What have green eyes, green socks, and a run away opera star have to do with a widow getting back her groove?
“Tell me, Lorenzo, will I be no more than another conquest? It doesn’t matter, I’m just curious.” And, as nervous as a lizard under the gaze of a stalking feline.
“I might ask you the same question. But, to reply directly, not a conquest, a confection.”
“That’s all I am, a piece of…candy?”
“No, I meant concession.”
“A mutual granting of pleasure,” he said.
He’d moved closer and the words he whispered in her ear ignited fires within. His tongue took little liberties, then larger ones. Then, they kissed. A long, slow, exploration. His hands stroked Maggie’s calves, and then he pushed her dress further and further up until his fingers breached the last barrier to her sex, the elastic edges of her mother’s purple panties. His fingers massaged there until she was wet, warm, and ready. Not for Lorenzo, but because she was thinking of Bruce Herring. She concentrated on the man beside her.
Recalling racy cable movies viewed over the years, Maggie slowly pulled off her underpants as suggestively as possible. She fumbled with Lorenzo’s belt buckle, finally giving over to his more expert hands.
The big mount was about to progress when another aggravating detour down memory lane interceded. Maggie thought about how sweetly Bruce Herring handed her off to the Sandman. First, his gentle kiss, then the act of covering her with a blanket, and finally his thought for her safety when he engaged the thumb latch. Caring.
Lorenzo offered what? Sex. Okay, mutually pleasurable sex, possibly. But. “Wait.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yes, you are,” Lorenzo assured her.