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face, cradled it with both his hands. But my legs were shot as I sank into the nearby busted office
chair, my knees flung apart, my pants around one ankle like a black leather cuff.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
“All day I’ve fantasized about doing that,” he said, wiping his sexy mouth victoriously.
“What else do you fantasize about?” I asked, already wanting more of him.
“This is your fantasy, Dauphine. It’s supposed to be about you. Don’t get me wrong. This works for
me too.”
I leaned forward and pulled him by a belt loop to stand in front of my face. I flashed my eyes up at
him, my mouth slackened, looking for silent permission.
“And that works too,” he said, as he stroked himself through his jeans.
My hands, shaking slightly, unbuttoned him, freeing his perfect erection, my god, taking his smooth
tip in my mouth, never hungrier for anything. I looked up at him again as my tongue began circling his
tip, and he died a little, his face collapsing at the site of my growing enthusiasm. Then I took him fully
into my wet mouth, moaning at the same time, my firm hand pumping ever so rhythmically along his
shaft, my other one under him, cupping him, feeling him rise with his aching arousal. He closed his
eyes as I took him deep into my mouth. I sucked in my cheeks, my lips a firm ring, my throat relaxed,
my low moan moving through his groin. He whimpered. I was good at this, had always been good at
this, but I had never wanted to be the best like I did now.
My mouth and hands were working their magic, but it was the eye contact that did him in, just as I
slid a wet finger back and around, pressing in on him at the exact moment he came, hard and loud,
deep into the back of my throat, one of his hands stroking my hair, the other one outstretched on the
wall, as he said god and my name over and over again until spent. After a few tender strokes, I let go
of him, flinging myself back in the chair, deeply pleased. My eye caught the calendar splayed on the
floor; it was dated five years ago. Just who was I back then?
“Holy shit. That was … mind-fucking-blowing, Dauphine.” His hands were on his knees, his jeans
bunched around his ankles. “I’ve never … it was so … what the fuck.”
“Best ever?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Well, that was my fantasy,” I said. “Complete.”
“Oh, but it’s not over yet. Let’s get the hell out of here. The Domino Suite awaits!”
“What’s that?” I said, reaching down for my bra.
“I don’t have a clue, but we’re going to find out.”
“So there’s more?
“So much more,” he said, plucking up our clothes and pulling me up to my feet. “More than you
know.”
We dressed stealing soft glances at each other. And then we slipped out the back door of the club,
where the same long black car that had dropped me off now took on an extra passenger. He held my
hand in the back seat, and somehow this gesture was more intimate than what we’d just done to each
other with our mouths at Tipitina’s.
“That Margaret Lewis song … so good,” I said.
“You know her?”
“Know her? I have all her records. Vinyl.”
“Who would have thought this is how I’d meet my dream girl,” he said, raising my hand to kiss the
back of it.
His dream girl?