Annabelle and James Pt. 04

Annabelle and James: Part IV

I'm Cold

The café had accepted Annabelle's explanation, however sceptically, and after paying for our meal we had run back out into the rain.

"Think you can follow me home through all this?" she asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

"I'm sure, I'll manage," I said, pulling out my keys.

"Show me your car, so I'll know you're following me."

Somewhat sheepishly, I led her over to my little blue lemon.

She lingered, looking at it. The rain was still coming down hard, but she seemed unbothered by it. She suddenly turned around, threw her arms around my neck and pulled me in. I kissed her, pushed her up against the side of the car, my hands on the soaked cloth clinging to her hips, feeling her heat. I was getting hard again, pushing against her. It was as if we were trying to stoke a fire between us, to fight back the chill of the rain.

Annabelle reached down and ran her palm against my hardening cock and bit my lip. It only made me push harder against her.

Finally, she broke away, and said, "Follow me home. Don't you let me out of your sight." Her eyes were serious, hungry.

I nodded, and she gave my cock one last squeeze before dashing over to her truck.

I felt amazingly warm when I got into the car, and I had to turn on the air conditioner to beat back the fog on the windows. I pulled out, saw Annabelle's truck doing the same, and took my place behind her.

The storm only intensified as we drove back towards the city. By three in the afternoon, the clouds were so thick that it had cast an early evening over the landscape. Combined with Annabelle's turning onto an unfamiliar road, I was at the mercy of her taillights, following them like little red fireflies through the grey haze. She led me into a suburb I'd never been in before, that rose up to perch on a cliff overlooking the sea to the east, with a view of the city districts and harbour to the north. I'd assumed she was well off, but I had never thought she lived somewhere like this, with multi-storey properties protected by tall, automatic gates.

Yet when she pulled off the road, it was to enter just such a property. An arched, iron gate swung inward, and we crept along a driveway that curved around a water fountain. The house above us was a three-storey, Federation style building with a high roof, bay windows and a red brick façade covered over with cultivated vines.

It was like something out of a magazine in a dentist's office... I assumed. The truth was I'd never been to a dentist that fancy, or near a house this beautiful.

The front gates closed of their own accord, and we parked by the front door. I watched Annabelle slide gracefully out of the truck and flit to the front door, shielded from the rain by the awning. I watched her for a moment, standing there, waiting for me, and I thought to myself... What the hell are you doing? You don't belong here. This woman is above you, successful, beautiful, charming. She's just going through something, some kind of crisis of confidence, and once she comes out of it, she's going to drop you and go back to her life.

And she should. You don't deserve this.

I looked through the windscreen at her, through the thrashing rain, through the fog and the doubt. Her blue dress like a beacon. My fingers grazed the keys, still in the ignition. My last chance to turn away, to protect myself from future hurt.

The rain eased, just for a moment. And in that reprieve, I saw her face clearly. She was watching me, a line of concern between her brows.

My heart ached, a pulse of longing at my centre, and I knew I wasn't going anywhere. I got out of the car -- later I'd realise I left my keys in the ignition -- and went to her. I marched to her through the rain.

"Is everything, alr-"

I grabbed her face with my hands and kissed her, my fingers pushing through her hair. Her hands first went to mine, then down to my wrists as she moaned a little, then to my shoulders where her nails dug in a little. Then they went down to fiddle with her purse, trying to find her keys without breaking our connection. She found them, had to turn away to get the heavy iron security door unlocked, then the equally heavy wooden door. In the interim, I kissed the back of her neck, and behind her ear. Finally, she got us into the house, throwing the door closed behind us and punching a code into the alarm. When that was done, she finally dropped her bag on the floor, spun around and started returning my explorative kisses with her own, nipping at my jugular, my earlobe.

"I'm cold," she murmured into my ears, "Come upstairs."

I grinned into her neck, running my hands down to her ass. "I can warm you up right here."

She giggled. "You're very cute. But I am very cold, so be a good boy and help me warm up in the shower."

She pulled away, and I got a chance to actually look around at the inside of her home. We were standing in a high-ceilinged foyer, a staircase curing up to the second floor, and wide-open doorways leading off to other rooms. The walls were adorned with paintings and decorative sculptures. Unlike the few nicer homes I'd been in, there was no hint of LED lights here. Traditional bulbs lit up the space with simple, warm light.

Annabelle grabbed my hand while kicking off her shoes and led me up the stairs. We were on the second landing for only a moment before she led me up a second set of stairs.

"How big is this place?" I asked in wonder.

"Too big," she said. "Ground floor is all common areas, kitchen, living, dining. Second floor is all guest bedrooms, and a," she cleared her throat, "modest library."

My eyes widened. A library?

"Top floor is a little smaller, but it's all the master bedroom and ensuite... with a little balcony."

"And I thought I was overdressed at the café."

"Oh I promise you," Annabelle said, reaching the top of the stairs and pulling me into a broad bedroom, with windows looking out over the whole world around us, "You are in fact significantly over dressed." She didn't bother switching on the lights, so the shapes of her wide bed, and corner desk were vague and colourless in the storm drenched light. I had the barest idea of the layout of the room, before she pulled me along into a bathroom. Here she turned the light on, and I found my breath taken away.

The bathroom was enormous, half the size of the bedroom. The tiles were a rich, dark slate, and the cupboards were a complementary timbre, with simple, polished fixings. A bathtub set into the floor lay up against a window that looked out over the sea. The shower took up almost a third of the space, with no door or curtain, just a waist high wall that cordoned off some of it but was otherwise open. Within was a recessed shelf, and a bench long enough to lie on with its own shower nozzles above. The nozzles over the standing space were set into the ceiling and looked like they took up at least two square metres, more than enough room for two people to stand comfortably underneath.

I felt Annabelle's hands reaching around me from behind, moving over my chest and stomach. "What did I just say, young man? You're overdressed."

I laughed and lifted my drenched shirt free as I turned around.

I stopped dead.

Annabelle was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the dark bedroom behind her. Her dress was pooled at her feet, and she was completely naked. Her wet skin glistened like marble, and the chill had pebbled her breasts and arms. Her nipples were pointed, attentive, as though ready for something. The lines of her body were soft and subtle: a divot down the centre of her stomach, lines marking the muscles in her thigh, the barest hint of stretch marks around her belly, like vertical tiger stripes. Her neatly shaped public hair helped to draw all these features together, an erotic, alluring focal point, signifying both maturity and liberation.

My attention must have made her feel self-conscious, as she shifted a little, and asked, "What is it?"

I shook my head, "You're... you're so beautiful."

She blushed and looked away.

I realised how she must have felt, completely bare in front of me, for the very first time. At the mercy of my first impressions of her body.

So I undid my belt, kicking away my boots. I peeled off my jeans and kicked them aside, and I gave her her own moment to look at me. I was vividly aware of the difference in physiques: she was toned and lithe. I was pale, hairy and had a fair belly. Nor was I winning any competitions with my endowment. I nervously said, "Just remember, I'm also cold."

Her eyes travelled over me, making feel even more vulnerable. She stepped towards me, her feet padding lightly on the tiles, and said, "Would you like to know what I see, James?"

After a moment, I nodded.

She was closer now, "I see a young man, with strong arms, thick thighs and nice, broad shoulders. I also see a young man who's warm to touch, and who doesn't deny himself simple pleasures. I see someone who could lift me up in their arms and throw me across the room, and someone who would indulge in something sweet with me. Who wouldn't shame me for wanting it in the first place."

She stepped past me, into the shower. She turned a nozzle, and hot water immediately started to fall from the ceiling. Steam curled around her ankles as she turned back and beckoned me forward with a finger.

I obeyed.

We met in the steam. We kissed for a long time, pressing our hot, wet bodies against one another. When my cock filled out, she let slide between her legs, the top of my shaft edging along her pussy lips, teasing us both. Then she told me to turn around.

I did, and a moment later I felt her hand rubbing soap onto my back. Her hands moved over my shoulders, down to my ass, which she playfully grabbed and cupped. Down my thighs, then up under my arms.

"Does that feel good?" she purred.

I was bracing myself against the wall, moaning in pleasure. I nodded, "Yes."

Then suddenly her hand was curling around my cock, stroking it slowly from behind. "And this?"

I gasped and nodded again.

She moved slowly, letting the soap lubricate things as she played with me. As the suds washed away, she gripped it a little harder. I moved my hips, bucking into her hand.

I heard her whimper behind me. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Uh huh," her voice was harried. She pressed closer to me, and I felt the back of her hand against my ass. She was fingering herself while she stroked me.

Then her head was against my shoulder, and I could hear her whimpering. Her hand around my shaft was twisting, stroking, teasing. She knew how to press against the base to get a rise out of me, and soon the two of us were writhing and panting, pushing against each other. I reached back and grabbed the back of her head, holding her against my shoulder. She started humping against me, using my ass to press her hand harder against her clit and pussy.

This was new for me, I'd never been touched like this. I found myself concentrating on relaxing, on not getting confused about what she might be expecting. I tried to just get lost in the undulations of our figures in the steam.

Then her teeth were buried in my shoulder, and I could hear her moaning into me. Her hand was vibrating against me, and I could hear delicious, wet fleshy sounds. She was cumming, hard, against my back. And the knowledge sent a spike of pleasure through me, and soon my knees were threatening to give, and I was experiencing an unusual orgasm. It felt... tight, yet light. My cock wasn't buried, surrounded by hot, milking pussy, but was out in the open, with nothing but a hand coaxing it onward. When I came, the first creamy streak hit the black tile with an audible plat, and I let out a deep, shaking groan. Then the rest erupted in fits and starts, before the last few spurts oozed out and down over Annabelle's fingers. When she released me, I fell against the wall on my side, then slid to the floor. I didn't care about the stream of cum I was rubbing down my arm.

Annabelle flopped down beside me, with a closed-mouthed moan. She was looking at my cum on her fingers, a contemplative tilt to her head. "I've swallowed before... I've even asked for it in my mouth... but I've never actually wanted it, craved it the way I pretended..." Then she slipped her fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes. She sucked them clean, licking up every drop, then looked to me. "But now I do."

I smiled at her through my own orgasmic fog. I leaned forward, and she pulled back. I frowned, confused.

"You don't have to, I know it's a little gross, after I just..." she trailed off.

I reached out and cupped her cheek. "I won't if you don't want me to... but it doesn't bother me, Annabelle."

She met my gaze. Her expression could be neutral, but I sensed something behind it... hope? "Are you sure?"

I laughed a little, "It's not like you're asking to spit it back into my mouth. Besides, it would be very rude of me to let you swallow it, and then act like you just ate something gross. So... may I?"

And she let me kiss her. And it only tasted like her. And soon she was in my lap, under the stream of hot water...

... and downstairs, inside her forgotten handbag on the floor, her phone was buzzing.