Page 47 of Not About That Life
The question is on the tip of my tongue. The one thing I want more than anything is here. But I’m not sure if that’s something Ian is willing to give to me, at least not yet. I briefly think if this would be the right time to ask him to finally put me on the deed of the townhome, to make itourhome, and not just some place where I’m an extended guest. I want that more than the fancy rock on my finger or the privilege of being a Ferguson will bring to me.
If the world is truly ours, if I can have everything I want, then Ian shouldn’t have a problem with me having ownership of his home, too.
If he does have an issue with that, then everything he just told me was bullshit. I’m willing to walk away from it all. “And what do you want in return?”
The room is silent for a brief moment and I faintly hear the air conditioner running. Ian finally answers. “Loyalty.”
It was an answer I wasn’t expecting. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what I was expecting to hear from him. He could’ve named a laundry list of what he wanted and expected from me starting from appearance and working his way down to how I should perform in the bedroom.
But he didn’t. One word. Three syllables. Then again, Ian was always a man of few words. He didn’t like to repeat himself and made sure he was understood the first time.
“I can do that,” I sip champagne, “so, what do you want to do tonight? The night is still young unless you have to get up early tomorrow?”
“I always have to get up early but I can always make time for the most important person in my life,” he finally sets down the empty glass of champagne and I quickly follow suit. “there is something I do want to try tonight.”
“Oh?” I’m a little drunk and I hope all of this liquor inside me makes me ready for whatever Ian has in mind. “What is it?”
Ian stands up and holds his hand out to me. I grab it and I follow him back to our bedroom. He stands behind me and wraps his arms around me. “Angel…” His voice is a breathy whisper. “…you’re so beautiful.”
I love how Ian does foreplay. He makes love to my mind and then my body. It’s always been like this and I hope it never stops. “Thank you, baby.”
He rubs his hands up and down my arms as he studies my face. I watch his eyes as they travel to various parts of my body – my toes, my legs, my navel, my breasts – and back up to my eyes. “I want to see you masturbate tonight.”
My eyes widen. Masturbation was a sticky (pardon the pun) subject between us and it was clear Ian wanted me to explore my body more without his assistance. I kinda wanted to explore it without him seeing it first, but I guess I’m making my spectacular masturbation debut right fucking now?
Ian’s gaze holds mine. “You never tried masturbating?”
I felt his words in my core, the heat in my belly, and the intensity of his blue eyes as they focused on mine. I’m not ashamed I’d never done it; I’m sure a lot of women haven’t.
I grew up with the thought of doing so was unpure, nasty, and potentially harmful. Classy and educated women didn’t masturbate. Those who did would be out in the streets, jumping at anything that walked past them. I didn’t want to bring shame to my family or somehow destroy the Kimbrough name by doing so, so I’d never attempted.
It wasn’t that I wanted to. I read enough trashy e-books to get my fill there and very few of them had the heroine masturbating, so I thought women just didn’t do it. Those who did do it, were sex experts. I was definitely not that.
Ian was willing to teach me everything he knew and then some. I had no reason to be afraid and for some odd reason, I felt a bit empowered by his boldness. “No, I haven’t,” I quietly answered.
“I want you to,” his voice matched mine. “Now. In front of me.”
I swallowed. Twice. “Now?”
“You liked it when I did it to you, yes?” He asked. “I want to see what you look like when you give yourself that same pleasure.” He stands behind me and slowly unzips the gown. He pulls down my body, caressing it along the way and helps me step out of it.
Ian slowly removes the expensive La Perla thong but leaves the pantyhose and garter belt on me, along with the bra. I feel the coldness of the air conditioning on my heated sex, and my body responds. Desire races throughout my body like a maze, and unrelenting pleasure takes over. I look at him through the full-length mirror in our bedroom, and his intense eyes are fixated on mine.
He’s not just watching me; he’s studying my reaction, my every movement, and bidding his time on what he should do next. He wants me to become more open for him, more exposed and vulnerable. To be willing and eager for the experience, no matter how scary it could be.
We’ve played the roles since we’ve been a part of each other’s lives – he leads and I follow. Except now, he wants me to lead. He wants me to show him where it feels good. He wants me to show him how I give myself pleasure, how I make my toes curl, how I can myself scream out in orgasm.
Could I? Could I really do such an intimate act?
“You knew what you were doing, though.” I weakly reply.
The thought frightens me. It sounds silly to think I had no problem doing a pole dance in front of millions around the world. I share a bit of my world on Instagram every day. But the thought of masturbating…doing such a private act in front of my lover?
I don’t know.
Ian kisses the back of my legs and I go weak as they softly buckle. He wraps his arms around my body to keep me from falling as he moves upward. He places two small kisses on each cheek before moving to the small of my back. His tongue traces up my spine and finally and the small of my neck, my weak spot.
“No, I didn’t,” he purrs in my ear, and softly nibbles on it. I close my eyes and lean back against him while his hands slither all over my body. “I didn’t know if you would like me playing with your pussy. I do, now.” He stops kissing my ear and my eyes open. I meet his eyes in the mirror staring back at us. His right hand travels to my sex and cups it, feeling the soft thumping against his palm. “What are you afraid of?”
