I’m not sure what it says about me, but I spend more time selecting my outfit for my date at Fitz’s place than I do for my live streams where thousands of people watch me in lingerie.
Maybe it’s because I’m far more nervous to spend time alone at his apartment than I am hitting that Go Live button. I don’t know if that means anything either, but I push the thought away to deal with later. Right now, I’m just focused on hitting the right floor number.
I double-check our texts from earlier, then hit the button for the sixteenth floor and hold my breath as the car takes me up, up, up. I was surprised as hell last night when, after I got home from my classes, there was a message waiting for me on MyFans from Fitz.
ShootsAndScores: Look, I know I said I’d unsubscribe, and I promise I will, but I realized I don’t have your number. I thought about asking Greer to get it from Stevie, but then I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about everyone knowing we’re dating. So, yeah, here’s my number.
I laughed, then sent him a text, and we set up a time for dinner. He begged me several times to let him pick me up, but it felt silly and totally unnecessary since he’s cooking me dinner at his place, so here I am, waiting on the elevator to hit his floor.
A few seconds later, it does, and I blow out the breath I was holding, trying to calm my racing heart. I have no idea why I’m so nervous for this. It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve spent time with Fitz, but somehow, that’s exactly what this feels like. Actually, I guess that’s what this is—our first date.
My first date with Fitz.
I reach down and pinch myself because Is this real?
“Ow,” I mutter, rubbing at the spot I just pinched. “Yep, totally real.”
I’m still reeling after his confession in the truck yesterday. He’s worried he’s not good enough for me? Is he insane? He’s good enough for me and then some. It was hard to see him so down on himself about his tooth and his…kink, but I also liked how real it made him seem. He’s a professional hockey player who makes millions of dollars a year; it was nice to see him knocked down a few pegs and have real-people problems.
I find his apartment at the end of the hall, then lift my hand to knock. But before I can make contact with the door, it’s being pulled open, and suddenly he’s there.
Holy shit, hold my panties he looks incredible.
He’s wearing a pair of dress slacks—maybe even the same ones he made a mess in on Halloween—and a simple gray button-down shirt. The top few buttons are open, and the sleeves are rolled up, showing off his impressive forearms. I kind of want to reach out and grab them, confirm that they’re as strong as they look.
He’s not wearing any shoes, but he does have on socks, and it’s just all so…cute. I love that he dressed up for an at-home date.
“Hey, you found it okay,” he says, stepping to the side. “Come on in.”
With one last steadying breath, I cross into his apartment.
No turning back now.
Not that I’d want to, but still.
He closes the door behind me, then grabs the peacoat I’m wearing, tugging the material down my arms. He takes my purse from my hands and sets it on the table just inside the entryway.
“You look beautiful.” He presses a soft kiss to the exposed skin of my shoulders. “I love this color on you.”
“Of course you do,” I say, turning to face him. I look down at the silky dress I’m wearing, loving how it hugs all my curves. “It’s orange.”
“So?”
I lift my hands, which I recently refreshed the color on. “You were the one who requested I paint my nails orange. I just kind of took a guess…”
He steps toward me, and that scent of his I’m so damn familiar with floods my senses. He reaches up, grabbing hold of a piece of hair that’s fallen from the clip I put it up in. He rubs it between his fingers, looking into my eyes.
“You wore my favorite color?”
Heat floods my cheeks. Since when did I get all blushy? Until Fitz, I hadn’t blushed in years, but around him, I can’t seem to stop.
“Yes,” I confess.
“Good,” he says. “Very good.”
His words transport me back to the Halloween party. He said that exact same thing to me just before he demanded I take my panties off and stuff them in his pocket. I have no idea what he did with them since I never got them back after I rushed out, but a part of me doesn’t want to know, nor do I care. I like knowing he has something of mine hidden around his apartment.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging me deeper inside. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Carl?” I ask, practically bouncing on my heels.
“Yep.”
He leads me to the kitchen, where I inhale deeply.
“Ohmygod.” The words come out a moan. “It smells amazing in here.”
“Thanks. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I can whip up a few things. I hope you’re okay with lemon pepper chicken over penne noodles.”
“Are you kidding? That’s my favorite! My mom used to make it all the time.”
“I’m sure this isn’t going to be anywhere near as good as hers, but I’m glad to know it’s something you’ll like. I probably should have asked first.”
Now he’s the one blushing, and all feels right in the world.
He pulls me to a stop in front of the famous pantry, then looks back at me. “You ready?”
“Yes, but why is she in the pantry?”
“Because if I don’t lock her up, she’ll escape, and Miss Drake’s body isn’t the one I want to see tonight.” He says it so casually, like getting me naked is a guarantee.
And…I like it. I like how sure he is that this is leading to something more because I want it to be something more. Like really want it.
“She might run,” he warns, hand on the knob. “One…two…three!”
He pulls the door open, and my heart damn near leaps out of my chest at the sight before me. There on the third shelf sits a fluffy white and brown cat right on top of a fresh loaf of bread. She’s looking up at us with a glare, but it doesn’t feel mean. It feels full of affection.
“She’s on her bread.”
“Her bread is right. I have Carl bread, and I have people bread.”
It’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, and possibly the cutest.
Fitz reaches into the pantry and scoops her into his arms.
“You can come out now, you little shit,” he says affectionately, pressing a kiss to her head. “I want you to meet someone, and you’re going to be nice, and you will not scratch her. Do you understand?”
Meow.
I grin. It’s like she can understand him and is answering him.
Fitz turns her until she’s facing me, and I tentatively reach out. She doesn’t hiss or arch her back, just lets me run a few fingers over her soft fur. It takes several strokes, but it’s not long until she’s purring from my ministrations.
“Aw, she likes me.”
“She wants you to think she likes you. She’s banking on you bringing her treats. After you do, she’ll forget you exist until she’s hungry again.”
“From what I’ve heard about cats, that sounds right.”
He sets her on the floor, and she takes off like a shot, darting to the other side of the apartment, jumping on her tower with ease.
“Do you have any pets?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve thought about it, but I’m nervous. I’ve never had one before.”
“Never?”
“Nope. I grew up in kind of a…strict household.”
“Really? That’s surprising considering…” He clamps his lips together, like he doesn’t want to finish that sentence.
“Considering the MyFans account I have?” He nods, his cheeks ruddy. “That’s kind of part of the reason I have the account. I didn’t really get a chance to explore much of anything when I was younger. I had one life plan and that was it, no deviating. Obviously, I did, but even after that, I was still so…” I tap my finger to my chin, trying to find the right words. “Let’s just say I was a much tamer version of who I am now and spent too much time letting everyone else make decisions for me.”
Fitz’s brows shoot up as he moves around me to the stove, flipping off a burner, then picking up a spoon and stirring the sauce.
“I can’t imagine you being tame. I mean, it’s not that you’re out of control or anything, but you’re…” He pauses, tipping his head to the side before settling on: “Strong. You’re strong. You know who you are. You’re confident. I like that about you. I like how well you know yourself.”
His words surprise me. I never in my life thought someone would say I’m strong or confident or that I know myself. I know I’ve come a long way from who I used to be, but I don’t always feel those things he says I am. Some days, I still feel like the little girl who had someone telling her how to live her life.
It’s strange to hear Fitz describe me. What’s even more strange is how much I want to be those things…for him.
“God, I’m a terrible host,” he says, setting the spoon to the side and making his way to the fridge. “Would you like something to drink? I have wine, beer, soda, water. Dinner is just about ready.”
“Sure, but I can grab it. You finish up what you’re doing.”
He nods and goes back to the stove as I round the island and start opening cabinets to find a glass. It takes me two tries before I get the right one. I grab two glasses, then open the fridge and pluck out a bottle of strawberry wine.
I grin, because it’s just so…him.
Fitz reaches into the drawer nearest him and pulls free a bottle opener, then hands it to me without saying a word. And that’s how we work—side by side in complete silence as I pour us some drinks and get the plates set out on the counter while Fitz finishes up dinner.
It’s comfortable, like we do this every day. We don’t need to fill the silence. We’re okay with it.
When dinner is ready, Fitz brings the pan to the counter and fills both our plates. Nothing is said until I take my first bite, and it’s me who breaks the silence.
“Holy hell,” I mutter. “This is incredible. I’d never tell my mom, but this is a million times better than hers.”
“Come on now. You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not! Scout’s honor.”
His smile melts my heart…and my panties.
The conversation flows easily, and it feels like this is our hundredth date, not our first. We talk about the first time we met, when I totally picked on him for his strawberry donut habit. We talk about Carl and his love for her. We talk about the boudoir shoot that got me interested in taking sexy photos. We talk about so much that two hours pass before we even think about cleaning up dinner.
It’s all so easy it feels like I’ve known Fitz my whole life, and not once has he judged me for anything I’ve said or done. He just accepts it. It’s a far cry from anything I’ve ever experienced before.
“Can I ask you something?” he says as he scoops our leftovers into a dish. Those damn forearms that are still on display and still look entirely too lickable stretch with each movement, and I think I could watch him do mundane things like this forever.
I smile to myself, because isn’t that what he’s been paying me for? Watching me do silly, simple things?
“Anything.”
He finishes what he’s doing, then sets the dirty pot in the sink. He looks up at me. “Why don’t you do private videos?”
It’s not what I was expecting him to ask at all.
I take a sip of my wine and shrug. “I’m not sure. It would definitely bring in more cash, but to me there’s a difference between racy photos and streaming like I do and doing private videos. Those usually lead to more, and I don’t want that with just anyone.”
He stares at me a moment, and I’m sure it’s because my answer is probably strange to him. Is there a part of me that wouldn’t mind doing private chats? Yeah. I can get pretty hot during the live streams and sometimes the idea of going into a private room with someone sounds nice, but I’m always scared of how I’m going to feel afterward.
Will I feel dirty for what I’ve done? Will I even like it?
“Would you ever do it?”
“With the right person, probably.”
He swallows roughly, then turns on the water, adds soap, and fills the sink. He stands there with his hands on the counter, his muscles bunched as he watches the sink fill. His jaw is tight, and it’s obvious he’s grinding his teeth. I bet I could hear it if I listened closely enough.
“Ivan?” I say softly, and his head whips up my way. “Are you jealous?”
His knuckles turn white around the spatula he’s holding. “I’m not sure how you want me to answer that.”
“Honestly. We are still doing that, right?”
“Yes,” he says quickly. “To both questions. The answer is yes.”
My shoulders slump, and he sees it.
He drops utensils into the sink, bubbles and water going everywhere. He rounds the counter, pulling my chair until I’m facing him and he’s standing between my legs. He cups my face, stroking my cheeks just under my eyes like he loves to do.
“Stop that,” he says roughly. “It’s not in the way you’re thinking. I’m jealous because…because I want to be the right person, and I’m terrified I’m not.”
“I’d do it with you,” I tell him honestly. “I’d be on camera for you.”
“You’ve already been on camera for me.”
“I know, but you know what I mean. I’d do more for you. Only you. And if you want me to stop streaming, I’d do that too.”
He’s shaking his head before all the words are even out. “No, don’t do that. I…I like it.”
“You like other people watching me?”
He moves his head up and down slowly…like he’s afraid to admit it. “Yes. It’s… Fuck,” he mutters. “I don’t know. I just know it doesn’t bother me because it’s my name that’s going to be falling from your lips when you come.”
My mouth is completely dry. He’s okay with me continuing my streams? He likes it? I’m surprised, especially since I expected him to ask me to stop, but I realize I’m glad he doesn’t. I think he understands how important this is for me.
“Oh god. Does that make me fucked up? That I’m okay with my girl being seen practically naked by thousands of people? That I’m okay with her being watched?”
“No,” I say adamantly. “No. It might not be traditional, but it’s not fucked up. You’re not either. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s not true.”
He presses his forehead to mine, taking in my words.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers.
“I really want you to kiss me right now.”
He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth finds mine, and it feels like coming home.
I just kissed him yesterday, but it somehow feels like it’s been years. I’m so desperate for his mouth, and it’s startling because I’ve never felt this way about anything before.
I thought before with Levi that I wanted him. Hell, I pined for him for years, and I thought I knew what that felt like, needing someone so damn badly you can’t breathe.
But I was wrong. So damn wrong. It was nothing compared to what it feels like with Fitz. I can be kissing him, like now, and still miss him, still need him.
His hands move from my face to the back of my head, and before I realize what he’s doing, he opens the clip that’s holding my hair back and lets my hair fall free. His fingers tangle in my blonde strands, tugging at them in that delicious painful-pleasurable way. I should be ashamed of the moan that leaves me just from him playing with my hair, but I don’t care, not when a low growl rises from his chest.
He hauls me into his arms, picking me up as if I weigh nothing, even though I have no doubt I’m the heaviest woman he’s ever been with. He sets me on the counter, fitting himself between my legs. He never stops kissing me, never stops stroking my tongue with his own. His hands continue to play with my hair, and I think I could probably get off on the sounds he’s making and the way he kisses me alone.
Suddenly, he wrenches his mouth from mine, his hazel eyes full of lust and need.
“What do you need?” I ask him.
“What we did at the party…” He swallows. “Can we do that again?”
“You want me to touch my pussy while you watch?”
He groans and fire dances across his gaze.
“Yes.” The single word comes out strained, like it’s painful for him to talk.
I shove at his chest lightly, then nod toward the living room.
“Over there,” I instruct, resting back on my palms and crossing my legs. “Sit.”
He does as I say, dropping into the leather chair, spreading his legs wide, never taking his eyes off me. His lips are slightly parted, and his cheeks are flushed. His cock is already straining against his pants, and I’ve not done anything yet.
Other than the night of the party, I haven’t done this in person. I’ve recorded myself privately doing this, just for practice, but never for someone else. I keep thinking any moment now I’ll feel awkward being on display like this, but I don’t. If anything, it’s the opposite. This feels perfectly right.
I’m burning up under his gaze, can already feel sweat beginning to form on the back of my neck. I’m hot, and it’s all because of the way he’s staring at me.
I think maybe I should cool down…
I reach behind me to a fresh stack of dish towels he’s set on the counter, and I grab one. I turn on the faucet and get the rag nice and wet. When I turn back to him, he’s still watching, and when I lift the fabric over my body and wring it out, letting the cold liquid slide over the silky fabric of my dress, his chest begins to heave as his breaths intensify.
The material clings to my body, leaving nothing to the imagination. My nipples are poking through, standing hard and ready, aching to be touched. With the rag still in one hand, I drag it over my neck, squeezing just enough to let the water run down my throat and between my breasts, using it to cool me down. It’s just what I needed, and based on the way Fitz is gripping the armrests of the chair, it’s just what he needed too.
I slide my free hand up my body, making sure to go slow and touching myself like I know he would touch me. I don’t stop until I reach my aching nipple. I rub my thumb over the sensitive bud, letting out a low hiss at the contact I so desperately needed.
“I’m imagining it’s your hands on me, Ivan. Your palms are the perfect mixture of rough and soft, and they feel so good on my tits, baby.”
A hum of approval leaves him, and it spurs me on. I uncross my legs, letting them fall apart, giving him a glimpse of the white thong I’m wearing. His tongue darts out when he gets his first eyeful, and I fucking love it. I drop the rag, then grab the bottom of my dress, shimmying it higher so I can spread my legs wider.
“Fuck,” I hear him whisper, and I grin.
I glide my hands over my thighs, getting close to my pussy but not touching it just yet.
Every time I get close, Fitz inches closer. I do it until he’s resting his elbows on his knees, looking like he can barely hold himself in the chair any longer. Only then do I slip a hand between my legs and pull my thong to the side, giving him a look at my center. I drag a single finger through my folds, shuddering at how fucking good it feels, not just to be touching myself, but to have him watch me touch myself.
I slip a finger inside my pussy and immediately need to add another because one just isn’t enough, not with how worked up I am.
“Tell me,” he commands gruffly. “Tell me how your hand feels on your cunt.”
“So good. It’s soft and warm and wet. God, Ivan, I’m so fucking wet. Having your eyes on me…I’m soaking the counter.” I rock against my hand, squeezing my eyes shut and biting my lip to keep from crying out. “I wish this was you. I wish these were your fingers inside me, wish you could feel what I do. My pussy is craving your touch.”
The unmistakable sound of a belt being undone fills the room, and I open my eyes just in time to see him unzip his pants and pull his cock free.
“Oh god,” I moan, sliding my fingers in and out as he begins stroking himself.
I’ve never found dicks particularly nice to look at, but him? He’s beautiful. Not so long it’s going to be uncomfortable and just thick enough that I know I’ll stretch perfectly around him.
His movements are lazy and steady, and he never once takes his gaze off me. He alternates between watching my fingers disappear inside of me and my face. Every time he looks in my eyes, I tumble closer and closer to the edge.
As if he knows I’m getting close, he strokes himself faster…harder, rolling his thumb over the head of his cock.
“That’s it, Ro,” he says. “Get yourself there. I want to watch you fall apart. Make me jealous of those fingers in your pretty cunt. I want to see what me watching does to you. Coat those fingers with your release.”
His words are just what I need, and with a few more strokes, my orgasm rocks through me, sliding all the way up my spine and spreading through my body.
Then suddenly he’s there, dropping to his knees between my legs.
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t say a single word. He just knocks my hand out of the way, pulls my thong down my legs, drags me to the edge of the counter, and covers my pussy with his mouth. He plunges his tongue into my hole, groaning when he tastes the evidence of my release. He fucks me with his tongue just like I was fucking myself with my fingers, then moves to my clit, sucking it into his mouth with a fervor I’ve never experienced before.
A second orgasm races through me before I even realize what’s happening. I grip his head, grinding against his face as I ride it out and even through the aftershocks. He doesn’t pull away, and I honestly don’t want him to. I’m pretty sure I can live the rest of my life with Fitz’s face buried between my legs.
I have no idea how long he slowly eats at me, but it has me shuddering once more, this orgasm far less powerful than the others but just as delicious.
When my third orgasm of the night subsides, he finally releases me, kissing the insides of my thighs softly before falling back onto his haunches, sucking in breath after breath. His once artfully styled hair is a wreck, and his face glistens with my cum.
He’s never looked hotter.
He grins at me, and I realize I was wrong—now he’s never looked hotter, smiling up at me with that damn toothless grin of his I love so much.
And I realize something scary…
I could get seriously used to this.
