What You Do to Me - Sex Stories

What You Do to Me

What drew me to her was a presence I couldn’t define. All I knew is that she attracted me just being in the room. I knew that whatever happened from now on the course of my life would forever be changed because I knew she existed. “Have you met Cheryl yet?” the hostess addressed me with a light touch on my arm. “Not yet,” I admitted. “I’d love to, though.” “Behave yourself,” she admonished me. “She’s married.” “No doubt,” I responded, unable to keep the dejection out of my voice. “Cheryl!” the hostess called out. “I want you to meet Andrew.” Her eyes fixed on mine and held them captive, as a benign smile touched her generous lips. She held up a delicate hand. “Andrew?” she asked. The skin was soft. I raised it to my lips. “Drew,” I said softly. “A pleasure.” I saw her glance across the room to where several of the males had gathered around a flat-screen TV displaying a football match. I assumed her husband was one of the group. “Can I help you find something?” I asked her. She shook her head slightly, her dark hair swirling around delicate features. “No. Just being careful.” I smiled. “You’re a faithful wife,” I chuckled. “I haven’t defiled you. Not yet.” “And you won’t,” she replied, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes. “I understand,” I said. “All I desire is to be near you so that we can get to know each other.” “I think you might be dangerous,” she grinned. “Not at all,” I protested gently. “I will never ask you to do or say anything you don’t want to do or say.” “So I ...

... should trust you?” she grinned. I nodded. “My intentions are pure.” “Pure nonsense,” she laughed delicately. “Why would you think that?” “I’ve seen that look,” she challenged. “I know what you want.” I shook my head. “You’ve misjudged me.” Her eyes searched my face. “Maybe. Still, I’m safer keeping my distance from you.” “Is that what you want?” I asked gently. She was silent for a moment. “What is it about you that makes me want to say no?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps you feel the same magnetism I do?” She smiled. “I knew you were dangerous. My husband…” She stopped. “Is busy watching the match. Does he even know you’re here?” “He knows.” “Does he care?” “What does that mean?” “I can’t keep my eyes off you. I can’t stay away from you. I’d like to know you better, to understand what you think, how you react, and what your inner desires are. Do you think he feels the same way?” “You have to stop this. I made promises.” “Just talk to me, Cheryl. Nothing more. We’ll talk.” So we talked. It went on for more than an hour. We laughed a bit, and I wagged a finger at her when she resorted to being coy. She was frank, honest, and delightful. I behaved myself, sort of. I didn’t miss an opportunity to touch her hand, and even tapped her knee once or twice as I emphasized some point or another. When I came time for me to leave, I broached the possibility of another encounter in the future. “Can I call you?” I asked. “Sometime during the week?” “What for?” “To talk, Cheryl. I like ...