Opening an Account
With the termite and building inspections favorable, Michael knew that there would be no problem buying the house. The mortgage would certainly be approved; the house was priced far less than its appraised value, and Michael could almost - at a stretch - have paid cash. His consulting business was performing very nicely.
With the purchase on a firm footing, he began the process of moving. He had decided to get a new personal bank account at the convenience branch in a supermarket close to his new home.
The account manager, Angel, was a young light-skinned African-American woman, with shoulder-length black hair, straight but for a small inward curl, framing a narrow face. Large eyes and a warm smile softened what could otherwise have been sharply imposing features. Her nature seemed as welcoming as her smile, and Michael enjoyed talking with her.
He explained that he wasn't ready to open an account, but would when he closed on the house. She was helpful and efficient. When Michael rose to leave, Angel stood to shake his hand. He was surprised to find that she was close to his height, perhaps about six foot. He figured that she would have heard enough comments about her height, and decided not to add to them, but he was pleased to meet a woman who could look him in the eye.
He saw her several times between that first meeting and closing. They talked when she had no customers, and she flashed him a dazzling smile even when busy. When other staff were on duty, he was disappointed. He began to wonder what her reaction would be if he asked her for a date. She wore no ring that would indicate marriage or engagement, though he knew that meant little.
After closing on the house, he approached her about opening his account. On the application form, he listed his new address.
When Angel checked the form, she raised her eyebrows. "The huge pink house?" she asked.
"The realtor calls it rose," he replied, grinning. "She seemed offended when I called it pink."
"I know it," said Angel. "My mother was born there."
"Really? That's great."
"Not actually in the house, but in the servants' shack beside it."
Michael sighed. "Yes, of course. The good old days." Angel responded to his sarcasm with a tight grin. "I didn't see a shack," he continued.
"It hasn't been there since well before I was born," responded Angel. "My mother says that no-one has lived at the house since she left. I guess no-one felt the shack was worth maintaining."
"I'd like to learn more about the place. Can you ask her about it? The realtor said it was haunted."
"He did?" Angel was surprised.
"She," Michael corrected absently, thinking wistfully of Jenny's mouth on his, Jenny's breasts in his hands, Jenny's body lying along his, her face glowing with pleasure . . .
He came back to earth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned how I learned it. "
Angel smiled and nodded her understanding. "I'll see what I can learn," she said. "Come back soon, Michael."
"I certainly will," he said with sincerity.
Michael had not planned to move immediately. He had a few months' lease remaining on his current home, and planned to use the time to make repairs to the new place. He stopped to see Angel during one of his many trips between the two houses. He found himself eager to see her, and was pleased that she was working. She gave him one of her delightful smiles. "How's the house?" she asked.
"Keeping me busy. We start the exterior work next week. I'm doing inside cleanup."
"Have you moved in yet?"
"I probably won't for a couple of months. I'm going to move enough to be able to stay overnight, but I figure I'll be in the city for a while yet. Did you learn anything from your mother?"
Angel frowned. "No, I didn't, and it's strange. She refused to tell me anything about it. She said it was a 'bad place', and told me not to go near it. She isn't a superstitious woman. I don't understand why she was so adamant."
"She has heard of the ghost, perhaps?"
Angel shook her head. "As I say, she is not superstitious. I didn't think she believed in ghosts any more than I do. You know, I realized that although she has told me that she was born there, she has never said anything about it. I think that's odd, but I guess I'd never noticed it before."
"I wish I knew why she didn't like it. I've found very little to dislike so far."
"I'm intrigued, myself." Angel looked around, then lowered her voice. "I'd like to ask . . ." She looked around again. "This is quite unprofessional, and please don't feel obligated, but could I visit sometime? I'd really like to see what has her so upset."
Michael smiled. "Don't you take your mother's advice?"
"Not when I don't understand it, no." She returned his grin.
"The answer is yes, certainly. I'd love for you to visit. I've . . . uhhh . . . to be frank, I've been wondering how to invite you. I keep thinking about how nice the lake would be for a picnic. Why don't you come over this weekend, and we'll take some sandwiches and bread for the ducks."
"You have ducks?"
"Ducks or geese. Do geese swim?"
Angel shrugged. "I think so. You were really going to ask me over?"
Michael felt his face warming. He nodded.
Angel's smile grew. "I'm touched, and I'd love to accept. Would Saturday be okay?"
"Perfect. About noon?"
On Friday, armed with a suitcase of clothes and toiletries and a vacuum cleaner, Michael spent his first night in the grand old bed in the master bedroom. He woke refreshed, but aware of having had some vivid dreams during the night. Very little stayed with him, but he thought that Jenny and Alicia had both been with him at times, except that one of them seemed to have had dark skin. He wished he could remember more, he was sure that the dreams had been overtly sexual, which was unusual. He continued to feel mildly aroused long after waking.
He made a trip to the deli to buy sliced beef, cheese, fresh French bread and condiments. He had just finished making sandwiches when the doorbell rang.
Angel stood in the doorway, holding a grocery bag. She wore a short-sleeved summer dress in white and gold. Michael, having seen her only in very formal business wear, was slightly startled.
"Welcome," he said with warmth. As she stepped inside, he said "I feel fortunate that my first-ever visitor is so lovely."
She looked at him, a lop-sided smile on her face. "Thanks for the flattery."
Michael shrugged. "I'm quite serious. I've only seen you in suits and dark colors. I guess I expected you to turn up in a brown suit."
Angel presented him the grocery bag. "I wasn't sure whether I should bring anything."
The bag contained a rosé wine, a bottle of Chianti, and two glasses wrapped in paper towels. "Thanks," said Michael, "that's perfect. I had been planning to make iced tea, but I forgot that I don't yet have any cookware here. This is much better."
He opened the Chianti, and left it in the kitchen to breathe. They took the rosé with the food. On the way to the lake, Angel pointed out where she thought the servants' house would have been. Nothing remained, though Michael thought he could see a regularity to the weeds, as though a rectangular section had grown up later. The area was flat, so it was a likely location.
There were ducks sunning themselves at the lake, but they jumped in the water as the pair approached. Michael opened the wine, and they sampled it before they sat. The air was warm, but the day did not threaten to become unreasonably hot. As they ate and drank, they used pellets of bread to try to entice the ducks back to shore.
"You were right," said Angel. "This is a lovely place for a picnic."
Michael nodded. The wine had relaxed him, and he thought how perfect it was, on such a day, to be here with this dark siren. He wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, to run his fingers over her shoulder . . . He sensed that she would not object, but at the same time he was reluctant. He had no racial bias, had always considered himself open-minded and egalitarian, yet he had never considered being attracted to a woman of African heritage, which in itself may be a bias he had not known. And she could be having as difficult a time with the adjustment as he was. Worse, might she consider any advances a slur, an expectation on his part that she would be subservient to him? He might regard her as an equal, but how could she be sure of that?
He settled for simply enjoying her companionship and conversation.
When the wine ran low, they went back to the house, and drank Chianti on the antique chairs in the living room. Michael apologized for the dust.
"It isn't bothering me," said Angel, "I was just admiring the furniture. You say it all came with the house?"
Michael nodded. "Yes, almost every room. I think this must have been here in your mother's time."
"May I look around?"
"I'll give you a guided tour," replied Michael. They carried their glasses with them as he showed her each of the many ground-floor rooms.
He felt strangely reluctant to spent time on the second floor, and instead showed her directly to the narrower stairs continuing up.
Angel seemed awed by the large room. "Was this a ballroom?" she asked.
"That's my best guess. If your mother ever will talk about it, perhaps you can ask. There's just one oddity, though."
He led her to the small side room which still held a bed. "I wonder why they felt a need for sleeping accommodation here. There seems to be enough space for guests below."
"Late-night parties?"
"Could be. Or may they have been not so much sleeping rooms as places to be used during those wild parties?"
They sat on the bed. "You think they were orgies, not dances?"
"As far as I can tell, most of the extensions would have been added in the early part of the century. The original house would have been much smaller. I'm thinking that perhaps this was added in the twenties, before the depression. Debauchery was fashionable in some circles of the wealthy, cocaine was socially acceptable, and perhaps dances were a little more than pleasant social occasions."
Angel made no comment, and Michael continued. "I've been getting a feeling about this for a while. It fits with so many features, and perhaps even the history. If this were shunned a place of ill-repute, that could have given it the reputation of being haunted. Maybe your mother knows enough of the truth to want nothing to do with it."
"You make it sound like a brothel."
Michael shrugged. "I think more like a home of wealthy people who were prone to licentious behavior. It's all a guess, of course."
"Would you have bought the house if you knew that was the case?"
"Sure," Michael said. "What it was isn't what it is." He left unvoiced the thought that had begun to nag at him, that lust had been an unexpectedly powerful component of his recent experiences. Neither did he admit how much he could yearn for similar experiences with Angel.
Suddenly realizing just how intensely he was attracted to her, he stood, preserving a distance, and led her back out into the large room. He sipped at his wine, feeling nervous and clumsy.
"None of the other rooms have beds, by the way," he said. "I'm just assuming that they had at one time. I don't know what else they would have been."
Angel nodded. "You need a grand piano in here," she said. "I could play for you."
"If there's any way of getting one in here, I'd like that," he replied.
She roamed the room, looking into the ancillary rooms, studying the light fixtures, peering into all of the nooks and crannies.
"You could still throw great parties," she asserted, "even if you prefer them to be more conventional." She stood at the large window, looking out towards the lake. "This view would be lost in the dark. You'd have to party in the daytime. Or install floodlights . . . Yes, that's it."
She gestured for Michael to join her. Setting her wine glass on the window-ledge, she took his left wrist in her right hand while she gestured. "Put some lighting around there, by the side of the lake. Light up that tree with small floodlights. It would be beautiful."
Looking where she indicated, he found himself agreeing. She was still lightly holding his wrist. He slipped it out of her grip, and around her back. A moment later he felt her hand snake around his waist. For the first time, Michael allowed himself to believe that she might be able to return his growing affection.
He caught her hand as they turned to leave, and she returned the pressure as they walked to the door. On the second floor, they touched frequently as they explored the guest rooms.
They left the master bedroom until last. Michael may have overcome his diffidence about touch, but his craving for her was growing, and, irrational though the idea was, he felt that he was driven by something beyond his control, something which centered on this house, focused especially in the room ahead. That if he crossed the threshold his will would be insufficient to keep his desire in check. And that, as glorious as his earlier experiences had been, and as much as he hungered for Angel, their budding relationship held a promise of reward beyond those. He was reluctant to risk that treasure for short-term satisfaction.
He held the door open, resisting the urge to enter with her.
Angel did not notice that he had not accompanied her, and began talking to him.
"This is awesome! Twenties' glitterati! I've never seen anything like it. It's like Hollywood's idea of classy." She moved further into the room. "This must be one of the reasons you think the house was a hotbed of decadence."
Angel looked around, finally noticing that Michael had not accompanied her. "What's the matter? Are you embarrassed that all your stuff is in here?"
That certainly wasn't a concern; Michael had cleared around, but he could hardly tell her the real reason for his reticence. He shrugged and stepped inside. Angel turned to face him.
"So, do you like it?" he asked.
"It's cool," she replied.
"I wish I could have seen what went on in the good old days."
"In the 'good old days'," commented Angel, "I don't think I'd have been allowed to be a part of the social life."
Michael shook his head. "That's the sorry truth. There are some advantages to modern times."
Angel turned away from Michael, and stepped backwards, closing the gap between them. He caught her waist automatically. She took his hands, dragged them to her stomach, and leaned back against his chest.
"This would have been frowned upon, too," said Michael, as he kissed her gently behind her ear.
Her slender frame was warm in his arms. He inhaled her faint perfume, part artificial, part her own scent. He held her for several moments, feeling her move as she breathed, her hands covering his own, then he kissed and nuzzled her neck.
She turned her head, and their lips met briefly, then she swiveled around in his arms to face him, laying her hands on his upper arms. Her eyes searched his for a moment, then closed as her lips parted.
Angel gripped his shoulders as their lips met. Michael clasped her waist, his light touch finding firm muscle. Her kiss was sensitive, gently responding to him. Her tongue probed his lips, and his arousal intensified. He pressed her tongue with his, and felt her body soften as she fused into his embrace.
She disconnected. "If you're trying to get me excited, mister, you're going about it the right way." Supporting herself on his shoulders, she stepped out of her shoes. Repositioning her hands at his sides, she drew him back to her.
"That's good," said Michael, his voice husky. "I'd hate to think I was wasting all this hard work." He kissed her again. She responded with fire, feeding his passion, her arousal plain. She clasped his back, squeezing herself against him.
Angel broke away again. Pecking at his mouth, but staying out of reach, she muttered, "Hard work, my ass."
"Okay," retorted Michael, and started squeezing her butt. Angel giggled, and kept teasing his lips.
Releasing her ass, he slid his hands up her back to her neck, pulling her face back to his. After a token resistance, she kissed him with renewed fervor, sighing as they flattened themselves against each other. Michael started unbuttoning the back of her dress.
Angel slipped her mouth away from his for a moment. "Naughty," she whispered, but when Michael lowered his hands, she continued, "but I didn't say stop," and he completed the process.
Angel stepped back, shucked off her dress and slipped out of her hose.
Michael looked at her tall, slender, dark body, clad in black bra and panties. "You are beautiful," he said, and her eyes showed her pleasure as her mouth curled in a smile. He made to lay hands on her waist, but she stepped back.
"Your turn," she said. As Michael started undressing, she climbed onto the bed, and slipped under the sheet.
In his underwear, which did little to hide the evidence of his arousal, Michael joined Angel in the bed. "You're not too bad yourself," she said, grinning up at him.
He lay on his right side, facing her. As his face drew close to hers, she licked his lips. He opened his mouth and touched his tongue to hers. They stroked their tongues together, mouths still apart, gently at first, then grinding into each other. His heart leaped with excitement as he finally covered her mouth with his, tongues mashed.
His left hand stroked her lean body, from her panties to her bra, then, unwilling to wait, he unfastened her bra strap. Her hand snaked around his shoulders as he peeled her bra back.
Her breasts were conical, larger than he had expected; they had seemed slight against her long body, but were far from small. The skin of her breasts was a rich mid-brown, with warm black velvet nipples. Dark aureole gave a rich ripple on a luxuriant milk chocolate, though never did an expensive chocolate truffle look so appealing.
He ran his hand over her right breast, squeezing her firm flesh, then stroking her nipple, which hardened at his touch. The intensity of their kiss deepened as she grasped him to her, squashing his hand against her nipple.
He released her breast, and ran his hand down her stomach, momentarily circling his finger over the front of her panties. Then he released her, and guided her to lie on top of him.
She pulled the bra over her head, dropping it on the floor, and lay along him. He kissed her face, stroking the edges of her breasts. She lifted herself, her wonderful breasts brushing against his chest. He took one in each hand, stretching his face up to hers.
They slid their tongues together again briefly, then he lowered his face to her breasts. She moved slightly higher on the bed to give him better access. Her thighs straddled his stomach as he chewed her nipples and took her breasts alternately into his mouth, sucking and kneading with his tongue.
As he kept suckling, he slipped his hands down her back, inside her panties, massaging her ass. He pressed her crotch to his belly, feeling the slight itch against his stomach of the stiff hair around her narrow panties.
Still kneading, he slowly slipped his hands down between her thighs, letting his fingers trace the lower edge of her pussy. As he gradually penetrated her, she was warm, wet against his finger. She writhed against him.
Breathing heavily, she rolled off him. She took his left hand, pressing it down into the front of her panties. As he pressed her pussy, she slipped her panties down over her knees and pulled them off. She parted her legs slightly to grant him access, and he slid two fingers inside her. She tensed as he played, exploring the fleshy softness.
He felt her fingers trace the edge of his underwear, thrilled as she ran them down the length of his cock, and shuddered as she touched the slightly damp end, then rubbed her fingers against him through the stickiness. He dropped his mouth to her breast, slowly clamping his tongue around her nipple as he drew it into his mouth, sucking hard. She held his head to her breast, moving her hips slowly against his hand.
"Do you want me?" she whispered.
"Can't you tell?" he retorted, breathless against her breast.
"Say it," she ordered.
"I want you."
"Again."
"I want you. God, I want you."
"I want you, Michael," she said, prying his underwear from his eager shaft. "I want you inside me." She pulled away from his hand and his mouth, dragging his underwear off. "I want you now."
She pushed him onto hid back and crouched over him. She lowered herself onto him, her fervor consuming him, his cock hungry, inflamed. As she lowered her chest to his, he cupped her breasts with his hands. His legs between hers, she sucked his thighs to her own, possessing him. Her lips fastened to his, passion driving the moving of their mouths, drawing power from him, feeding it back doubled. His soul was afire with her presence, his need for her unbearable.
With a slow, powerful rhythm, she pressed herself into him. Each firm movement pressed his cock firmly into her, but the deliberate pace kept him from needing release. Instead, his desire built. From the tension in her limbs, Michael believed that Angel's stimulation was also profound.
After a time, she hooked her feet around his, pulling his legs apart. Her legs then were atop his, her feet pressing against his own. She tightened around his cock, paradoxically exciting him more but keeping him from orgasm as she squeezed him slowly.
Moments later, he felt her tense, not moving for a moment, her muscles locked, then she hissed through her teeth as he felt her shudder powerfully within. Michael tried to relax, to keep from joining her in climax, determined to prolong her passion. He renewed the same slow rhythm, a few moments later she joined his effort, still shuddering for a time.
In this way he pushed her several times into moments of shaking joy. Then he allowed himself to respond to his desire. They pressed together, picking up the pace. He released Angel's lips, gasping and kissing her ear, hands on her waist supporting her as he flung himself against her. The blaze in his cock grew to an inferno, liquid fire streaming into every part of his being. As he felt himself begin to lose control, he lifted her, taking her left breast in his mouth, then grabbed her ass, squeezing hard. His climax welled up and he came violently, almost painfully, the rush of emotion overwhelming.
He kept up the pace, though the sensual overload was intense, and was rewarded when he heard Angel cry out, and felt her body stiffen.
Each moaning, they kept dragging themselves together, drawing out their shared passion, kissing and touching with sexual tension well after their bodies ceased to respond. Michael again felt not only erotic attraction, but also a warm affection for this enchanting woman whose body he had shared. How could he have imagined that letting his desire surface would curb their relationship? This was so perfect . . .
"Whoo," he said, between kisses.
"You said it, mister." Angel grinned.
"I feel like . . . I want to say something about how I felt, how I feel, but . . . I don't think there are words. What comes to mind is . . . something that you'll think it's too soon to say."
Angel smiled. "Say it, if you want. Maybe we can grow into the idea."
"Okay," said Michael. "Angel, I love you."
"Thank you, you sentimental idiot," said Angel, and kissed him again. "Too soon or not, I like the way that sounds." Then she rolled off him, and sat up in bed. Michael's eyes were caught by the shiver of her high, taut breasts. He reached out and stroked her smooth brown cheek.
"My skin color turns you on, doesn't it?" her voice held amusement.
Michael flushed. "I don't know," he said finally. "I think . . . I think you turn me on, and you would whatever your race, but being different from me makes you exotic. So I guess the answer is yes, your being African-American turns me on, but I'm not normally more attracted to African-American girls than any others. Does that make sense?"
"As much as anything we've done today." Her soft voice conveyed affection. "I've never made love to a white guy before."
"Neither have I," said Michael, then as Angel started laughing, he corrected himself, "made love to a black girl, I mean."
"Am I different?"
"Different?" Michael thought for a moment. "Yes, you're different. You're you."
"Michael M. Maretti, you really are a sentimental idiot," said Angel, "and I hope you were sincere earlier. I think I could easily fall for you."
"Then let's encourage each other." He kissed her, running his tongue over her lips. They held each other for a time, enjoying the warmth of affection.
Michael's hand strayed to her breasts, and his gentle caresses soon became firm kneading. Angel responded with her tongue; Michael knew that she was still aroused. He dropped his face to her chest, alternately sucking one nipple while pinching and pulling the other in his fingers. She stroked the back of his head.
"Lie down," whispered Michael.
"You can't be ready for more, yet," objected Angel.
"No, but that doesn't mean we have to avoid each other like an old married couple."
"You call this avoiding each other?" she grumbled as she lay down.
Michael grinned at her. Then he drew his knees under him, and knelt beside her. He lowered his head to her breasts, running his tongue around her nipples and down the sides of the firm flesh, tracing contours.
Her nipples were hard as he stroked his nose down her chest to her stomach, licking and nuzzling. He kissed her belly button, tickling with his tongue, then lowered his head a little more.
He heard a gently breathed "Ohh" as his nose brushed the hair on the edge of her pussy. He grasped her thighs, lifting her legs as he pressed further in. Then he slid his hands down to her ass, kneading, working his fingers towards her pussy from behind. He heard her draw a deep breath as he covered her pussy with his lips, pressing with his nose and chin.
He ran his tongue around her pussy, parting her labia with his fingers. Slowly but rhythmically he stroked her with his tongue, working it steadily deeper into her. She started to respond with pressure against his face, tensing her hips in sync with his movements. Gradually he worked his way to her swollen clit. As he stroked his tongue against her, he felt her thighs tighten against his head. He lapped at her, then pinched her clit between his lips.
Angel started to groan softly as he rolled his tongue against her. He felt her thighs shudder with tension, and her arousal fed his own. He tingled with excitement, sensing her pleasure, and felt his cock begin to respond.
When he sucked on her clit, she panted with need, squeezing herself against him. As he pressed his tongue against her, she cried out. He stopped moving as she writhed in frustration. Then he sucked hard, shaking his head, whipping his tongue against her. Angel gasped in delight as he felt her body start to spasm.
Michael released her clit, but kept up a regular firm stroke with his tongue as her shuddering pleasure continued. He felt her move, kissing his thighs as she continued to breathe heavily.
When she released him, he sensed her lie back, and began to back away when he heard her call in a hoarse whisper, "Don't stop yet."
He felt her hands lifting his knee. Following her lead, he moved it across her body, kneeling over her chest. Moments later he felt her moist tongue touch his sensitive shaft. His heart leaped as sensual tingling shot through him. Her tongue touched him experimentally several times, then a more positive thrill around his cock. He continued to stroke slowly with his tongue.
She pushed his knees back behind him, guiding him to lie down. When he had relaxed, he felt fire dancing along his cock, excitement sliding up and down. He rubbed his tongue hard against her, striving to give back the thrill she gave him. Soon he heard her breathing hard, felt her breath against his cock.
His exhilaration grew exponentially. He hadn't expected to be able to respond yet, but instead his cock was hard with passion, stimulation igniting its length, demanding release. He sucked her clit back into his mouth, rasping his tongue against it, shaking his head as his arousal became incandescent.
She groaned and came, and for a moment stopped moving her mouth against him. He burned within, frustrated at the point of his ecstasy, then he rocked his hips, moving his cock within its intimate refuge. He stopped as he reached his crest, about to pull out, but Angel took over, sliding her teeth down his cock, and he gasped as he exploded within her. She kept moving, drawing out his joy, as he prolonged hers.
Finally, spent, he lifted himself off her, turning around on unsteady limbs to collapse beside her. Lying prostrate, he angled his head to look at her.
"I've never done . . . that . . . before," she murmured, staring at the ceiling.
"No?" His voice was as shaky as his limbs.
"Not . . . both at the same time," she replied. "I don't know what came over me. I'm generally a very conservative girl."
"If it upset you . . ." Michael began.
"Upset?" Angel interrupted, and smiled weakly, "No." She reached out blindly, finding Michael's hand, and held it in her own. "I'd like to be unconservative again. Frequently, perhaps."
He squeezed her hand.
"Just one thing," she said, looking at him through the corner of her eye. "You'll be washing your face before you kiss me again."
Michael grinned. He could live with that. Trusting his legs to be more stable, he wove his way to the bathroom, where he cleaned up and brushed his teeth.
Back in bed, he snuggled up to Angel, pulling the sheet over them both. "Can you stay the night?" he asked, quietly.
She nodded and hugged him.
"Angel?" he murmured. When she looked up at him, he whispered, "I love you."
"Idiot," she said softly, and kissed him.
In the evening, Michael used his cellphone to order pizza. They ate in the kitchen, then took blankets and the rest of the Chianti to the lake. Angel wore her dress; Michael simply donned his robe.
The sun was setting, the moon in the sky still faint. They sat side-by-side on the blankets, in the same place as earlier, holding hands as they sipped the last of the wine.
"You need a boat," remarked Angel.
"A boat? You could walk around the pond in five minutes."
"A small rowboat. It would be romantic."
"Now who's being a romantic idiot?"
"You, I hope, soon."
Michael took her empty glass, setting it down with his own, then reached for her. He ran his fingers along her cheek as she drew close, lips parted. They kissed in the deepening twilight, Angel's hands behind his neck.
As he unfastened her dress, she shivered slightly, drawing away from him. "Are you cold?" he asked.
"No, I just . . . I had the feeling we were being watched."
Michael looked around. "No-one could see us here, unless they were in the house."
Angel followed his glance, then shook her head in agreement. "I guess you're right." She smiled, a little uneasily, then, "Where were we?"
"You were about to offer me your body."
"I was?" She touched his cheek. "Well, okay, but only if you take as good care of it as you did earlier."
They kissed again. Teasing, then fierce. Angel climbed onto Michael's lap, facing him. Her skirt was riding up over her thighs. She opened the front of his robe, revealing his erection, as she slid close to him.
His shaft grew harder as he felt her press against his cock. He squeezed her waist through the thin fabric of her dress, her hands again behind his head, holding him against her face. Her mouth moved insatiably against his, her tongue woven with his own. She moved her hips to give his cock access, and between them they pushed and yielded until he was embedded deep within her warmth.
Angel moved against him, gripping his waist with her thighs. She possessed Michael as her fervor fed his need, squeezing herself against him with quick, powerful strokes. He grunted with each rapid breath as his desire overwhelmed him. His hands glided up her sides, to her breasts, grasping at the fabric covering them.
Releasing her again, he grabbed her skirt, dragging it up. When it was up to her shoulders, he held her breasts, squeezing with both hands, chewing her lip, sliding his tongue under hers. Her hot breath tickled his cheek as she panted through her nose, occasionally pulling away from his lips to catch her breath, but immediately catching him again, wanting more.
He released her mouth as he lifted the dress further; she helped lift it over her head. He lowered his mouth to her left breast. She held his face against her as he sucked. Looking up, he saw her head leaning back, sweat beading her face, reflecting the moonlight. Her lips were parted, and she was sighing, the hard edge to her voice betraying her passion.
Her voice rose in volume, but her cries slowed as she tensed. Then she stopped moving, her body stiff, and gasped as she came, quivering with the strength of her climax. Michael dropped his hands to her ass, squeezing her to him. She responded by kissing his ears and forehead breathlessly, then began moving fiercely again, helping Michael to his own release, which he embraced joyfully.
Michael could still feel the contractions of Angel's orgasm as his own waned. Her earlier tension had become softness as she held him, rocking gently. He released her breasts, and their lips joined again, her fingers on his temples gently holding him in a grip he wished would never be broken. They swayed together, united in joy.
"I love you," he said.
She smiled gently. "I know," she said, moving her lips back to his.
They explored their desire by the lake until the chill of the night set in, when they returned to the bedroom. Still captivated by their passion for each other, they made love in the light of the morning, before Angel had to leave.
Beside Angel's car, Michael slipped his arm around her back. She rested her head on his shoulder. Her expression was pensive, and Michael asked her if anything was wrong.
"Yesterday," she said softly, "when I came here, I confess I was hoping we'd get to know each other better. I wasn't expecting to be swept off my feet. I've never . . . on a first date . . . I hope you don't think . . ."
"You know, I wish I could tell if you were blushing."
Angel slapped his butt, then locked her arm back around his waist. "I just want you to know that I'm feeling really wonderful, but also quite overwhelmed. This . . . relationship might take me some time to get accustomed to."
"Any more accustomed than we were last night, and I think my brain will fry."
"Idiot," she said.
"I love you, Angel."
She stepped away from him and gazed at his face. A slow smile began in her eyes, becoming to Michael a heart-warming beacon of promise. She held his face once again, kissing him briefly but deeply, then climbed into her car. Before she closed the door, she looked back at Michael. "Call me," she said.
"I will," he replied, as she drove away. "I will. I promise."