After a tragedy, Amila Johnson abandons her life in New York and retreats back to her birthplace of Houston. She tries to start anew but she can't get far with the skills of being an almost classically trained ballerina.
Deciding to take up her fri...
OMW. Amila discovered the text on her phone fresh from the tub. She didn't know how long it took for a private plane to land but she knew departing from it would be swifter than the tedious chore of exiting a commercial flight. However, the traffic that always formed around Bush Intercontinental around rush hour would give her some more time to get ready. And since she was standing in the bathroom with the bath towel draped around her and jasmine-ylang-ylang-infused streams rolling down her legs, she was going to need all the time she could get to get ready for his arrival.
Red & gold. Those were her favorite colors and they made her feel sexy and confident, plus she remembered from their first date that he liked them on her. The color combination narrowed down her outfit for the evening or the lack thereof. She was thankful that the simple makeup Deja painted her withheld up although she didn't glance at herself while passing by the bathroom mirror. She finger-combed her fresh silk press giving it a just rolled-out-of-bed look while the effervescent oils she sprayed gave it a sheen that caught the dying sunlight raining through the windows as she set the table with all the delicious dishes she prepared for dinner. She started cooking late in the morning as a way to get busy doing something rather than worrying about what would happen once he arrived.
As she set the bottle of wine on the table she heard the lock slide out of the latch and a monotone feminine voice alerted her that the front door was open. Her hand clung to the bottle, he was earlier than expected. She wasn't completely finished with her list of things to do; her phone with the curated playlist she made the other day to ease her loud mind was still charging on the nightstand in the master suite. She thought about acting as if she didn't notice he had arrived and retrieved her phone but the way he called her name at the door lured her down the hallway like a moth to a flame.
Amila knew she had his undivided attention. She ignored the rapid beating of her heartbeats and the slight weakness in her legs as she stood in the middle of the foyer in the six-inch gold stilettos. She was nervous being the main attraction for the man that stood mere feet from her waiting to feast on all she had to give.
She swallowed the uneasy quell and remembered what her friend told her; she was performing a dance. Dancing was something she could do in her sleep. This tango wouldn't require pointe shoes but still demanded skill, discipline, and confidence. She could do all those things. She embodied those things. She had to be that young woman she once was and tap into her talent to commence the intimate dance that was waiting for them.
"Top three of your favorite things." Her hands faintly shook as she pulled the sash of her silk robe. "Heels. Diamonds. Lingerie." She dropped the sash and let the robe slide down her arms and plume to the floor.
She held her waist as a shiver ran down her back from the way his brown eyes snaked over her lean legs, toned mocha thighs, and ample hips, and skipped to her full breasts. His gaze woke up her nipples but he couldn't tell the effect his eyes had on her, they were sitting up in the lace gold bra but not for long.
"On my list of sexiest things on a woman," He started, taking a step away from the door, chipping away at the space between them. "Heels are number four. Diamonds are three which I might have to make an exception for you."
"Why?" She lowly asked, pressing her thighs together trying to simper the heat in her middle that neared scorching.
He gestured to the diamond necklace that stopped just above her collarbone and her earrings that caught the few rays of the sun that leaked through the windows by the door.
"You're a goddess with them. No." He shook his head, chipping away at more of the distance between them. "A siren."
"Oh." Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply. The smooth, deepness of his voice was calling her stronger than any siren song. "So, what's number one on this list of sexy things?"
"I'll give you a hint," He mischievously smirked standing with a couple of inches between them. He leaned near her ear. "It starts with a p and ends with a y and the wetter the better."
Amila would have replied but she was speechless. His hand was hugging his favorite thing and it was just like he liked it. His index and middle fingers became one as they slid through her folds; slick, warm, and welcoming. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back as his fingers grazed over her clit seeking a home to dive into. She started to rasp out a word that morphed into a moan as his fingers found the dwelling they sought.
"I missed you." He whispered, the deepness of his voice made her a little wetter as she peered at him intoxicated by attraction and arousal. His fingers pumped her in smooth steady strokes that if his other hand wasn't planted on her hip her ass would surely kiss the floor."And I'm going to show you just how much. How do you feel about that?"
She gripped his shoulders and whimpered out, "Yes."
Sadness fell upon her as his hand withdrew then her breathing hitched as he lifted her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and her arms went around his neck.
She let out a faint giggle as he began to stride to the living room, "I can walk."
"But I like how your thighs feel around me." He smirked devilishly handsome as he squeezed her fleshy, taut thighs firmly then snaked his hands up to her ass that the thong left bare. His footfalls stopped at the dining table. "You cooked?"
She nodded momentarily losing her voice from the slight feeling of his rigid cock as he sat her down on the table. She let out a breath as a shiver rushed from her head, down her back, to settle between her legs that she opened just a bit further.
She swallowed hard remembering what words were, "I made dinner for us. Plane food isn't the most appealing."
He nodded as his eyes left her lips to tick down to something else that caught his attention. "I'm hungry but not for food." He grinned as he brushed the back of his finger over the curve of her cleavage which was perfectly pushed up and ready for devouring.
She slowly pulled down the bra strap with a quirk to her lips feeling heady from the way his eyes were completely captivated by the sight of her.
"Don't tease me." He took a small step with her legs still near his waist. "Let me see."
"I'll let you see...if you let me see." She glanced down at his crotch begging to be freed from the restriction of his dress pants.
"That ain't no problem." He said with the confidence of a man who had wowed many women with the sight of his body.
Amila didn't know how many women that was but she knew she could officially add her name to the list. She let out an audible breath as her eyes widened to take in the luscious way his delicious brown skin sheath the planes of his chest and rippled over the almost six-pack of abs he had hidden behind the dress shirt. Her rapid heartbeats returned as her eyes dropped between his legs which were no longer covered by an article of cloth. Her lips parted as she took in all eight inches of hard flesh in his hand.
She bit her bottom lip, her throat grew dry as something else became more drenched than she said. "How is that going to fit?" She immediately slapped her hand over her mouth wishing she could call the words back as regret rushed over her but it was too late.
"What?" He asked with a confused tilt of his head.
Why do you think Amila asked that question?
How do you think Dominic is going to respond? Ask her another question or take it as a compliment and let it go?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
