Vanilla

The Morningstar Mocha was super busy. I dropped off William and circled the block twice before I found a spot a block up the street. The extra time I took parking meant I was a few minutes late, but I still paused to look through the front window before going in. I saw Esteban at a table in the corner, a mug in front of him. He wasn’t looking my way, so I studied him for half a minute.

We had met once or twice for lunch. Every time had been before we’d ever met in a hotel room, when we were still deciding if we wanted to go to that next step. Since we’d begun that, we’d never met again in public.

He looked so different with his clothes on.

This wasn’t what we were supposed to be. Coffee shop pals who chatted about muffins and maybe played footsie under the table or held hands? No. We were dim hotel rooms and commands and fantasies, not reality. Weren’t we? I was on the verge of walking away when a man in a long black coat came up behind me wanting to go inside, and I let myself be swept up along with him as though I had no other choice.

Esteban stood up when I walked in.

Being greeted with a smile and a look almost of relief, as though you are, in that moment, the most important sight in the world to the person who’s been waiting for you...it’s heady stuff. I wove through the crowded tables to him and slung my bag over the back of the empty chair. I wondered if he would embrace me, and if I would allow it. He didn’t, though he ran a hand down from my shoulder to my wrist, squeezing gently before moving away.

“I was thinking you would not come,” he said.

“I would’ve messaged you, honey. I wouldn’t just stand you up.” I had considered doing just that, but Esteban would never know it. I sat. “What are you drinking?”

“Coffee. Would you like?”

I twisted to look at the menu board. “I’ll take a mocha latte. Oh, and a blueberry muffin.”

He gave me another tiny, discreet squeeze as he passed me. It both amused and touched me emotionally. He touched me physically all the time, of course, but this had been different. Brief, but not hesitant. He was different outside the hotel room, but then, I guess so was I.

Esteban returned in a few minutes with my drink and food and took the seat across from me. He grinned, his gaze searching my face, though I wasn’t sure what he was looking to find. He leaned forward.

“You look beautiful.”

I didn’t laugh. I had made an effort, of course, because who ever goes to meet a lover without looking their best? But unlike most of our meetings, which featured me in full makeup with carefully chosen outfits, this morning I’d pulled my dark curly hair into a messy bun and wore jeans with a tunic blouse suitable for taking my nephew to religious school. Put together? Sure. But beautiful?

“You do,” he said, though I hadn’t protested.

I leaned forward a little too, echoing his posture. “It’s good to see you.”

He beamed, eyes not leaving mine. “It’s better to see you!”

“You’re so good for my ego.” I did laugh then, and broke off a piece of my muffin. I pushed the plate toward him. “Have some.”

He broke off a piece. Together, we ate the muffin and drank our coffee while tables emptied and filled again. We didn’t talk about anything that seemed important, which was the perfect sort of conversation to have on a bright, late-spring Sunday morning.

“This was nice,” I told him when we’d stayed as long as we could before it would be time to order lunch.

Esteban nodded. “Yes. Very nice.”

I thought for a second or so that he was going to ask me if we could do it again, but he only looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Not quite sad. Reluctant. Resigned, maybe.

“Walk me to my car,” I said. “I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet.”

I could read that expression, at least. I’d made him happy. We didn’t hold hands while we walked, and the distance between us was enough that nobody would ever have guessed how many times his mouth had been between my legs. I watched him from the corner of my eye as we navigated the buckled sidewalk.

At my car, I faced him. “What’s going on?”

He might’ve been able to put me off on the phone, but not in person where I could see his face. He tried to cut his gaze, but I took his chin gently in my palm and turned him until he had no choice but to look at me. Still, he didn’t answer me right away.

“Esteban,” I said sternly.

His shoulders sagged. To my immense surprise, he hugged me. Hard. His face pressed to the side of my neck, his skin hot. His breath tickled me.

I hugged him back for a moment, before saying, “Get in the car.”

Obediently, he went around to the passenger side. I got in my seat and twisted to face him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m wearing it,” he said, which was not the answer to my question.

Despite this unusual disobedience, a shiver tiptoed up and down my spine at the thought. “My gift?”

He nodded. I swallowed, my gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before meeting his. He licked his mouth. Tension wove between us, fine and strong as a spider’s filament. All I had to do was run a fingertip across the back of his hand, placed on his thigh, to make him shudder. His soft moan made me clench my jaw to keep my own inside.

“How does it feel?”

“I feel...full. Of wanting. It makes me think of you.” His voice rasped, low.

“Good. I like you to think of me when we aren’t together.” I circled my fingertips on his skin, my eyes never leaving his. “But what? It makes you uncomfortable? You’re worried about something? I want you to use my present to please me, but if it doesn’t make you happy, too—”

He shook his head sharply. “No. No, it does. So much. Too much, maybe.”

I thought I understood that, at least. How something could make you too happy. I leaned a little closer and let my hand slip down the inside of his thigh to press against the rising bulge of his cock. “Tell me how it feels, deep inside you.”

“I thought it would be too much. A little too big,” he whispered. “It hurt a little, at first.”

“And now?”

He shook his head. “Not now. Now I feel it when I move. It hits the spot just right. And if I shift just right, if I clench...”

I smiled.

He shuddered. I didn’t stroke his cock, though by now I could feel it was thick and hard, compressed against the front of his jeans. Esteban moaned again, a little brokenly.

“You want me to touch you,” I said in a low voice.

His eyes, which had gone heavy-lidded, opened wider. “Oh, yes...please...”

“It makes me very happy to know that you’re using my present,” I told him as my hand pressed against him. Withdrew. Pressed again. To anyone looking at us, we’d appear to be having a conversation, nothing more. Leaning a little closer, maybe, but not even kissing. Nothing outrageous...except that my sweet boy was pushing his cock against my palm. I imagined the press and tug of the plug in his ass, hitting him in the perfect spot. “I want you to feel it inside you. Do you?”

He shuddered again. “Yes. It’s so good.”

“Fuck, I want your fingers inside me,” I muttered, which sent another spasm through him. Urged another moan. My nipples had gone tight and hard. So had my clit. I clenched my own internal muscles, rocking a little, though I had no toy to help me out. “Look at me.”

He did, though it took him an understandable few seconds to focus. A faint blush had painted his cheeks, and his brown eyes had gone darker from his dilated pupils. He licked his mouth again, and I thought of how good his tongue felt on my pussy, and I could not stop myself this time from moaning, too.

“You are so beautiful...” Esteban’s words trailed off into a groan as he moved so slowly against me that he hardly seemed to move at all. Then he said other words I couldn’t understand in Spanish, a language so fluid and sexy that every word sounded like part of a poem.