Want - Sex Stories

Want

... to the urge. I let my body relax into his, where I seem to fit so perfectly. Bartholomew leans in, placing his large hand over mine and causing me to finally turn the key. He opens the door all the way and ushers me through, closing it behind us. My small apartment is nothing in comparison to what he is accustomed to. Nevertheless, I’ve always been proud of it, the neatness and my attempts at class. But, times have not always been easy. I am not sure that I want to turn on a light, allowing him to see things more clearly. A part of me wants him to do what he always does when he is behind me. That part wants to feel him pressed into me, to feel his hands undress me while taking every opportunity to appreciate each individual curve. I want his delicious lips at the curve of my neck, his fingers tugging on my hair. We stand in silence for a moment, and I’m quite sure that he can hear the uncontrollable hum of my want. He moves, finds a lamp in the shadows and flips it on. He then positions himself comfortably on my couch, stretching his arms out on either side, flicking the now unlit cigar between one thumb and forefinger. “Comfortable?” I sound a bit angry. But, I am really not. A part of me wants to straddle his lap, palm his head and kiss those lips. I ache to feel his hands cup my bottom and draw me into his… He grins and tilts his head to the side. Bastard. “What do you want?” I avoid the couch and the accompanying matching chair. I go to the tiny dining area, pull out ...

... one of only two chairs that sit at the round table there. I position it so that I can see him clearly and sit down. He lifts one eyebrow and smooth’s the hair on his chin. “You," he returns easily. His accent giving the one word two syllables. I roll my eyes. “What do you want?” He looks around while he speaks. “Surely there must be something,” he continues, his expression and voice taking on a more serious tone. “Every woman wants something.” I just continue to watch him, hoping that my face reveals little. But when his eyes finally rest on me and make their way to my own, I am visibly angry. “I’m here. You have made whatever point you were attempting to make.” He thinks that this is a game. “I don’t want anything from you.” I throw my reply at him and cross my arms. I see a flash of hurt across his face and sadness in his eyes. It is brief, but it is evident. How very strange? “I am an old man and I don’t have much to offer a woman like you.” “A woman like me?” I so want to hang on to anger. It keeps me from coming undone. He watches me closely for a moment, narrowing his eyes just a bit. “It’s simple,” he finally says. “I want you in my life.” Time seems to freeze for just a moment. Then he readjusts himself. “I have property. Or, you can choose a place that you like, preferably closer. You can have your own driver, your own car. I’ll establish an account in your name. That way you can have your own money. You can work if you like. I can have you placed close to me. Or, you ...