Page 93 of Stroked Hard
“So confident.”
“Confidence grows dicks.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Eh,” he chuckles, “made sense to me. I’m going to run home quick, take a shower, and then head over to your place. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay, don’t be late. It will reflect poorly for you on after-date activities if you are.”
“I knew you were a hussy who put out on the first night.”
“Goodbye, Hollis.”
“Pretty sure that’s not my name, Hot Sex.”
I laugh to myself. “No way in hell I’m calling you Big Daddy.” Before he can answer, I hang up with an even bigger smile on my face now.
Honestly, I’m really excited about tonight. What does he have planned? Will he take me to dinner and that’s it? Or does he have something else special planned . . . besides his sexual fantasies.
And what kind of sexual fantasies does he have? Is riding him one of them? I think about the possibility, of me on top, my hips spread, taking him inside me, running the length of his cock against my clit in just the right position.
My body heats up from the possibility. Yeah, I could join in on that little fantasy. Hell, it’s not even a fantasy, it’s something I have to do now.
I can see his heady eyes now, barely able to look at me to peruse my body. I can feel his hands gripping my thighs, guiding me along his cock, his glorious cock.
Dude has cock.
That will forever be etched in my memory as the biggest truth I’ve ever been told . . . no pun intended.
For months Hollis has taunted and teased me with sexual proposition after sexual proposition, and if I’m honest, I’ve been left in a constant state of frustration.Yet, I’ve kept him at arm’s length.But now, now I get to experience him, and I have to admit I’m actually surprised just how good sex is with him.He worships my body.The way he touches me—electrifies me—is beyond what I expected, and I expected a lot. I had only wanted one night, but I'm amazed I get to have more.It's as if he was made only for me.And of course, that makes me want him more. After I left Bellini’s house, barely squeaking away from day two of possible pimple appearance, I decided to pamper myself. I went to one of my favorite boutiques, found the perfect emerald-green form-fitting dress that hits mid-thigh with long sleeves and no back, bought a pair of gold stilettos, and had my nails done in matching gold tones. No need for lingerie since the back of the dress is non-existent and I don’t care for underwear most of the time.
Eyeing the dress hanging on the door behind me, I try to picture Hollis’s face when he sees me in it. Pretty sure he’ll love it, especially the plunging back and the way it shows the curve of my ass and outline of my breasts. Yup, it’s scandalous at best, but I don’t care. I want to look hot tonight.
Since we’re going out in the evening, I gave myself a brown smoky-eye with heavy-lidded liner, thick mascara, and just a few individual fake lashes in the corner of my eyes to brighten and widen my eyes. As for my hair, loose waves pieced out by styling wax. And to top it all off, a peach gloss to tie in the natural gold and brown tones I used.
Looking into the mirror, I fluff my hair, pleased with how everything came out.
Eep, I can’t wait for him to see me.
Putting on my dress takes finesse as I slip it over my head avoiding any makeup smearing or messing of the hair. I shimmy it down my body, that’s how tight it is. My mom would so not approve of this dress.
My mom.
Shit, I need to call her. I haven’t talked to her since Sunday, when I told her to talk to me once she’s done airing our dirty laundry. Guilt consumes me, acting like a wet blanket on the excitement I had for tonight.
I want to give my best to Hollis, he deserves it, so I swallow my pride and dial my mom while I finish putting my dress on. Her voice rings out over my speakerphone.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hi, Mom,” I answer awkwardly. “Uh, how are you?”
“Better now that you called.” She’s always been good at getting right to the point.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I sigh and sit on the edge of my tub. “I was such an ass to you the other day. You don’t deserve that kind of treatment from me.”
“I don’t,” she says honestly, “but I understand where your passion was coming from.”
“Still not an excuse. I’m sorry.”
