Control - Kayla Perrin

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my pussy. I melted. Had anyone’s touch ever felt this good?

      When his fingers slipped into my layers of flesh, I gripped his shoulders and threw my head back, whimpering from the exquisite pleasure. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

      “Yes, baby,” he whispered against my ear, and penetrated my vagina with a finger, pushed it in deep. “I love how your pussy feels.” His digit still inside of me, he went down on his haunches. “Now I want to see how you taste.”

      He flicked his thumb over my clit, and then his tongue—and a shudder roared through my body. Then he spread my folds and suckled me with exquisite gentleness until I was coming and screaming.

      I woke up to find my hand between my legs, my pussy throbbing and wet. I rode the wave of my orgasm from my dream state to consciousness.

      After my pleasure subsided, I was satisfied but perplexed. I had just come while dreaming.

      Me—someone who hadn’t had these kinds of arousing fantasies even as a teenager.

      Something was changing in me. I was having sexual needs and urges I wasn’t used to.

      And I was liking them.

      On Friday around ten, Sharon and I left for Charleston. She wanted to drive, and that was fine, so she came by my place and picked me up in her Cadillac Escalade. Robert had once again left for the office early that morning, but before he went, he’d kissed me deeply and told me to have a good time.

      I had expected him to be busy with the board, with conference calls to Germany and whatever else he needed to do in order to seal the acquisition deal. So I was surprised when my iPhone trilled before Sharon and I even made it Charleston.

      “I had a break, so I thought I’d call,” he explained when I picked up. “I phoned the bed-and-breakfast. They said you hadn’t checked in yet.”

      “That’s because we’re just getting into Charleston now.”

      “It’s nearly three o’clock,” Robert said.

      “We didn’t leave until ten, and there was must have been a wreck on I-77, because we were backed up for a good hour.”

      “Oh. So how far are you?”

      “Ten minutes from the B and B, I think. Maybe fifteen.”

      “Call me when you get settled,” he told me.

      But before I could, he called again, just as Sharon and I got to the room.

      I put the phone to my ear. “Hi, sweetheart.”

      “Just making sure you’ve arrived.”

      Or checking up on me? “We’re here.”

      “Are you going to go get a bite to eat?”

      “A snack, most likely. I already made reservations at Hyman’s.”

      “The seafood place. Ah, very nice. For what time?”

      “Six-thirty.”

      “What’s the weather like?”

      “Pretty nice. About seventy-one, right, Sharon?”

      “Yeah, that’s what they said on the radio,” she concurred. “I might bring out that bikini yet.”

      “What?” Robert asked. “What was that about a bikini?”

      “It was a joke,” I told him. “We’re definitely not going swimming.” I paused. “Can I call you back? We just got up to the room, and we want to get settled—”

      “No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

      Hanging up, I faced Sharon. “He wanted to make sure we arrived okay.”

      She smiled and looked away. But I got the feeling there was an opinion behind the grin.

      It might not have been warm enough to swim, but it was warm enough for ice cream—at least as far as Sharon was concerned. So, two hours later, after getting a manicure, we went into an ice cream shop in historic Charleston. I got a cone. Sharon got a hot fudge sundae.

      We were walking down the street two minutes later when my phone rang again. I pretty much knew, before looking at the display, that it would be Robert.

      I lifted my phone from my purse. Somehow, I refrained from rolling my eyes when I saw his number on the display screen. I didn’t know what had gotten into him.

      “Give me a second, Sharon,” I said, stopping. “It’s Robert.”

      “Again?” she asked.

      I answered my phone. “Hello?”

      “Where are you?”

      What kind of greeting was that? “Sharon and I are taking a stroll.”

      “Oh. I called the room, and you weren’t there. And then your phone went straight to voice mail. I thought you might have headed to Myrtle Beach.”

      “What? Myrtle Beach is two hours away.” I wondered why Robert was calling so much. He was acting like a paranoid parent checking up on a kid who’d gone off on her own for the first time. “We were getting our nails done, so I turned my phone off.”

      “Of course. Of course. Are you having a good time?”

      I looked at Sharon, who was making quick work of finishing off her sundae. “Yeah, we are. So far, so good.”

      “Don’t let Sharon drag you into anything scandalous,” Robert said. “Like scoping out a new father for her baby.”

      “What?” I asked, stunned by such a ridiculous question.

      “Bad joke,” he admitted. “I was out of line.”

      Bad joke was right.

      “I suppose you’re tired of me calling, but I just miss you, that’s all,” Robert said. “I kind of feel a little…off.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Oh, nothing in particular. A little woozy. Some aches and pains.”

      “How serious?” I asked.

      “It’s probably stress,” he replied. “It’s been a long week. Nothing a nap won’t cure.”

      “You have been very stressed this week. Any success with the acquisition?”

      “Finally, I think so.” Robert sounded relieved. “The deal should go through by Monday, as planned—so this is very, very good news.”

      “I’m so glad to hear that, darling. I know how much of a headache it’s been for you.”

      “It has been, but the end is in sight.” He paused briefly. “So, Hyman’s, right?”

      “Yep.”

      “Six-thirty?”

      “Yep. Six-thirty.”

      Sharon narrowed her eyes at me. I could read her thought: What’s with the twenty questions?

      “Excellent,” Robert said. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll call you later.”

      “Love you, too,” I replied, then pressed the button to end the call.

      I sighed loudly, playing up my own frustration with Robert’s many calls. “Sometimes it’s like he can’t survive without me.”

      “That’s sweet,” Sharon commented, and she seemed sincere. “At least it can’t be said that he doesn’t love his wife.”

      “That’s one way to look at it.”

      She made a wistful sound. “I miss that. The calls to see where you are, even if they’re annoying. I miss it so much.”

      “Oh, Sharon.” I put my arm around her

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