pull her tight to his chest and whisper those three little words directly into her ear. Even after all this time, the emotion packed into that phrase brought tears to her eyes.
Even her mother, who usually hated all of Audrey’s boyfriends but loved Ben (sometimes more than Audrey), had told her that this was a bad idea.
She tsked. The last time she’d listened to her mother, she was fifteen years old. Besides, she knew Ben. He liked aggressive women. Now, what he saw in her, she didn’t know. She just knew that she was grateful for it and wanted him. Forever.
“And I’m not getting any younger, damn it!” she said aloud as she jerked off her robe and flung it on the four poster California king bed that dominated the space. She was turning thirty in six months. If she wasn’t going to be married, then she at least she wanted at least the possibility that it was going to happen sometime in the future.
As much as she loved Ben, this waiting, the anxiety ‘IS he going to ask me?’ ‘IS tonight the night’, was too much. It was like being at the airport, on the plane, strapped in and ready to go, watching all of the other planes around you take off for their final destination. Meanwhile, there you are, stuck on the tarmac with a stalled engine.
That was going to change tonight.
One way or…
The thought sent a shiver down her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her palms along from her shoulder to her elbow. Somehow, when she made the decision and all through the planning and scheming for tonight, she hadn’t anticipated the cold, slimy feeling of dread that coated her stomach lining.
What if he said no? What was she going to do then?
Nope. She shook her head as though to clear it. She wasn’t going to think like that. She wasn’t going to allow for anything but wonderful possibilities to enter her mind today.
She slowly became aware that she was standing, naked and shivering at the foot of the bed, her body fresh and lusciously perfumed from her bath and the lotion she’d slathered on to ensure its silky texture.
She walked over to the bed to where she had laid out her outfit for tonight. She nibbled at the corner of her mouth as she contemplated the ensemble. The woman at the lingerie store had sworn to her that the outfit was sure to drive him crazy.
It should, she thought with consternation. It certainly was rolling her over the brink. It had taken three hours of sweating, grunting, and more than a few ‘fucks’ to get it one by herself. And another two tries before she could get rid of the ‘fucks’.
She took a deep breath and picked up the supple black leather. Already her nipples were tingling and her clit was engorging with blood as she imagined the look on his face when he got a load of her. She giggled. She would be lucky if he allowed her out of the living room before he bent her over the nearest flat surface and shoved his cock into her tight pussy. She clenched her fingers and bit her lips as her stomach fluttered again.
She took a deep breath to try to cool her overheated face and body. At this rate, she’d be done and smoking a cigarette before he even got home. She tossed the leather back onto the comforter and picked up the garter belt and fishnet stockings. She moved over to sit at the vanity table on the side of the bed.
Her skin pebbled, both with cold and anticipation, as she rolled one stocking up her leg. She knew that Ben loved her in fishnets.
She was about to hook the last tooth into its eye when she heard a low grumbling coming from outside. Her fingers froze and her heart started to pound. Ben was home. Once you heard it, you never forgot the sound of a well-oiled Harley.
She forced her suddenly numb fingers to finish the task of fastening her bodice. When she was done, she turned to look at herself in the mirror. When she did, she had to stop herself from checking behind herself to make sure that no one was behind her. She didn’t recognize herself. The woman standing in the mirror looked like every dominatrix fantasy come to life.
The leather bustier she wore clenched in her waist and forced her already generous breasts into high mounds that almost touched her chin. She sucked in a deep breath and saw the bodice lower until the outer rims of her aureolas showed. The matching leather garter belt framed her ass and newly shaven pussy nicely, she thought as she did a little pirouette. She was wearing panties. Barely. They were a crotchless lace design with no more substance than wet paper.
The whip and the handcuffs lay in the middle of the bed that was now strewn with rose petals. She was saving them for later.
She listened as his key scratched in the door. She clenched her thighs against the rush of moist heat that flooded her pussy as she envisioned the expression on his face when he got a good look at the ensemble. ‘Come in his pants’ was the phrase she had used with the saleslady where she’d purchased the outfit. It
“Babe? I’m home. Damn! What smells so good?” Ben’s low, rumbly voice, so much reminiscent of the Harley’s that he drove and restored, echoed across the living room.
She took one last breath, pushing her breasts impossibly outward and walked, a little unsteadily in the four-inch stilettos, to the bedroom door.
His back was to her as he seemed to be browsing through the mail. She was glad. It gave her a chance to study him. And his truly excellent ass, which was now cupped in a pair of dark denim jeans. She mouth dried and her hands itched to take the two oh-so-luscious globes in her hands and bite it.
Her mouth quirked as she contemplated him. If someone had told her two years ago that she would end up in love with a hot as hell grease monkey, she would have laughed in their faces. But that was before Ben.
They were as different as night and day, even discounting the fact that she was Black and he was white. She owned a flower shop. He had a garage that built and serviced Harley-Davidsons. He was cut like he was carved from stone and let’s face it, she could stand to lose a few pounds. He was six-foot-five and if she lied, she could say that she cleared five-foot-six. He worked out every day. She considered the trek up the two flights of steps to their apartment all the exercise God intended her to have. He was tatted from his neck to his feet. She fainted at the sight of needles.
But somehow, some way, from the first day he’d come into the shop, they’d clicked. And when they’d finally made love? WHEW! She could have sworn that it was impossible to die from pleasure until that night but he had come close to killing her.
Death by Orgasm.
His hair was getting a tad long, she thought as she saw his sandy brown touch the collar of the fitting black t-shirt he wore. She bit her lips as she gazed at the thick, bulging biceps that seemed too large for the fabric. She loved the feel of them around her as he held her to his chest. No one had ever made her feel more safe. He was everything she’d ever wanted and nothing like she had ever expected. He was hers and she planned on keeping him.
“Hey, baby. You ready for dinner?” she asked using her best Eartha Kitt impersonation.
“Ready--” Whatever he had been about to say stuck in his throat as he turned to look at her.
Her smile widened as she watched his coral blue eyes grow top the size of half dollars. She peeked down and saw that his dick was straining against his zipper. She’d be surprised if she didn’t find the imprint of it on his shaft. And she did have some plans for that long, beautiful, thick cock, she thought with a shiver as her sensitive nipples rubbed against the silky lining of the leather bustier.
“Holy fucking Christ.” He breathed.
It was almost too easy.