Page 42 of Not About That Life
I grabbed my Dior clutch and walk out to the foyer. I see Ian standing by the window as he looks out into the Los Angeles skyline. He looks amazing in a tuxedo. It’s the same thing he wears to every gala, and yet, he looks more incredible each time he wears it.
I don’t say anything to him because I’m not sure if he wants to hear my voice after our big fight today, so I just keep it cute and mute. I’ll speak when I have to.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he finally says after what felt like an eternity in silence. He turns around and looks at me with the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes. He slowly walks to me and caresses my face, careful not to ruin the makeup job. “Remember when I said you were more beautiful than the Mona Lisa?”
How could I forget? I’m still screaming from the memory. “Yes,” I softly reply.
“I’ll forever mean that.” He kisses my cheek as he’s well aware of the no-kissing-before-public-pictures-rule. “Are you ready to go, angel?”
“Very.”
~~~~~
Tonight’s gala is being held at the Ferguson, honoring women who have made a significant cultural impact throughout the year. Over the past years, The Ferguson has honored pop stars, actors, athletes, and even non-famous people who have had a huge impact on pop culture and women.
This event has Lula Jean all over it.
The car ride is silent and there’s still a bit of tension from earlier. I practice numerous times what’s going to come out of my mouth but they all sound so stupid and idiotic. I know this fight was my fault this time and I just need to put on my big girl panties (figuratively) and just keep it real with him.
The words come out like a harsh wind in the middle of a storm: “I’m sorry.”
Ian squeezes my hand and nods. He looks over at me with a soft grin on his face. “Thank you.” He turns back to look out the window.
Normally, I would go on a diatribe on how foolish and naïve I was and how I overreacted and blah blah blah bullshit, but I don’t think that will help at all. Despite my apology, I don’t think things are really cool between us.
I feel the tension is still there, though it’s not as heightened as before. I need to figure out another way to make this better or it’s going to be a weird night between us.
Blow him. Blow him. Blow him.
It was advice given that I dismissed but it’s my last resort. I’m willing to ruin Mario’s makeup job if it means my fiancée will have a better night because of me and not a so-so night for the same reason.
I remember some of the things I’ve learned in the BDSM materials I’ve read that wasn’t fictional. I learned about hard and soft limits. I learned the power ofnoand the exploration ofyes.
I also learned I need to stay in my place before Ian makes it uncomfortable for both of us.
I let out a deep breath and well, here goes nothing. “Sir, may this girl suck Your cock?”
I gauge Ian’s reaction and watch in nail-biting anticipation as I see his eyebrows slightly rise up before they come back down. Then it’s silence. And more silence. And more.
So much for that stupid suggestion.
“I don’t want to ruin your makeup job, angel.” He finally turns to me after what seems like an eternity in silence. “I’ll ruin it later.”
My cheeks warm and I think my vagina starting singing again? “Oh.”
Ian grabs my right hand and looks at the monstrous engagement ring. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what this looks like as it strokes my cock.” He kisses my hand.
Now I went from being a little horny to unbearable nympho. Shit, when am I not a nymph? “Sir, may this girl stroke Your cock?”
“You may,” Sir adjusts His position and watches me unzip his tux and pull out His soft cock. I’m resisting the temptation to wrap my lips and mouth all over it, despite how strong it is. I use a little spit to wet it and begin stroking Him.
I’ve never given a hand job before and I’m not sure what the protocol is to this. Do I stroke hard? Do I stroke soft? Do I alternate? What if my hands get tired? What am I supposed to do?
“Enjoy the process, angel,” he softly moans as He watches me, “worry about the technique later.”
“Yes, Sir.” I stroke His cock more and let my mind at ease. My shoulders immediately drop and I feel more relaxed than before. As I did that, Sir’s cock became harder with each stroke. It seemed the more I stroked Him, the harder He became.
“Mmm…that’s it, angel,” Sir moves His hips more to meet my strokes. We’re in a steady rhythm now. Some of His pre-cum spilled out and now His cock is slippery within my hands. Meanwhile, the small song my vagina sang earlier became a full-blown choir.
