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I am wrong. So blissfully wrong.

Ira kisses the underside of my chin, caressing my skin as she descends my throat. Sitting here like an idiot, all I can think about is how good her hot breath feels against every part of me. Just because she isn’t kissing every part, doesn’t mean I don’t know what it would be like…

Her hand uncurls from mine as she pulls away. I’m left sitting here, dazed, hungry for more. Someone has opened a Pandora’s box I’m not sure she can close. Not until she stands from her chair, signaling for me to stay where I am. She’s coming to me, you see. Rounding the table, slowly and surely, hand reaching out to cup my cheek and press her thumb against the corner of my mouth.

“Kathleen…” No matter how many times she says it, I still can’t get over it. Especially now that her touch encircles my throat. Ira’s grip is gentle but firm, and I know that right now she wants to take me like she takes her other lovers.

Before I can protest, her hand slips down the front of my shirt. I let it.

I want her to touch me.

My eyes remain on Ira’s face as her fingertips reach beneath my bra within my shirt and stroke my nipple. The fire is born from electricity. It’s a shock, all right. A shock penetrates me faster than she can. The tiny pinches I receive on my flesh command that I moan, encouraging her to keep going.

“Kathleen.” Ira kneels beside me, eager mouth pulling away the buttons of my jacket and blouse. Just as I reach around and curl her hair in my hand, her tongue lashes against my nipple, one of her hands stroking my thigh.

“Ira…” I can play this name game too. All day.

We’re going a lot slower than we did ten years ago. No rush. No need to prove ourselves. Ira’s affection for my body has me reeling in admiration. She is not a stranger to the nipple between her teeth. She sucked it back then, her powerful lips making me come from that alone.

Oh, God, coming. I’m full of the urge now, and it’s worse than at any other point this week, although I was generous with myself in the shower last night. All I want is for Ira Mathison to strip me bare, and…

Do I have to say it? I want her to fuck me. We’re over halfway to sex now. I want more. I want what I was denied a decade ago.

She’s in the chair beside me, facing me, her tongue snaking into my ear and making me whimper from the exquisite stimulation. Ira’s hand continues to massage my thigh. Soon enough, she brushes against my mound, and I moan against her mouth.

Ira is fumbling with my zipper. My hand is searching for hers too… but not before I wrap half my hand around what I had already noticed she’s been covertly wearing all day.

Groaning, Ira puts her hand on my breast, her voice reaching new depths. My grip hesitates. That moan of approval was so… unlike anything I have heard from someone in a long time.

“I can take it off if you want.” She interrupts my dirty thoughts with a husky voice I was never treated to when we were two dumbass kids pretending to know how to have great sex. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. Not everyone is into–”

I, in turn, interrupt Ira’s reassurances that we can do this any way I want. Because I don’t want to hear this side of her right now – the uncertain kid who is afraid of offending me with what she likes on a day-to-day basis. How many prospective partners have been disgusted by her? How many only saw her for what she wore? Can I be that woman somewhere in the middle?

You know, horny but reasonable?

“Why would you take it off?” No, I don’t sound reasonable, just horny. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been thinking about since I saw you in… with…”

Ira holds her breath. It’s endearingly charming… and I’m endearingly aroused, so let’s stop beating around the bush and find my bush!

“If that’s how you feel, I hold no qualms.”

“Me neither,” I hiss as my desperation mounts. She’s still wearing clothes. I’m still wearing clothes. How even? Why? Shouldn’t I be halfway to Pound Town by now? “But wear a condom with that thing.”

I’m snappy, I’m losing it. She’s mild, she’s contemplative.

“I just want to fuck you,” Ira admits. “Badly.”

There are no mind games now. We both clearly want this. Why compromise that with our bedroom nonsense? We’re not even in a bedroom. The excuse to do whatever we desire is there, and it’s perfect.

I tentatively touch her through her pants again. I can barely see anything in her lap, let alone when she’s wearing black pants in the dark, but I’m not disappointed by what I find. Without even seeing it, I discover that Ira is so used to this that she’s found the perfect medium between fun and practical. It takes me three dire seconds to imagine what she can do with it.

Instinctively, I loosen up, like a snake uncoiling.

Ira wraps her hand around mine, keeping it on her lap. I tell myself it’s not real. My grip can be as needy and hard as I want. I won’t hurt her. I won’t bring this to a premature end. All I’ll do is turn us both on to the point I’m on my back and Ira is finally showing me what she’s been practicing all these years. With other women I won’t think about right now. Like Stephanie May, the lucky bitch.

“Katie.” Ira kisses my shoulder, nails still biting my thigh. “Let me have you.”

“Have me?” Deep down, I know what she means. Anyone could say that they wanted me, that they were going to fuck me. What Ira said was intriguing. “What do you mean by that?”