Where the Pines Kiss the Sky by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Not wanting to be caught short if decadence broke out this evening, I took way more time to get ready for dinner than I generally would have. I prepped for intimacy, shaved up the overgrown patch of curls by my dick, moussed my hair, tidied my beard, and then applied a light spritz of cologne that matched my soap and shampoo. Some ridiculously expensive stuff that I’d bought on Rodeo Drive the last time I’d been shopping. Something Dior with a Greek god’s name on it. I even rubbed some of the beard cream into my facial hair. Was that too much? Did I reek of the stuff now?

“Shit.” I sniffed what I could sniff of myself. Hopefully, I wouldn’t bowl the man over with scent first thing in the door. After I was done with the personal things, I padded to the wardrobe, naked as a babe, opened it, and pulled out the middle drawer. There, laid out neatly, were my panties and bralettes. I ran a finger over the silken ones, then the lace, letting the material speak to me. The sound of the sea floated in the patio doors as I let my eyes drift shut. When my fingers settled on one thing, I glanced down to see what the lingerie gods had chosen. Oh my, they had picked well. The set was black see-through lace, a sissy bra with matching panties, and garters that went along with them. I mulled over if it was too much to wear stockings on the first night of possible decadence. While slipping on stockings was one of my favorite things ever, perhaps Gibson would be turned off in some way.

I opted out of the garters and stockings this time. Stepping into the panties sent shivers up my legs, pleasurable tingles that settled not in my groin but in my heart. Any time I wore lingerie, it made me feel whole and pretty and alive in a way that boxers and tighty-whities never could. What a pity the world was so damn hung up on such things. Who cared what a person wore to cover their ass? Fans of action movies, it seemed.

Unwilling to let myself get bummed out before the night even started, I shoved all thoughts of the world that lay across the bridge that Portman guarded away and focused on tonight. On Gibson and our meal. Once I was dressed in a tank top, shorts, and low-cut sneakers, I made my way to the back door of the kitchen.

Usually, there was a light amount of food being served at the bar, but since the island was filling with people, the kitchen was humming. Pub food always went well, and for those who wanted finer dining, they could hit the tip or cross the bridge. They just had to be back by ten or risk rousing Portman from his bed. Amazing what city folk would put up with in the name of quaint Maine charm.

Emelda glanced my way when I snuck in.

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