do know is that they hate being questioned about things like this. Nothing good ever came after too many “where is this going” questions.
I push that out of my head, pour more champagne, and go back to thinking about our time together. I close my eyes and remember what its like for him to touch me. The skin of his palms connected to my back, his fingers on my face, neck and in my hair. Grabbing and holding onto my hips, pulling me into him so I could feel him and his arousal. I go through each movement in my mind, finally getting to when he swooped back in astounding me, forcefully kissing me, and touching me with those strong fingers. I can feel the stirrings between my legs at this memory and start to move and twitch, rubbing my thighs together under the bubbles. God this man turns me on.
I put down my champagne glass and place my hands under the water. The oil from the bubble bath makes my fingers smooth and soft like his were. I glide them all over my body, into my hair, down my neck, around my throat, all thinking about him and pretending it is Jonathan touching me again. I never used to touch or pleasure myself this often, and now in just two days, this man has turned me into a clitoris-rubbing fanatic. I tried to mimic his rhythm and pressure; I closed my eyes and thought about him. How he looked while he rubbed me, when I had my head laid on the backrest, in a moment of clarity I turned to look at him. I saw him watching my face, my expressions, and me as he ran his fingers over my wetness, and he was smiling. A very sexy, but serene smile. He was enjoying himself, turning me on turned him on. I could see it. I made my way down between my legs and found that same place he rubbed tonight and ran back over and over it. I tried to match my breathing as he wanted, and it got faster and faster and I began to climb into sweet tension. I opened my legs wider and gripped the edge of the tub with my other hand as I had grasped Jonathan’s bicep. His face, that smile, those fingers, I felt my climb almost over with a furious splashing from my hand underwater. I gripped the tub edge hard and bucked forward as I came again for him, “Jonathan” I groaned loudly, “ooohhhh Jonathan,” I whispered as I leaned back to feel the pulsing shocks run over my wet skin and slowly stop. I took a minute to revel in the feeling, and then I climbed out, toweled off, and fell into bed. My last thought is that he called me Kitten; I loved hearing it and how it made my belly do a flip when he said it. I fell asleep deeply and with a smile.
Friday
The next morning, more like afternoon, I got up and decided to go out for a latte. When I looked into my workbag gathering my stage tips, I saw the envelope the champagne manager had given me. I had completely forgot about it last night. I felt the orgasm was payment enough. I pulled the cash out to count it; it came to $940 dollars. I had given Samson 60. That means that Jonathan had tipped me a thousand dollars. Wow. I took two hundred and left.
Deep down I know I hoped to see a black SUV outside my door, but I did not. I grabbed my coffee and a bagel, and popped into the drug store on the corner. I bought new triple blade razors, shaving gel, a clay beauty mask, clear deodorant, a dark grey glitter nail polish, and rich body lotion. I intended to do a day of pampering and close shaving.
I feel smooth and sexy when I get to work. Samson works to make me stunning again. My hair is flat-ironed and straight with a little flip in on the ends. I told him I was wearing white and red, so he did a nude smoky eye, with soft red shiny lips. He called it a vixen look. I looked hot again, thanks to him. Just as I was ready to go out and check in with the DJ the manager raps on the locker room door, and peers his head in. Samson and I stop fidgeting with my dress and look at him; “Lenox, I need a favor.”
“Sure” I tell him.
“We need a girl down at our other club,
I push that out of my head, pour more champagne, and go back to thinking about our time together. I close my eyes and remember what its like for him to touch me. The skin of his palms connected to my back, his fingers on my face, neck and in my hair. Grabbing and holding onto my hips, pulling me into him so I could feel him and his arousal. I go through each movement in my mind, finally getting to when he swooped back in astounding me, forcefully kissing me, and touching me with those strong fingers. I can feel the stirrings between my legs at this memory and start to move and twitch, rubbing my thighs together under the bubbles. God this man turns me on.
I put down my champagne glass and place my hands under the water. The oil from the bubble bath makes my fingers smooth and soft like his were. I glide them all over my body, into my hair, down my neck, around my throat, all thinking about him and pretending it is Jonathan touching me again. I never used to touch or pleasure myself this often, and now in just two days, this man has turned me into a clitoris-rubbing fanatic. I tried to mimic his rhythm and pressure; I closed my eyes and thought about him. How he looked while he rubbed me, when I had my head laid on the backrest, in a moment of clarity I turned to look at him. I saw him watching my face, my expressions, and me as he ran his fingers over my wetness, and he was smiling. A very sexy, but serene smile. He was enjoying himself, turning me on turned him on. I could see it. I made my way down between my legs and found that same place he rubbed tonight and ran back over and over it. I tried to match my breathing as he wanted, and it got faster and faster and I began to climb into sweet tension. I opened my legs wider and gripped the edge of the tub with my other hand as I had grasped Jonathan’s bicep. His face, that smile, those fingers, I felt my climb almost over with a furious splashing from my hand underwater. I gripped the tub edge hard and bucked forward as I came again for him, “Jonathan” I groaned loudly, “ooohhhh Jonathan,” I whispered as I leaned back to feel the pulsing shocks run over my wet skin and slowly stop. I took a minute to revel in the feeling, and then I climbed out, toweled off, and fell into bed. My last thought is that he called me Kitten; I loved hearing it and how it made my belly do a flip when he said it. I fell asleep deeply and with a smile.
Friday
The next morning, more like afternoon, I got up and decided to go out for a latte. When I looked into my workbag gathering my stage tips, I saw the envelope the champagne manager had given me. I had completely forgot about it last night. I felt the orgasm was payment enough. I pulled the cash out to count it; it came to $940 dollars. I had given Samson 60. That means that Jonathan had tipped me a thousand dollars. Wow. I took two hundred and left.
Deep down I know I hoped to see a black SUV outside my door, but I did not. I grabbed my coffee and a bagel, and popped into the drug store on the corner. I bought new triple blade razors, shaving gel, a clay beauty mask, clear deodorant, a dark grey glitter nail polish, and rich body lotion. I intended to do a day of pampering and close shaving.
I feel smooth and sexy when I get to work. Samson works to make me stunning again. My hair is flat-ironed and straight with a little flip in on the ends. I told him I was wearing white and red, so he did a nude smoky eye, with soft red shiny lips. He called it a vixen look. I looked hot again, thanks to him. Just as I was ready to go out and check in with the DJ the manager raps on the locker room door, and peers his head in. Samson and I stop fidgeting with my dress and look at him; “Lenox, I need a favor.”
“Sure” I tell him.
“We need a girl down at our other club,
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