By Micki L. Bailey

She hopped up on the bar and sat there swinging her legs while she watched him across the room at the door. That damn "freight elevator" door that opened from the middle – one more charming aspect of living in an authentic warehouse "loft."

She got that sudden tickly, jittery, rollercoaster-like feeling in her stomach when she thought about living here with him from now on. And in less than two months, she would officially be his "Mrs." – God, another tickly, jittery feeling spasmed through her.

Watching him now, as he bolted that weird door, gave her more tingling sensations, just below her stomach – the way he gracefully bent down and moved fluidly like an agile cat. She knew she was moistening down there. And she liked it. But she didn’t want to touch herself. She wanted him to do it.

They were finally alone. They’d given a dinner party this evening for Vinnie and Lisa, his best man and her maid of honor, to get acquainted with each other. She’d seen Lisa looking at him lots more than she looked at Vinnie.

She had supposed that Lisa was wondering how he was in bed, and she figured Lisa probably left with her own damp panties. But that was okay. Lisa wasn’t the first woman to look at him hungrily. She’d noticed others staring at him too. Who could blame them? And this line of thought increased the moisture she felt into outright unmistakable wetness.

She felt the silk of her long dress against the backs of her bare thighs. She’d kicked off her shoes and now pulled the dress up enough to feel the cool bar top against her legs. Instinctively, she ground her throbbing crotch down on the hard bar surface while she watched him turn away from the door now and walk casually towards her.

A shiver ran through her whole body. Raw, undeniable desire.

He looked up at her, raised his eyebrows, and smiled, just for a second. Then he stopped at the leather couch, picked up two empty wine glasses off the coffee table and rolled his eyes. "What did they think this was, a damn sleep-over?"

He was wearing snug black jeans that moulded perfectly to his fine body and a black dress shirt, tucked in, with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows. As he walked by her taking the glasses to the kitchen sink, she ground her now-drenched crotch down harder and swiveled on the bar.

Those hands, wrists and arms of his made her wince silently. He was oblivious to the effect he was having on her. And "on her" was where she wanted him right then.

Twice during the evening he’d brushed the palm of his hand across her ass just enough to make her nipples harden. And once he’d winked at her ever so slightly across the room. All without the dinner guests knowing any of it. Now the fire inside her was stoked and burning, almost out of control.

He was still fussing about the guests who wouldn’t leave as he walked past her again towards the back of the loft. She caught a whiff of alcohol mixed with his light cologne, and her heated lust soared.

"Roger." It came out with more breath than she’d intended, like panting.

"What?" He was still unaffected. Not bored or gruff like he sounded. She’d had to get used to that.

And he still didn’t look at her as he stopped and picked up a book. How absolutely erotic to see those hands she so badly wanted on her body holding an innocent book.

"Come over here." Her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t raise his head – just turned it sideways in her direction as he slowly looked over at her.

"Please." If she had to beg, she was more than willing. He was worth it.

He let the book fall and sauntered over to her, smiling a small, devious smile. He stood in front of her, his hips barely touching her knees. It seemed the bar had been designed for this particular moment.

"Whadaya want?" His eyes never left hers. He knew exactly what she wanted.

"I want you." She could manage only a whisper now. She was fevered and aching. And sticking to the bar surface.

"Ya do, huh?"

Very slowly, he placed his warm hands on her knees and ran them along the outsides of her thighs. Under the silk dress. Never taking his eyes off her face. She was on fire, trembling, and her breathing was fast and loud as she watched him, waiting.

When he reached her hips with his caressing hands, he reversed directions and moved them down along the insides of her thighs, lingering for a second or two as the tips of his fingers grazed the soaking crotch of her panties. He slipped them inside the lace, teasing her swollen, tender flesh.

"What happened here?" he said in a low, bedroom voice.

"Nothing yet."

As he ran his hands back down the insides of her legs, she could wait no longer. She bent forward and unbuttoned those tight black jeans. Then she bent lower to reach inside and wrap her hand around his penis and free it. It was already rigid, and he groaned as she bent even lower and kissed it.

She felt his fingers dig into her thighs as she took him in her mouth and ran her tongue all up and down the length of him. The slightly salty taste drove her on. She sucked first the head and then the shaft while she ground her own groin against the bar. Ah, she savored the feel of him swelling inside her mouth.

"Shit," he whispered.

Then, suddenly, he put his hand under her chin and lifted her head up. Swiftly, without a word, he grabbed her hips and pulled her ass to the bar’s edge.

"Lay down, baby" he said gruffly and hoarsely as he effortlessly removed his jeans. Then, without looking at her, he yanked off her soggy panties with both hands and positioned her legs over his shoulders. Compliantly, she let him.

He grabbed the sides of the bar for balance and shoved himself into her with near-brutal force. She couldn’t help but utter a little cry. Oblivious again, he drove in and out of her over and over, looking down at nothing.

The intensity was a little too much for her. He wasn’t moving inside her or against her sensitive spot with her pleasure in mind. He was just fucking the hell out of her like an animal for his own satisfaction. The mood had changed. She wasn’t on fire anymore. She was just in pain.

It was over quickly. He let out a guttural "Damn" when he finished with one last violent plunge.

Seconds later, he pulled out of her wetly, rested his hand on the bar long enough to get his breath, and then pulled his jeans back on. While adjusting his clothes, he looked at her and smiled.

"Is that what ya wanted?" he asked with a small laugh. Then he held out his hand to help her up.

Stunned and confused, she let him pull her up. He reached around behind her, lifted up her hair, and kissed the back of her neck. Then he was gone. He picked up that book and lay down on the sofa to read.

She sat there a minute or two feeling the rage forming itself inside her. Then she hopped off the bar, straightened the silk dress, walked over to the end of the sofa, and said, "What the hell do you think this is, a goddamn whorehouse?" She was angry but struggled not to raise her voice.

He looked up over the book at her and said with that tiny smile, "Well, it does smell like sex in here, hmmm?"

She glared at him. "You’re every bit the bastard I’ve heard you were, Roger."

"What’s the problem, babe?" Now he put the book down on his lap.

"The problem IS that if you think THAT was a good lay and that I enjoyed you pounding me to death, then you’re screwed in the head!"

"Honey, what the hell are you talking about? You asked for it."

"Yeah, and I still haven’t gotten what I asked for! What I did get was freaking injured! Go to hell, Roger!"

He was yelling at her to come back, but she rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. There, away and safe from him, she took a long, hot shower. And cried just a little.

What was the damn deal with him? How could he be so utterly insensitive? Where had things gone so totally wrong? Had she asked for what she got? She actually felt more emotionally wounded than physically injured.

Later, when she came back out in her robe, she saw that Roger had turned off all the lights and was now reading by the glow of several candles. He put the book down and sat up when he saw her.

When she didn’t bother to sit down, he said, "Will ya talk to me?…………..Or can I at least talk to you?"

She sat down on the love seat away from him without answering, and he moved quickly, like that agile cat, to sit beside her. He seemed anxious, uncertain.

"Um……..I guess I was a jerk."

"You’re a selfish asshole."

He laughed nervously. "So I’ve been told. But……..uh……I’m sorry…….. I….. ….I’m still getting used to this monogamy thing, the whole soulmate business, ya know?……….Looks like I suck at it so far." His eyes twinkled in the semi-darkness.

"I wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if I hadn’t seen some potential there."

He detected some hope in her answer. "So you don’t hate me?" He took her hand in his and kissed the open palm. She let him, of course.

"You didn’t even kiss me, Roger."

"Ahhhh, the romance part……….I need to work on that too."

"You’ve been better."

"Give me another shot at it. Please," he said, pressing two of her fingertips to his mouth..

"What? You want another shot now? Are you kidding me?" She feigned alarm. He bought it.

"Did I really hurt you, sweetheart?" He was looking into her eyes again.

She didn’t answer him, so he moved closer and put his mouth on her neck. He kissed it lovingly on both sides and then moved up to her mouth. When his lips touched hers, she kissed him back, full and wet. She put her arms around him and felt that tickly, jittery thing in her stomach again. Oh, and the moisture was returning too.

Feeling her softening in his arms, he picked her up easily and carried her to the bedroom. She kissed his neck as he walked. Once they got behind the bedroom partition, she saw that he’d lit candles in there too.

She looked into his eyes while he still held her. He almost smiled/almost winced and quietly said, "I’m trying, baby."

She smiled back at him, and he laid her down on the iron bed. He untied the robe, opened it, and slowly ran his right hand down the middle of her body, caressing her. She gasped.

When his fingers reached her wetness, he placed both hands on her inner thighs and spread them, saying, "Let me see the damage. I promise I’ll be gentle." She looked down her body at him. She’d forgotten about being "hurt."

"Take off your clothes first."

Obediently, he stood up and undressed while she watched him in the candlelight, dying to have his hands on her again. Then he sat on the bed and lowered his face to her crotch. She gasped again as he kissed her inner thighs and then moaned out load when his lips touched her secret parts.

He was gentle and slow as he kissed and sucked her inner lips. She closed her eyes and arched her back as she rode the waves he was creating in her. Then he probed those lips until he found her "button."

She writhed on the bed tumultuously and finally exploded with her first fiery-intense orgasm as he pressed his firm, lapping tongue against her mound. He held her down, devouring her most intimate body part. She violently peaked again before he came up for air.

Through heavy breathing, she said, "Come here……….Lemme taste."

So he crawled up and laid his body on hers, kissing her with his sticky mouth. She tasted her salty sweetness on his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Then, while they breathed each other’s breath, she wiped his wet cheeks off with her robe and kissed him more. The inside of his mouth tasted of her too.

After a few moments of quiet kissing, he slithered down her body again and laid his head between her breasts. She could feel his swollen hardness against her leg, and it occurred to her that he would need a sign from her before he went any further.

She touched his head. "Hey, you. Come back up here."

Sleekly, he moved back up to her again. Chest to chest.

"Make love to me," she whispered.

"Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you."

"Please, Roger."

That was enough of a sign. So he moved between her legs and kissed her as he slowly slid himself into her for the second time that evening.

He was hard and ready, and she felt everything inside her tighten as he entered – as if her whole body wanted to close itself adoringly around him inside her. She sucked him in and squeezed her legs around him.

He kissed her neck and mouth as they moved together in a magical, passionate dance. His body finally on hers where she desired it, their sweat blending together. There were more waves for her, building and intensifying until she could think of nothing else.

She heard him at her ear in his low, bedroom voice say, "I love you." And those words, not often spoken by him, caused the waves to crash on her shore, throwing her into a shattering orgasm that he waited out with her.

Then she felt or heard him explode too just as her own tsunami was subsiding. He shook against her silently with his furious blast. Then he rolled over onto his back and pulled her to him.

She rested her palm on his heaving chest and ran her fingers through the hair there.

"I love you too," she said.

"You’re not calling off the wedding gig?"

"No, honey. Not a chance."

"I still gotta wear that damn tuxedo?"

"Don’t start with me, Roger, or I’ll make you go another round here."

"Ah, baby, you’re gonna kill me."