The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake

Chapter Two-2

“What a neat little life you have.”

“But it’s not all perfect.”

“No perfect mate? No trophy wife?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “Got close, but I learned how to bail out of those sticky arrangements fast.”

“That’s hardly the way to entice a woman,” Lillian said with a laugh. Then she blushed again, afraid that he wasn’t really, seriously, interested in her.

He seemed to cringe at his own remark. “You’re so right.”

Then there was silence, while he was thinking how much he’d like to take her home with him. Not a stray, not that at all, which was what he was afraid she’d think. Meanwhile, she was letting the arousal in her climb, putting no brakes on that ticklish feeling as it turned into a thorough panty-soaking, desire-leaping moment of lust.

He finally broke the silence. “I didn’t want to turn you off. In fact, and at the risk of being way too forward, way too fast, I’d really like to take this conversation some place else.”

“I think I’d like that too, Mr. Thornton-Wynn,” she practically stumbled over the mouthful.

He laughed, “Call me Patrick.”

“Patrick. But I can’t. Not tonight. I have a discussion section that I cannot miss. Eight o’clock, I really should be getting back.”

“Then another time.”

“Yes, another time would be fine.”

***

It took two more dates before Patrick and Lily ended up in bed. By then she was Lily, not Lillian, a name he said that he didn’t particularly care for, while at the same time, he loved the sensuous sound of Lily, and could thrive on the name and daydream on its simplicity and make up love poems that sounded like arias. She loved that he made such a fuss to keep from offending her. Most often he was so blunt, so candid, it’s no wonder they got to the point, the s*x, so quickly. As quickly as the English teacher from Foxwood-Forest would allow.

Lily shivered at the sight of the bed. She stood before it waiting for Patrick to finish a phone call and put the phone on mute. Her first real grown up love affair was about to commence, and her pulse was racing, her lips dry. She could smell the scent of her powerful pheromones and was afraid that he could too, and find it all disgusting.

At least the bed was perfect and sweet-smelling, a king-size with a pale green duvet some designer had obviously chosen for him as a perfect contrast to his dark wood furniture, contemporary in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright; the architect’s ghost was everywhere about Patrick’s house.

“You could have jumped right in,” he said, as he came up from behind her and placed his hands on her back.

She instantly scrunched up her shoulders, feeling a sudden frightful chill.

“You’re nervous.”

She turned her head to the side, but didn’t turn around. “I am. It’s been longer than I want to admit.”

“Since you had s*x?”

“Exactly.”

His fingers were so delicate, so light, as they skirted her body and made her tingle everywhere they touched. He turned on places inside her shuddering frame that had been long forsaken, where s*x still felt like a curious novelty. But soon, his mood darkened and those fingers became doggedly invasive, lifting the hem of her navy skirt and moving straight between her legs. She gasped with a sudden bolt of pleasure shooting though her midsection. She wanted to turn around but he forbade it: “Don’t move,” sounding quite commanding.

She couldn’t believe how much she wanted this.

As his own desire began to crescendo, he started tearing at her clothes, thinking as he moved so brusquely that he may have to buy a whole new wardrobe for her if he got too rough. He didn’t care. Her blouse, her skirt, down to bra and panties. Once she was naked, he ran a hand over her back side – this time against bare skin.

She was screaming inside. Afraid to move.

Finally, at last, with a sigh going through her body, Patrick turned her around. She could feel him now, explore him as he explored her; turnabout is only fair play. He seemed not to care much about her touching him, but would rather devour her body. The breasts, the belly, the p***y he’d just unveiled. He wanted to smell and touch and taste her skin, to bite her tender flesh and listen to the accompanying sound of her lyrical moan. Seconds later, he pushed her back on the green duvet and tumbled on top of her, their arms embracing, while her legs opened in invitation.

There were still his clothes to strip away, and they both worked on that project until Patrick’s clothes were heaped on the floor and she could lay her hands on a chest that hours at a gym made firm and muscled. His chest hair was scant, light and curly, and the smell of his cologne and sweat and personal musk turned her p***y into a creaming s*x machine. She craved his erection and the rapturous spasms that would follow his entry.

About that erection…his p***s was growing nicely, steadily rising with the onslaught of kisses: his first at the sensitive nape of her neck, then hers across his chest. Then his inside her hair and down her arm and all over the breasts he squeezed, and the n*****s he nibbled on carefully with his teeth; kisses quickly followed by hers in a trail from his chest to his belly to the furry nest, where his p***s had nearly stiffened to its full length and girth.

She covered the head with her mouth and ran her tongue along the ridge, then practically swallowed the shaft whole, only to come up for air and repeat the process, again and again. The taste of his essence was sweet and salty, his pheromones as rich as hers. Soon, she was so involved with the blowjob that it took several minutes for her to realize that he had shifted her hips so that she could straddle his chest and give him access to her p***y.

“Oh, my dear god!” she finally lifted her head and wailed. His tongue on her clit was driving her mad.

“Yes, do that, call me a god all you want,” he quipped, then he dove back into her hot little puss and stuck his tongue as deep as it would go. He swathed her backdoor in her own juices, and gently poked two fingers inside her ass, while continuing with his tongue. Other fingers stimulated her ‘g’ spot and the ripe bud of her c******s.

“Yessssssssss,” she was starting to hiss, and lose interest in his c**k – which he immediately noticed.

A light slap to her behind brought her around. She loved that slap – the sharp sting and the sensuous warmth that followed. “Sorry, if I’m too hard on you, but I like your lips on my cock.”

She dove back in but not for long. He suddenly lifted her off his chest and turned her around so she was lying on her back, then with one quick move, he was hovering on top of her ready to plunge. She gazed up at him longingly, while he gazed down at her eyes ablaze with lust.

“Just beware, I have a way of owning women with my cock.”

She believed he was actually serious, and replied in the same vein, her voice full-throated and deep, driven by her grabbing, greedy, hungry p***y, “Then own me, Patrick!”

Scowling at her command, he shoved down, thrusting to her center hardly before the words were out of her mouth, then furiously began to bang her, dropping down atop her breasts and clinging to her as savagely as she was clinging to him. She scratched his back with her nails and bit into his neck, sucking like a vampire.

The designer duvet landed on the floor, the bed sheets were soaked with c*m – hers and his. They rutted three times to explosive orgasms. Rutted because it had been so long for them both, that rutting like animals can be the only way to describe the frenzied activity of their s*x.

But they were also making love. Not just physical desire or body hunger. There was real affection, and a need to care in them both. After the madness had ceased, at least for a few hours while they rested dozing side by side, they barely touched. But they were close enough to feel the other’s body heat and sense the other’s beating heart because they seemed to beat as one. Something special happened on that bed.

“How do I love thee, let me count the ways…” he was the first to speak and chose the familiar poem.

She laughed. “Isn’t that just the s*x talking?” she said, sounding much more down to earth. “Although I suppose I was pretty good.”

“You were fantastic,” he said, completely enthused. He turned on his side, and ran his hand delicately over her breasts, gently tweaking n*****s, which were really quite sore now.

“So, is this when you bail out of the sticky arrangements?” she wondered. “Or do I get to have you a few more times before you send me away?”

Her jest almost made his stomach sour; it certainly angered him. But he had to let go the comment – he deserved it. “Look at me,” he said, and his hand with firm determination made her turn toward him. “I want to marry you, Lily.”

Her eyes got wide in shock. “Married? No.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Yes. I do. You’re the woman I’ve been waiting for.”

“You know that now? So soon?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Everything in my life that I’ve had or achieved or acquired has come to me quickly, when the first hint of it pops in my head, I make my decision. I won’t change my modus operandi now. I know that I want you for my wife.”

“But what if I don’t work that way?”

He probably hadn’t considered this, since the thought had just popped in his head, but he managed a smile, and tenderly stroked the side of her face. “Then I’ll adjust. At least you know where I’m headed. And I don’t believe in particularly long engagements.”