Want - Sex Stories

Want

... wrapped around my thigh, smoking a cigar—as if he had just won some battle. But, I am not imagining the smell of his cigar or his presence now. My foot barely hits the fifth floor landing when I see him propped up against the wall across from my apartment door. With closed eyes, leaning that perfectly shaped bald head back against the wall, he takes a long drag from his cigar and then slowly releases it, as if deep in thought. Dressed for the office, but with his tie hanging loose and the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, Bartholomew McCullum stood there as sexy as ever. I had read an online biography about him, after our first encounter. They called him the “consummate bachelor”, a “charismatic corporate marauder”. He looked every bit the part, and so very dangerous. The walls of my apartment building seem suddenly dingy and the lighting weak and inappropriate. Those damned butterflies begin to flutter and my legs feel weak. His eyes open slowly as he shifts his head towards me. He takes another long drag and releases it. “I was in the neighborhood.” The first week, his messages were curious and entertaining with an option for me to call back. They were the hardest to resist. The second week, he demanded a response and called at odd hours. I felt justified in my decision that he was only interested in himself. Then the messages stopped. By the end of the third week there were no calls. The total silence that followed only confirmed that he had returned back to what was ...

... normal for him or that I had been properly replaced. And now, here he stands. ”In the neighborhood,” he says. I hope the security system on his car works well. It’s going to stand out like a sore thumb in my neighborhood. I am so tempted to just turn and go back down the five flights of stairs. His eyes lock on me and I find it hard to breathe, let alone run. It takes almost a minute before I am strong enough to look away and walk to my own door. I can feel his eyes on me as I nervously search my bag for my keys. I can feel them go down my body as I turn my back to him. I pause before turning the last lock. “What do you want?” I manage, aware that my voice is shaking. I feel his closeness, even though he does not touch me. When his thick voice speaks above my ear, I close my eyes and let the brief familiarity of it warm me. “I am here for you.” “Bartholomew.” I sound like I’m pleading. “You leave me with little choice, having not returned my calls and abandoning your position.” “Abandoning my position,” I repeat. “Bart, it was just temporary.” He lowers his head so that this time I feel the warmth of his voice on my ear. I also feel his body hovering just centimeters from my own. “It was whatever you wanted it to be for as long as you wanted it,” he says and the thickening of his accent reveals a trickling of offense. I hear his words and I wish that they only meant what I want them to mean. A familiar feeling washes over me. I let go of the breath I am holding and I give in ...