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Home for the Summer
Chapter 3
The theatre fills as we take our seats in the private box.
Her eyes take everything in as they sweep the cavernous room — the contrast of
modern and traditional — from the rich, gleaming wooden balconies and seats
covered with their vibrant upholstery to the recessed lighting overhead. Seeing
her face so expressive, so receptive, tells me how relaxed and delighted she
is, and the tense muscles between my shoulders ease.
There had been phone calls this morning. The first was from
Elizabeth — her charming, flirtatious, emotionally manipulative mother. She
handled it well, but telling her mother she wasn’t welcome to visit right now
hadn’t been easy. Liz had a way of being loving and manipulative
simultaneously. She first tried cajoling, then moved on to guilt. When neither
achieved results, Liz became emotional. She’d handled it well, until her sister
Sandy called. Liz hadn’t wasted any time complaining about the lack of love and
attention, so her sister joined the mix, demanding to know why Liz couldn’t visit;
since she left, all the familial responsibility had landed on Sandy’s
shoulders, and she needed a break. Never mind that Sandy has her own house, her
own life and family, and wasn’t in Liz’s back pocket or at her beck and call.
Hours after the calls ended, my irritation persisted, which
is why I called in a favor and scored tickets for tonight’s performance of
Verdi and Puccini at Teatro Carlo Felice. And not just tickets, but a private
box. I walked through the house to her office and leaned against the doorframe.
She was sitting at her desk with scattered sheets of paper in front of her,
tapping her pen against her lips, as if hoping something would come to her so
she could write it down. I didn’t want to disturb her if she was working, but
as she looked as if she was either praying for inspiration or temporary amnesia
of the morning’s events. I rapped softly on the open door. She merely raised
her eyebrow when I told her we’d be leaving at six pm for the theater, but I
felt her skepticism and saw a hint of worry in the small crease on her
forehead. Small parts of her worry that what she imagines in her mind won’t
measure up to the actual event. Her world of imaginary versus reality sometimes
caused her to waiver, but right now, that was not the reason for her tiny,
worried crease.
“You won’t be disappointed, I promise,” I said softly. “You
need the distraction.”
She smiled sadly and stood, crossed the floor wearing her
ridiculous-looking bedroom slippers, and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around
her and stroked her hair. That her family didn’t understand her and thought
only of themselves hurt her, but she was an amazingly strong woman, and she
found a way to love them without being dragged down by the family dynamics. I
rocked her gently, bent to kiss her ear.
“I didn’t pack anything to wear for the theater. You’re not
going to make me go shopping, are you?” she asked, only half teasing. I have a
mother and two sisters, have been around females most of my life, but never
before encountered one who hated shopping as much as she, unless she was buying
shoes or bags. I laughed and squeezed her tight.
“No. I saw the red dress in the back of the closet. Were you
trying to hide it, or forget about it?” I teased. She’d bought it on impulse
several months ago but never had the courage to wear it.
“Oh God. You want me to wear that?” A nervous laugh
escaped, tinged with a hint of self-consciousness.
“Definitely the red dress,” I murmur, already feeling my
cock swell at the thought of her wearing it.
She eased out of my arms while managing to rub her belly
against me. I looked down at her and saw the little worry line disappear as her
smile grew. My swollen cock was no surprise to her, yet she always responded as
if it were, that she had no idea what effect she had on me.
“Oh yeah?” She
smirked.
“Mmmm… yeah. And wear the sparkly heels. You know the ones…”
She laughed then, leaned in, and kissed me lavishly, her tongue sweeping across
my lips and into my mouth. I pulled her hard into me, cupped the back of her
head and took control. She broke us apart before we ended up on the floor. Her
dark clouds were gone.
“I need time to get ready if I’m going to wear that dress,”
she said as she turned and headed towards the stairs. As she reached the
second-floor landing, she leaned over the railing and called down, “And if I’m
wearing that dress, you’re wearing your black suit.”
I groaned meaningfully. She knew damn well it was my
least-favorite suit. In my opinion, it was just a bit snug in the thigh and
crotch, which is exactly why I would be wearing it tonight.
She wore a light, filmy wrap over her shoulders, but removes
it and drapes it across the back of her wide, cushioned seat as she sits and
crosses her legs. She looks amazing in red, and more than one pair of eyes are
looking up at her from the orchestra seats below. The dress is cut in a deep V,
exposing smooth, golden skin and the swell of her breasts. While the dress is
long and caresses her legs, the daring slit up the side teases me with flashes of
firm, smooth flesh.
The lights finally dim, and all at once, the music begins
with its swirls and dips, seducing. The sweeping lifts and dramatic crescendos
hurl like a roller coaster, barely recovering one’s breath before losing it
again. I watch her; she’s not a spectator here, content to let the scene unfold
around her. Her face is glowing, and I doubt she’s aware she is dancing in her
seat. She is so fucking beautiful in moments like this, she takes my breath
away. She catches my eye and reaches for my hand, tangling her fingers with
mine as she turns her attention back to the stage.
I look down at our hands nestled in her lap, feel the silky
material of her dress against the back of my hand, the warmth of her skin
beneath it. I want to slip my hand inside and touch her heat.
I grab the armrest of her seat and pull her closer to me.
Her sharp look is returned with a bland one of my own as I lift my hand from
her lap to rest it across the back of her chair. I rub my fingers across her
bare shoulder just as the music ends and Intermission begins. The lights come
up, and I ask her if she’d like a glass of champagne. She shakes her head, then
rests her cheek on my shoulder, content now to become a spectator and watch the
movement below us.
“Has it measured up?” I ask as I rest in my chin in her
hair. Her answer is little more than a soft purr. She lifts her head and
brushes her lips across mine.
“Most definitely. I know what I wanted it to be, but my
expectations were paltry compared to this.”
“I’m glad,” I murmur as I lower my lips for another kiss.
She pulls away slightly and opens her mouth when her eyes dart down to where
her face rested moments before. A quiet “Oh,” escapes her mouth.
“There’s makeup on your jacket,” she says fussily. “Take it
off.” I don’t care about the damn jacket, but to please her, I do it. She
reaches down for her small purse and takes out a small packet, what looks like
a moist towelette, and I shake my head at the strange things she stuffs in her
bags. The overhead lights soon flicker, signaling Intermission was ending. She
hands me the jacket, but I wave it off, murmuring to her to leave it on her
lap. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her to me. She sighs and
settles, but soon begins to fidget.
“This isn’t comfortable,” she hisses. “The armrest is
digging into my side.” She starts to pull away when I grab her arms and lift
her onto my lap. She stifles her gasp.
“What are you doing? Let me up!” She attempts to push
my hands away as I settle her legs across my lap. My arm is around her hips,
holding her snug against me while angling my seat for privacy, should the
inhabitants from the box across from ours become curious.
“Shush,” I whisper in her ear. “Don’t draw attention to us.”
It is the one thing guaranteed to keep her still. She doesn’t like drawing
attention to herself. She slowly relaxes and settles against me as the
orchestra plays the opening strains of Puccini’s Nessun Dorma. I move my hand from her hip to rub her back, gentling
her, calming her so she enjoys the performance while music lifts and swells
around us.
“Put your arm around me,” I coax. She shifts slightly and
raises her arm and rests it on the back of my seat, her hand on my neck, her
fingers running through my hair, and settles the other on my chest, over my
heart. She nuzzles close and kisses my chin. “Thank you for this,” she
whispers.
I drop my hand to her lap. The slippery dress shifts and
slides under my palm. I find the slit in her skirt and wrap my hand around her
muscled inner thigh, my cock growing heavy as I make contact with her skin. I
stroke her from mid-thigh to knee and back up again.
As the orchestra moves from one piece to the next, she
shifts. “Slide down in the seat a bit, will you?” I slouch and spread my legs. She
does the same, and my hand slides higher up her thigh. She lifts her head, and
her eyes widen as my fingers slowly slide up her inner thigh to the edges of
her panties.
“No! Not here,” she whispers indignantly, but she
can’t keep the laughter out of her voice. I chuckle into her hair. She should
know better.
“Why not here? Romance is in the air,” I argue reasonably.
My fingers skim the lacy edges, teasing, before running my fingertips over the
silk swatch of material covering her. I trace the seam of her pussy and press
slightly on her clit. Her quick, indrawn breath pleases me and makes me hard,
uncomfortably so in my pants.
For the moment, it satisfies me to stoke her passion slowly,
degree by degree. The jacket partially shields my busy hand, and she does well
in hiding what is going on underneath it. Anyone interested in looking will
certainly see, while not entirely appropriate behavior, nothing scandalous,
merely a beautiful woman enjoying an evening full of music and romance,
cuddling with her lover.
She pants softly against my neck as I continue teasing
her. Hot puffs of air dampen my skin as
I cup her, and pulling the material to the side, I slide my finger over her
pussy, gently opening her folds and moisten her clit. She is hot and slick and
ready for me. Her hand on my neck tightens for a moment as she fidgets in my
lap, allowing me greater access.
Music fills the room, but it is only background noise now.
She is hot and incredibly wet. I thrust a finger inside her waiting pussy to
stretch and ready her, then a second finger to fill her. My thumb finds her
clit, and the firm, little nub is slippery under my skin. Her whimpers fill my
ear as she shifts on my lap, trying to draw me deeper.
“Absolutely no moving. This is my pleasure. You took yours
the other morning.”
Her laughing groan fills the box.
“No noises, either. The concert is almost over.” Her pussy
tightens around my fingers in response.
I bury my fingers deep and press against the upper, spongy
wall of her vagina to find her sweet spot. The deliciously soft walls enfold
snugly around me, and I withdraw slightly then thrust again, pressing along her
wetness, mimicking the short, swift thrusts of my cock, as my thumb moves over
her clit. My hand rocks against her, but I move no more than my wrist as her
panting increases. Her fingers dig into
the fabric of my shirt as her pussy traps my fingers, drawing them deeper,
tighter into her, just as she does me, until I don’t know where my body ends
and hers begins. . I hook my fingers slightly and rub that spot high inside,
knowing just how to stroke and tease, to make her thighs quake, her breath
shudder, and beg for release.
“That’s right, love,” I whisper, my mouth pressed to her
ear. “You want to come, don’t you? You’re so tight, so ready for it. Come for
me now. That’s my girl. Come.”
The music swells around us, and the majestic notes fill the
cavernous room. As the music overtakes
the air, she cries out, her voice lost. She pushes herself into my hand while
her body twitches and trembles. I pull her close and kiss her. My fingers
gentle, but I am slow to remove them, reveling in the small spasms. All to
soon, I ease my hand out from her dress as my hand slides up her back to cup
the back of her head. Her face is flush, her eyes bright and shiny.
“All right?” I ask gruffly between soft kisses. She nods
weakly, but her smile is angelic.
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