Happy Housewarming

I didn’t take any joy in my great-aunt passing away, but she had left me a sizable inheritance. It was an amount my dad insisted would make a comfortable down payment on a house.

For a month or so, I never stopped hearing commands veiled as suggestions that I buy a house … “It’s the right time. “ “You should really look in such-and-such neighborhood; the values have been rather strong since the crash.” “There’s really no reason why you should be pissing your money away on rent now that things are turning around in the housing market.”

I even heard it from Derrick, our family attorney who handled my great-aunt’s estate.

“Your dad tells me that you’re looking for a house,” he said when I came to pick up my check and sign off on some paperwork.

At first I resented my father discussing my personal life with our attorney as a way to leverage control of my life. But when I heard Derrick’s arguments, which really weren’t different from my dad’s, it all made sense. He even referred me to a real estate agent he said I’d like working with and a loan officer he highly recommended.

“You’ll like Parker,” he said. “He’ll go out of his way to make sure that you get the best deal. You’ll find he’s an even more important part of the buying process than your agent.”

In the past, I never really paid attention to the times my ex and I got a mortgage and refinanced our house. I never thought it made a difference who handled those technicalities; I figured it was the same deal everywhere.

Parker proved me wrong.

I made an appointment to see him to get pre-approved for a loan. He was a joyfully polite man who was handsome in a casually refined way. He had as an eloquent command of the English language as he did about the ins and outs of the mortgage world. I found myself hanging on to his every last word, whether we were talking about what kinds of loans would be best for me and my situation or whenever the conversation would drift off to things like music, food or wine. I knew the pre-approval process shouldn’t have taken two and a half hours, but I was a sucker for intelligent and articulate men.

Over the weeks after I found and signed a purchase agreement for a cozy but not too small bungalow in one of my favorite parts of town, I found myself seeing more of Parker than I planned. A few times he stopped by my office to drop off documents that he could have easily sent by fax or email or courier. He always greeted me with a “Hello, beautiful,” and a smile that sparkled as much as his eyes. He had class and charm. He had a way of keeping a smile on my face and a lilt in my step the rest of the day. I even called him a few times just to ask how things were coming along with my loan, even when I knew there was nothing new to expect. Secretly, I enjoyed his conversation and his attention.

At the closing he seemed to be just as happy as I was when I signed the documents on the loan, the title, and the other documents for the house. When all was said and done and after everyone else left the room, he suggested that we go out to celebrate.

“I wish I could, but I have to get back to work,” I said. “Why don’t you come over on Saturday after I have everything moved in so you can see the place?”

He showed up mid-day with a basket full of wines and artisanal cheese that I happened to mention in one of our conversations that I liked but were hard to find.

I gave him a grand tour of the house, which was nicer than the few times I came to check it out before I put in my offer. The woman who owned it before me was an interior decorator and had taste similar to mine only better. I even got a better deal than I should have if it wasn’t for her being in hurry to elope and move in with who she called, “the man of my dreams.”

Parker seemed taken by the story as I told it on the patio over glasses of a bright and light Napa Chardonnay.

“So what about you?” he asked. “Is there a man who’s sweeping you off your feet?”

I thought it was obvious there wasn’t. He knew from the invasive forms I had to fill out to account for every last dime of my financial history that I was single, but I never mentioned being or not being otherwise involved. I figured there were enough clues around my house to suggest that there was no man in my life. I just mentioned that I was contently solo and had found my center of happiness after my divorce and a somewhat serious rebound relationship that should have never happened.

He looked at me with his eyes that seemed as blue and deep as the sea. He reached out for my hand to claim me for his attention.

“What if that man was right in front of you?” he asked.

Flirtation and kindness was one thing. I just saw them as being paired for a delightful person to do business with. But the deal was done, and his approach was not one of a man who wanted just a piece of ass.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. All I could do was to stay locked in his gaze until his lips met mine, cautiously, but not apprehensively. It was if he was trying to find the answers of what I found so appealing about him that I didn’t have the words or the courage to express.

He ran his hand along my jawline, down the side of my neck, and along the back of my shoulder to pull me in closer. Our lips pressed together closer; soft, tender and swollen with sweetness. I lay one hand on his forearm and took the other at the back of his head. I let my fingers wander up his scalp and into his head as if to say, “Kiss me deeper.”

The tip of his tongue parted my lips and soon it was intertwined with mine like a seductive tango. Our arms and hands followed suit with each of us wanting to glide over the dance floors of our bodies, taking slow steps to see who would lead and who would follow. His hand slid over the dip of my waistline and up the side of my rib cage. I inched my chest closer to him each time his hand came closer to my breasts. I slid my hand under his shirt just over his waistband to touch a bit of skin on his side and his back. I could feel his breath quickening and heating as his lips trailed from my lips, across my chin, and to the side of my neck. As he started nibbling on my earlobe, his hand swooped under my top to grab a handful of my breast. My nipple suddenly hardened against the tender palm of his hand. It hardened even more when I heard his warm, deep whisper in my ear say, “I want you.”

Without waiting for a response, he picked me up and carried me inside. Our kisses and nibbling never stopped inside the bedroom where we got straight to the business of peeling off our clothes. As soon as I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, his cock aimed straight at and against me. I pulled him in close to dig my fingers deep into the tissue of the back of his thighs and up to his meaty ass, which I clenched when I pulled him in closer to me. I don’t remember how my top or my bra came off or at what point he started devouring my breasts and nipples.

I searched for the edge of my bed with my knee to prop myself up for fear of my trembling legs bringing me to the ground as we pawed at each other. As soon as his finger took a swipe at my slippery slit, I fell flat on the bed. I felt fierce and powerless all at the same time as one and then two of his fingers prodded into me. I twisted and writhed from the inside at his forceful prodding of his slickened fingers. I couldn’t connect the words to say how I felt or what I wanted; only disconnected bursts of cries and yelps. I tried my best to reach out and grab his cock, but he wouldn’t let me. He was insistent on driving my body and mind to the edge.

A gush of hot fluid shot out from deep inside of me and all over his hand. I was afraid I was done for, but I wasn’t, especially when he kneeled on the bed before me and pierced his steel-hard cock inside of me. Again, I my insides started trembling and bringing me to spasms and undecipherable cries. I wondered if he could feel the ridges of my inner walls reverberating against the friction of the veins bursting underneath the tight skin of his shaft. By the way he was grunting and forcing every thrust in me with all of his might, I knew he was feeling something, but it was the kind of energy I was unfamiliar with from any other man I had been with. He was feral and unstoppable until he could not contain his power from within.

Even after he came, he pumped into me slowly and luxuriously as his kisses and touches that led into this. As he wound down, his cheerful smile and dreamy eyes returned to his face. It was if we were both coming down from some kind of surreal high until he fell to my side, clung to me, and kissed me sweetly on the lips.

I was a few weeks late throwing my housewarming party. Parker had been over for several evenings and weekends under the pretense of helping me put everything in place. Sometimes he actually helped, but every time we made it a point to christen every room in the house. Even the foyer. Even the laundry room.

“I take it that Parker took very good care of you in making this all possible for you,” Derrick said.

I had to agree.

“I’m sure my aunt would be very happy for you,” my dad said.

“For buying the house?” I said, half expecting to hear something like “Father knows best” as his response.

“That and finding a really nice guy,” he said. “He seems awfully fond of you.”