There were two other women browsing the selections. I made my way toward one of the tables, feeling unsure. I honestly didn't know what would work on me. Or what would be sexiest to a man. I bought matching things on occasion. Blacks, whites, beige. And some could even be considered kinda hot, but I wanted something better than 'kinda hot'. I wanted something to inspire drool.
“Are you looking for something for a special occasion?” the pretty redhead from the desk asked, coming up beside me.
“Oh,” I said, dropping the panties I had been looking at. “Yeah. Um... I just started...” Seeing a sex therapist? And we are about to get naked for the first time together? Yeah, no. “Seeing someone,” I improvised.
“Ohh,” she said, giving me a knowing smile. “Well, you don't want to be looking here,” she told me, holding out an arm to follow her. Which I was all too happy to do. I could use all the help I could get. “Do you, or your... partner,” she said, effortlessly guiding through political correctness, “have a color preference? Red? Pink? White?”
That was a good question. There was no way I would feel sexy in red. Which made no sense, but it was just screamed sex and that would probably be too much. And I was never a fan of pink. “I think black would be best,” I said, knowing myself, knowing my closet which was full of varying shades of black.
“Always a good choice,” she said, guiding me toward the walls where the sets were displayed. “Silk? Lace?”
“Lace,” I decided, excited by the idea of the cutout peekaboo effect.
“How about this?” she asked, showing me a black floral lace balconette bra hanging above the matching panties. She reached into the rack, pulling out the panties. “These bottoms are cheeky,” she informed me, flipping them to show me the back, the cut high to let the a fair view of your butt hang out, but still covered a bit, “but we also have a matching thong if you would prefer.”
“Cheeky will be good,” I said quickly. I wanted to at least be covered when I was still... covered.
“Great,” she said, glancing down at me for a second before flipping through the hangers and handing me a pair in my size. She went back to flip through the bras. “We also have thigh-high stockings and a garter belt to go with this, if you are interested.”
More layers? Sign me up. “Sure,” I agreed.
Next thing I knew, I was walking out with a pretty gray and black striped bag, black tissue paper happily spilling out of the top, and a few hundred dollars poorer. But it was worth it. At least, I was hoping it would be worth it.
I let myself into the apartment, finding Jake setting up his massage table. His eyes drifted down to the telling bag, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Good choice,” he said, nodding.
“Sure,” I agreed, smiling, “if I can get the balls to wear it.”
“I'll make sure you do,” he said, nodding. “What are you wearing over it?”
“Yeah, I get it. My clothes suck,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“The clothes aren't to blame. You just put them together badly.”
“Even worse.”
“I'll pick out something while you're at work tomorrow and lay it out for you.”
“Really?” I asked, stopping short on my way to my room.
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.
But for his normally selfish disposition, it was. He was going to do something just because it was nice. For me. With nothing in return. “Okay. Thank you. But nothing too crazy, okay? I don't want to look like I am asking for it.”
“But you are.”
“But I don't want to seem like it. Something modest, okay?”
“Alright,” he agreed, “but only if what you have in that bag is black and lacy.
I smiled, “It is.”
“Good girl,” he nodded, turning back to his set up. Lotions, oils, and incense all needed to be laid out on a gorgeous silver and mirrored bar cart. “You nervous?” he asked, holding a lighter out to a stick of, what was bound to be, rose incense.
I opened my bedroom door, turning back. “Yes.”
“Don't be,” he said, shrugging. “He seems capable.”
“Capable of what?”
“Anything you need,” he said in an odd tone, but turned away from me before I could ask what he meant.
Okay.
I set the bag on my desk, stripping out of my clothes, getting into pajamas, and going to bed way too early. Because if I didn't, I was going to stress about the next night until I made myself positively sick.
And then my subconscious took over.
And I dreamed of him instead.
Second Session
I came home to find Jake lounging casually, watching TV, barely inclining his head toward me as a greeting. So much for the sweet guy I had seen the night before. Oh, well. I couldn't expect miracles. He was still Jake after all, even if he had decided to start treating me better.
After being scolded by Chase, I reminded myself.
A swift wave of nausea came over me suddenly. I had been good about not thinking about him. Well, okay, not good. But okay. Alright, fine. I had done a shit job of it. But I had tried.
I opened my door, closing it, before looking up.
And there was my bed. Splayed with a selection of clothes for the night, my bag of lingerie, and another unknown bag. I walked over, taking in the simple black long sleeved t-shirt dress that would be snug, but not body hugging. Effortless really. Simple. It wouldn't look slutty. It would show off my pretty sheer black stockings. It was a good choice. One that I never would have made myself.
I reached for the bag I didn't recognize, reaching inside and pulling out a pretty glass bottle of perfume.
“It's the same scent as that shit lotion you wear,” Jake said from behind me, making me swing around to find him standing in my doorway.
I looked down at the bottle, taking in the label. “Jake, this is too much,” I objected, knowing the general price range.
“It's no big deal,” he brushed it off. I knew he made good money, way more than me by leaps and bounds, but still. It was an expensive gift. And we didn't do that kind of thing.
“Jake...”
“Just say thank you and move on,” he said, shaking his head. “Christ. It's harder to give you a gift than it is to give you a compliment. Go shower and get yourself ready.”
Then he was gone, and I did just that.
I felt naked underneath my dress. Which was stupid. I mean the stockings were pretty close to the leggings I usually wore under skirts. Except they weren't. Because as soon as I walked outside (after Jake insisted I show him the clasp of the garter to prove I was, in fact, wearing it) and the cold air flew up my skirt, feeling intimate and odd against my bare upper thighs.
But I kept going. Because there was no going back.
I walked up to his door a while later, taking a deep, unsteady breath. This was it. I sighed, opening the door.
“Ava,” Chase said, looking up from some paperwork he was holding, leaning against the desk in another black suit, this time with a gray shirt, two buttons opened. “Can you lock the door behind you please?” he asked, putting the paperwork back into a manila envelope and sealing it.
I locked the door, thankful for an opportunity, no matter how brief, to look away from him.
When I turned back, though, he was right by me. How he moved so quietly was completely beyond me. “You look beautiful,” he said easily and I felt my breath catch. At my silence, he smiled slightly. “Come on,” he said, arm to lower back as per usual, “let's go get you a drink, okay?”
“Okay.”
He led me through his office into his, well, I didn't even know what to call the other room. He pointed me to the stereo as he moved to make drinks. Feeling like it was somehow a test, I flipped through the play lists, skipping over coffeehouse music, and deciding on something called “soft blues”. As soon as it clicked on, I could see Chase nodding. And it felt like approval. And damn if it didn't give me the warm and tinglies.
He turned to me a moment later, holding out a martini to me. “I figured you might want something with a little more kick than red wine,” he said, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Good guess,” I said, taking it and having a large sip, a little too pleased that he had observed by drink of choice at the bar.
“One to ten?” he asked.
“Holding steady at a five for now,” I admitted.
He nodded, taking his drink in one sip and putting the glass down. Which I took to mean: Alright. Shit was about to go down.
So I gulped the rest of my drink and put my glass down too.
“Come on,” he said, reaching down and taking my hand in his. I followed behind him, staring at our interlocking hands with a weird sense of wonder. It was so tame, but at the same time, it was so sweet a gesture. “Why don't you kick out of those shoes?” he suggested, dropping my hand and turning to mess with the fire and lights.
I sat down on the sectional, unstrapping my heels, then putting them at the far end of the couch, lined up.
Chase sat down a moment later, his entire body touching mine from shoulder to knee. Then he reached out, one arm going around my back, the other slipping under my knees and pulling until my legs went across his lap, his hand settling on my hip.
“Hi,” he said, tilting his head, watching me.