Chapter 3
Now the time had come, and as she approached Paul's apartment, Cindy could feel the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Oh God, she hoped Paul was there to meet her; she wouldn't stay if he wasn't.
But he was, and, glancing quickly around the room, she -saw he was alone. He smiled at her and gazed approvingly at her dark blue silk dress; it clung enticingly to her full young haunches, outlining the front of her, the sweet gentle slope of her belly as it dipped to meet her thighs; and it was short, very short, so that she could not sit down without exposing herself. She had only worn it when she and Paul went out together, and never with any panties, for she loved the feel of the silk against her skin, loved to walk quickly and feel the material as it slipped back and forth over the lower part of her body, caressing the sensitive insides of her thighs. But tonight, as she had selected the dress, wondering vaguely why she wanted to wear this particular one, she had also decided to wear panties; they were of blue satin and hung loosely around her hips.
As she stood facing Paul, watching him admire her, she wanted suddenly to run to him and bury her face against his chest; but she could not...nor could she meet his gaze. Instead, she turned and walked to the bar, conscious of his eyes as they followed the fluid swing of her hips.
"Paul, I can't do it. I really don't want to," she said, her back still turned to him. But the words sounded strange to her, as if they were coming from someone else. She turned around and leaned against the bar for support. "Please Paul, I really can't."
Paul watched her as she moved away from the bar. But he did not answer her; in fact her words meant very little to him and he let them slip away, content as he was to watch her sensual movements. Walking over to where she was standing, he reached down and pulled the dress over her hips; he laughed as he saw what she was wearing underneath. Keeping her dress raised, he knelt down and pressed his face against the Smooth satin. She took the dress from his hands and raising it higher exposed the creamy white skin above the hem of her panties; he moved his mouth upwards, between her navel and the more luxuriant silken triangle between her legs. Her sex, hot and throbbing, burned for his kiss, and she moaned low in her throat as she felt his hand slip beneath the top of her panties; her hips, fluid and demanding, arched forward to meet the caress of his hand. He unfastened the snaps on either side of her panties and the satin slid easily down over her hips to catch finally around her knees. Now her pink, delightfully shaped clitoris, which ached so for his mouth and his tongue, was visible, thrusting sweetly up through the silken curls. But as he lowered his head to take her hot, slippery sex between his lips and teeth, she put her hands on his head to stop him, although, inflamed as she was, she could utter no words of protest.
Paul stopped as he felt the pressure of her trembling hands, his mouth directly in front of her parted thighs; and although he knew that, for some unknown reason she did not now want his caress, he was unable to resist such a tempting sight and his mouth closed around her clitoris, pulling it, sucking it, tasting her juices. Her hands released his head from their almost frantic grip and now she stroked his hair. He knew he could have continued, but he stopped after giving her one kiss and pulled away, his gaze still directed toward the center of her, where, slowly, almost reluctantly, her firm young thighs were closing.
"Let's wait," she said in a husky voice. She wet her lips and closed her eyes again, this time for only an instant, as if needing that one second to gather her strength, to gather the determination not to give in to the demands of her craving thighs. She closed her legs the rest of the way as if, by the pressure of her own flesh, she could stifle the hot itch that was threatening to inflame the rest of her body. Sighing, she bent down, pulled her panties up over her hips and fastened them.
"When is he coming?" she asked, an impish smile playing around her full lips.
"When is he coming?" he grinned up at her. "I don't know, I haven't called him yet. I thought you might want to back out, so I didn't tell him anything for sure. He's probably sitting by the phone, biting his nails and sweating."
"Well?" she asked in the same full-throated husky voice. Her face flushed and darkened with excitement and her eyes had a strange feverish gleam.
"You want me to call him, then?" he asked. He was teasing her, to finish the smoldering, already flickering flames that seemed to be racing through her body. He knew, by watching her, that she was ready.
He had never seen her like this. It was as if every part of her lovely body was alive and surging with electricity, as if her blood had thickened and now boiled through her limbs, as if any place he touched her would be hot...searing...and as if that touch, wherever it was, would send an uncontrollable shudder throughout her body. She was hot and ready and he wanted her...wanted her as he never had before...wanted to rip the panties from her lush bursting hips, wanted to pull her to the floor forcing her legs apart if necessary...anything...anything to slip his prick into her steaming, slippery flesh, to feel her quiver beneath him, to feel her long satiny legs slip and slide around his body, to feel her wet sex as it opened wider and wider to receive his own thrusting flesh, to hear her soft moanings and delightful cries of pleasure.
His need for her made the blood surge hotly through his own veins. But she was not his now; she would yield to him, yes, but to take her now would also be to lose her, for she would be able to keep part of herself from him. It was so hard to think, to reason, kneeling as he was, only a foot in front of her warm flesh, his mouth still tasting the juices of her sex and his nostrils teased by the smell coming from between her legs.
Reluctantly, against the urgings of his body, he rose to his feet and walked to the phone. But before dialing, he looked at her once again. She had not moved. Her eyes watched his deliberate movements eagerly, but now her smile had changed into one of playful mocking. Suddenly he hated this fat slob of a businessman, hated him as he had never hated another human being. Briefly, as he raised his finger to dial, he considered sending her home and forgetting about the whole business. But he knew he couldn't; he wouldn't be able to sleep that night if he did; nor would any woman's body, even Cindy's, ease his mind. He dialed the number.
She was strangely silent as they waited...moving slowly around the room...restless, yet also calm, as if she was in the midst of a mystery which, although gripping and exciting her almost beyond control, she did not want to hurry to its conclusion. In fact, the passing minutes only seemed to add to her strength, while for Paul they dragged endlessly and only increased his feeling of foreboding.
Nor did it help that she had not spoken from the time he had made the call. When she sensed that he wanted to talk, she got up and went into another room, or walked to the bar to fix another drink.
He was getting increasingly nervous and irritable, although it was only 20 minutes before they both heard the car crunching up the gravel of the driveway. Despite his attempts to quiet his nerves, he jumped as the doorbell chimed. As he walked to the door he could feel the muscles tighten in his arms and neck; he looked over his shoulder at Cindy, as if, at a signal from her he would not answer the door.
But he could detect nothing in her expression to indicate that she had changed her mind, and as he turned away he heard a soft click as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Without further hesitation Paul opened the front door.
As he stood facing the man whom he had hated only moments before, he felt strangely elated. After all, this man had come only to look; well, he could look all he wanted. Paul felt like chuckling at the same time he pitied the man, standing there, unable to look him in the eyes. He moved aside to let the man pass and as he did he felt an envelope being thrust into his hands.
Ah yes, the money; he'd almost forgotten about that. He could return it, he thought to himself, and with ease; but there was really no reason to do that, so he slipped the envelope inside the pocket of his coat, confident, even without looking, that it contained five crisp new hundred dollar bills. He trusted Jenkins.
Paul watched as Jenkins lumbered past, watched as he stopped in the middle of the room, as if waiting for some word from Paul. But Paul remained silent and finally the man turned to face him, revealing, as he did, the growing excitement on his face.
It fascinated Paul, the way the little beads of perspiration gathered on his face. But, he thought to himself, why waste time looking at him? Better to get it over with as soon as possible, even though a hard knot of apprehension was again forming in the pit of Paul's stomach. So he indicated to Jenkins which door he was to enter, then turned immediately to the bar to fix himself a drink, telling himself that he really didn't give a damn.