Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Safe Sex, Oral Sex,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A widower and a divorcee meet and the sparks immediately fly. He's handsome, well-off, and talented. She's a Viking goddess, barely starting her designing career.
He picked up the local phone book, flipped to the Yellow Pages and found what he was looking for. Punching in the numbers on the keypad, he listened as it rang. Just after the second ring, a soft female voice answered.
"Ingrid's Designs, how may I help you?"
"Good Morning. My name is Steve Inhalt, and I was given your firm's name by Roger Anthony. I understand you did some work for him and he was very complimentary with the results."
"I'm pleased that he's pleased," she said, again in a soft, very feminine voice.
"I didn't catch your name, miss."
"I'm Ingrid Solberg, the proprietor and sole employee, Mr. Inhalt."
"Miss Solberg, I recently purchased a home in West Vancouver and it badly needs modernizing. Mr. Anthony is a client of mine and I trust his judgment. He says you can do the job, and that I will be satisfied. I'd like to arrange an appointment to meet with you and show you the property. We can go from there."
"Thank you for calling me Mr. Inhalt. I can't make it today, but how about tomorrow afternoon, say about three?"
"Three will be fine. I'll look forward to seeing you then. Bye."
"Goodbye," again with that soft, smooth-as-silk voice.
He hung up the phone and wondered what sort of woman was the possessor of that provocative voice. He couldn't remember being turned on by just a voice on the phone before, but she had come close. He walked back to the spare bedroom in his apartment and resumed his work.
At three the next afternoon he was standing in the empty shell that was to become his residence. He looked out the curtainless picture windows to English Bay below and Vancouver Island in the distance. The entrance was just to his left. Anyone approaching the front door would have to come past the big windows.
When Ingrid Solberg walked by the windows at a minute after three, he was stunned. She was the most spectacular woman he had ever seen. In the two or three seconds that she was in view, he absorbed all the information he could from what he had seen. She was tall, medium length dark red hair, voluptuously proportioned, and had an almost imperial posture. She didn't just walk, she strode to the front door.
He waited a couple of seconds after her knock to compose himself before walking to the door. He opened it and looked straight into her clear blue eyes. She wore a lovely smile as she held out her hand.
"Yes, yes, uh Miss... ?"
"Yes, Solberg. Please come in." He realized he was stammering, and must have looked as awkward as he felt.
"You're right on time," he said, searching for something to say.
She was wearing a pale blue sleeveless blouse, navy blue slacks with a bright yellow belt and shoes. Despite her physical appearance, she was all business.
"Actually, I was a couple of minutes early. I wanted to look around the property and see what's what. No good doing up the inside if the place isn't going to make it on the outside."
She said it in a matter-of-fact manner, but with a light smile on her face. That smile seemed to be a consistent feature.
"Well, actually, I do have plans for the exterior. The siding is to be stained. The carport floor will be lowered eighteen inches and the space made into a proper garage. The little galley will be expanded into the back to permit a full size, fully equipped kitchen. Why don't we walk around and I can show you what I'm planning."
"Great, let's go."
"Why don't you lead and I'll follow and tell you what I'm thinking," he suggested.
"Fine." Again, that smile.
As he walked behind her he looked at her more openly. Regardless of how he tried, he couldn't help being distracted by this woman. Her skin was a soft white; she was certainly not a sun worshiper. Her lovely, bare shoulders and arms were sprinkled with tan freckles. He had never thought of freckles as sexy, but this woman changed all that.
She would walk a few feet, make a couple of verbal observations, and write a few notes. She took pictures with a small, pocket flash camera. When she turned to face him, he saw the freckles on her forehead and cheeks. Very sexy, he thought. He began to wonder where else those freckles appeared. Her question caught him in mid-daydream.
"Pardon, I'm sorry I didn't hear your question," he stammered again. She had him completely off balance.
Once again that enigmatic smile and silky voice.
"Who have you chosen to do the construction work?"
"Tony Blanton. He also came recommended by a client. Talking to him, he was thinking a lot like me, so he was an easy choice."
He had recovered some of his composure.
"You're very lucky to have clients who can steer you to the right people," she said, looking over her clipboard at him.
"I certainly am." He was looking directly at her. She smiled slightly and turned back to the house.
"Tony's a good choice. He does solid, quality workmanship, not flashy, and is usually on time if his clients don't mess him up with changes."
That sounded like a hint. He made a mental note not to frustrate Tony with last-minute decisions or delays.
"That's a good point and one of the reasons I've called you. I want to get a head start on the detail decisions and make sure we don't get behind or miss something."
He was beginning to regain his usually orderly thinking.
"I'd like you to assess the space and give me some renderings on what you think will work."
"Pardon me for being nosy, but is there a Mrs. Inhalt to share in these decisions?" she asked with a serious look.
"No, no Mrs. Inhalt," he said quietly.
He thought he saw a hint of a smile, but maybe it was just wishful thinking.
"Just me for now, but to clarify, I don't want a 'Macho Batchelor Pad' or some all-male domain. I want it to be a home that I will want to live in for a long time. This location is very special and there aren't many like it on the market."
"You're not kidding. It's spectacular. How did you find it?" she asked.
He laughed. "A client in the real estate business of course."
She laughed and yet wondered aloud at the continuing connections he had established.
"Have you lived in West Van long?"
"No ... just a couple of years. But I did live nearby when I was young, before my parents moved us to California."
"What brought you back?" Once more the curious look.
"Oh, it's a long story, but this is where I belong" he said quietly.
She moved to quickly change the subject.
"If you decide to hire me for this project, I will submit a complete list of materials and work to be done, fully costed. I will work with you on design and colours. I can provide a turn-key project where there is nothing for you to do but pick the items and choose colors. Am I correct in thinking that's what you want?"
"Yes, a turn-key is just the ticket. And yes, you are hired. Just give me the estimates and I'll sign the contract. I'd like to get started right away if that's possible."
"Yes, I can start right away. However, I don't usually have a contract, just a letter of understanding. Will that be OK?" Again, the curious concerned look.
"Of course, whatever you feel comfortable with. Your credentials are ... impeccable."
He said it with an arched eyebrow and crooked grin. His reward was a big, open smile from her in return. She had the most beautiful smile, and perfect brilliant white teeth with a lovely dark shade of lipstick to show it all off.
She could have told him she wanted him to pay double, and he'd have agreed. She had the job when she walked past the front window almost an hour earlier.
"Face it boy, you're hooked!" he thought.
"Do you always make decisions as quickly as this?" she asked.
"Yes, when I'm confident it's the right decision," he said, back in control but only just.
She continued to roam the house, making notes and snapping pictures. He sat on a stool at the kitchen pass-through and watched her. He realized how big she was, likely six feet and looking at her legs and torso, he guessed 160 lbs. She was big, but there was no sign of excess weight.
He caught himself watching her backside as she moved around the house. It was beautifully rounded and perched tantalizingly atop a pair of perfectly tapered, long legs. Her slacks weren't skin tight, but they revealed enough to know she was in proper proportion from head to toe.
Everything about her seemed to be extraordinary. This was a real-live Viking princess. The red hair and freckles were all the evidence anyone needed. With a name like Ingrid Solberg, what else could she be but Norse?
She finished her survey and walked back to the kitchen.
"There's a lot to do, but it shouldn't break the bank to get it done. Do you want me to have a look at the outside too?"
"Yes please, Ingrid. As I said, I want to refinish the unstained cedar exterior, and I'd like to use rustic brick around the entrance to the new garage."
Ingrid nodded her agreement.
"I'll just be a few minutes. I want to walk around the outside and get a sense of what it might look like in a new colour." She opened the front door and stepped onto the patio.
He watched her every move. "No rush," he thought. "I'm enjoying the view."
She returned fifteen minutes later, clipboard in hand, and that captivating smile on her face. "I think the big challenge will be to select the right stain colour for the cedar. What kinds of colours to you favour?"
"I'm not sure if it's the right term, but I like muted tones ... like earth tones," he said.
"Well then, we're in agreement," she grinned. "That's exactly what I think is required. We want the house to blend into these remarkable surroundings. I'm trying to decide how to use the colours in that massive rock in the front. I need to give it some thought, and try some test patches on rough cedar."
"That sounds great," he enthused. "I've obviously chosen well, Ingrid. You've caught my feeling for this property right away. I think this project is going to turn out better than I had hoped."
His smile was broad and genuine. He wasn't just flattering her, she really had read his mind. Or maybe she really did think like he did. He would find out soon enough.
"It's almost five Ingrid. Can I buy you a drink at Maurice's in the Village? Maybe we can chat about the house or whatever."
"Uh, well ... sure, that sounds fine. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes. I just have to drop my stuff off at the office."
She flashed him another of her killer smiles, turned, strode out the door, past the windows to the driveway.
He waited until she had driven off before locking up and heading to his apartment. He had just enough time to wash and change into his non-construction duds. As he walked to his car, he noticed the tightness in his stomach. This woman had really gotten to him.
He tilted back the driver's seat and thought about the day. He couldn't get her out of his mind. She was the most incredible woman he had ever met. He was sure she would intimidate many men, but he was beginning to feel slight less anxiety around her. She had him off balance and discomforted in the beginning, but as he recovered, he began to regain his confidence and take back some control.
She was a powerful woman in more ways than one. She had self confidence without arrogance. She was bright and witty. The more they talked, the more they seemed to have in common. He found he was opening up to her rather than keeping his carefully constructed shell secure.
For the first time since Diana had been killed, he was attracted to a woman His friends had tried to set him up with a variety of dates over the past year or so. He had no enthusiasm for any of these women, despite the attractiveness of several of them. He was beginning to think he would never recover from her death. His only escape from this depressing thought was work and his hobbies.
Suddenly, there was Ingrid. He was looking forward to seeing her often as the renovation of his home progressed. Naturally, they would have to have many meetings, and he would want to accompany her to pick out materials and finishes.
When he arrived at Maurice's, Ingrid was already there, seated at a quiet booth away from anyone else. He was pleased with her willingness to spend a little social time with him.
She had changed clothes too. She wore a v-neck cotton t-shirt with a silkscreen print of bright colours in a swirling, random design. She had changed from slacks into a knee-length summer skirt in an azure blue. White sandals and a simple slim gold watch were her only accessories. He thought she would look fabulous in almost anything she wore.
He had changed into a short sleeve, button down sport shirt in muted tones of tan and blue, tan khaki slacks, and polished brown topsiders. He was casual but very neat. His clothes defined him. Always neat and tidy, it was his signature.
"Hi," he said with a big smile. "You've changed. You look lovely ... I mean ... very bright and summery."
He was back to stammering again. She had that smile on her face which told him she knew perfectly well that she was the cause of his awkwardness. "Rats!" he thought, "stumbled again."
"Thank you. I was ready for something a little lighter and cooler as well as an after-work drink."
She smiled that smile at him again and instantly he felt better. That voice! It was like velvet. What would it sound like when she whispered in your ear? Instant orgasm maybe?
"You changed too. You look very ... professional," she said brightly.
"Thanks. I guess that's my epitaph, neat and tidy ... professional." He said it before he realized it sounded like a caustic comment.
"I only meant... , " she started to protest.
"I'm sorry Ingrid. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I guess my mouth gets in motion before my brain engages. How about we start again?"
"OK ... you look very handsome Mr. Inhalt." She sounded a bit girlish, but it was clearly in fun.
"Thank you Miss Solberg. You look very fetching yourself".
He tried to sound light but wasn't sure he had succeeded.
"I thought we progressed to Steve and Ingrid?" she teased.
He wrinkled his forehead but there was a small smile on his lips.
"We have." He relaxed a bit more, quickly changing the subject.
"Which wine did you order, Ingrid?"
"It's an Italian white, a Pino something I think the waiter said. It's very nice. I normally drink red wine, but it seemed like a white wine day." She had sipped only a small amount from the glass.
He motioned to the waiter and signaled that he wanted a glass of the same for himself. Jean, a long serving professional at Maurice's, nodded his head in acknowledgement and slipped off to the bar.
His wine arrived in no more than a minute. Steve barely had time to comment on the early warm weather before it arrived. He held his glass up in salute.
"Well, here's to our project and its success."
Ingrid lifted her glass and lightly touched it against his and replied, "Yes, our success."
She smiled that quiet, sexy smile and she looked directly into Steve's eyes.
"I think we are going to do just fine with this job. I can't wait to see how it will transform the property."
Steve hadn't taken his eyes off her face and realized with a start that he had been staring at her. He blinked and looked at her hands briefly, then back at her face as if drawn by some magnetic force. Had she noticed him staring? If she did, she either didn't mind, or was enjoying his attention.
They exchanged casual conversation for a couple of minutes more until Ingrid changed direction again.
"Have you been living on your own for a long time, Steve?"
The question caught him a bit off guard, but he responded carefully. "It's been about three years." He was cautious with his response and uncertain about how to carry the conversation further, or even if he wanted to.
"I'm sorry Steve," she said quickly. "I'm prying again. I'm too nosy for my own good."
"It's OK Ingrid. I'm having a hard time deciding what to tell to whom." He saw the look of concern and the frown on her face, and he wanted to erase it quickly.
"Relax, I'm not some criminal on the run or someone with a shady past. I just had a bad time for while, and I'm trying to come to terms with it. You must be someone special because you're the first person that I've even mentioned it to. Have you ever thought about a career as a counselor?" he grinned, hoping to relieve the tension he could see on her face.
They sat quietly for a few moments, sipping the wine.
"Come on Ingrid, it's your turn. You and I have something in common. We both run our own business from our homes. Am I right?"
He looked her straight into her lovely hazel eyes and smiled. It had the desired effect.
"Yes, I am a one woman show, and I do work from my home. I've been working for the past four years to get this business on its feet, and I think I'm finally getting close. Your client's referral was exactly what I've been trying to develop."
She began to look at her hands and then up to his face.
Once he got her started, she was off and running. She talked about her education at a small interior design college and her dreams of designing homes for the wealthy. She talked about her parents in Manitoba and her younger sister at school in Ontario. She talked about her love of food and dislike of cooking, her friends at college and their career paths. She even talked about her frustrations as a young teenager with her height and size.
She was bigger than most of the boys in her school and she had an unhappy, difficult time with her self-esteem. She had few dates. The braces on her teeth at thirteen and fourteen and the awkwardness of her rapid growth at fifteen frustrated her. Ingrid's mother nagged her to improve her posture. She had taken to hunching over to reduce her height and become less visible and it made an awkward, gangly girl even more self-conscious. Her grades were good, but she was unhappy and tended to associate with other less attractive girls.
At sixteen, it all changed. Her breasts began to grow and the braces were gone. The "problem" of the freckles was unsolvable, but the boys in her age group began to catch up to her and she became less conscious of her height. Her mother's constant insistence on improving her posture was showing results. She walked tall, proud of her new shape and less worried about her height.
As she matured, the boys began to take notice and suddenly, she was being asked for dates. Her self-esteem grew along with her popularity, and soon she was one of the more popular girls in the senior class. She walked proudly down the halls of her school, becoming choosy which boys she would date.
Her growing breasts were a natural target for the raging hormone crowd, but she was big and strong enough to control the situation. She enjoyed petting and the obligatory "feel-up" in the darkened movie house or the back seat of a car. She was beginning to feel like a woman and was taking more control of her life.
She was oblivious to Steve's eyes, fixated on her as she spoke about her youth. He was amazed at how open she was, and how intimate some of this narrative had become. She wasn't rambling or upset as she told her story. She was calm and ordered in the relaying of this "ugly duckling to beautiful swan" tale. Steve wished he had the nerve to tell her just how beautiful she had become. He found it hard to imagine her as anything less.
"Um, it's past six. Why don't we have dinner together? I'm really enjoying talking with you." He tried not to plead.
"Oh, I don't know. I've got a presentation tomorrow morning that I need to tidy up tonight."
It didn't sound like a definite no, so Steve pressed on.
"It won't take long and I'm sure you don't enjoy eating alone. The food here is very good. Needless to say, Maurice is a client of mine."
She laughed out loud for the first time in what seemed hours. "Alright, but only if you'll let me pay. After all, you are my customer."
"Nope, it's my idea and I insist. We can discuss a return engagement later."
"OK Steve. We've got a number of meetings we'll need to have during the next couple of months, so I'll get my chance to return the hospitality."
"Great, it's settled then."
He was all smiles and delighted that she had agreed to stay. Every minute with her was a pleasure. He waved subtly to the waiter.
"Jean, this is my friend Ingrid. Ingrid, Jean LeGasse, the most skilled waiter in the province."
"Careful Monsieur or I will have to get the shovel," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Ingrid laughed out loud again, taking the menu from the waiter's hand. Jean explained the specials, and they both decided on the veal and scalloped potatoes. They ordered another glass of wine despite Ingrid's concerns over the presentation that had to be ready next morning.
Steve couldn't remember when he had felt this buoyant. Great food, good wine, and a beautiful woman to grace the table. He wondered how envious some of the other male patrons were.
All too soon, it was over and Ingrid had to go. They slid out of the booth in the same direction, and he held out his hand to help her up. She looked up at him as she took his hand. Her smile was electric, and he felt that tightness in his stomach once again.
It was the first time he had touched her since they shook hands at the front door of his new home. This time, her touch was light and exciting. As she brushed by him, he caught the faint scent on her shoulder. If it wasn't a perfume, perhaps it was her natural scent. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.
Outside in the fresh early evening air he walked with her to her car in the small parking lot.
"I think I could have made it here on my own Mr. Inhalt," she said with an arched eyebrow and her trademark smile.
"You can never be too careful Miss Solberg," he said imitating her formality.
"When do you think you will want to get together to discuss ideas for the house?"
"Probably the day after tomorrow. If I can get this government presentation wrapped up tomorrow, I should be able to get a good start on Thursday. I'll give you a call as soon as I have something. Good night, Steve, and thank you for the lovely dinner."
She closed the door, started the car and backed out of the parking space. In a moment she was gone. Steve stood watching her until she was out of sight. He slowly walked back into Maurice's and returned to the booth they had shared. He ordered a coffee and a brandy from Jean.
As Ingrid drove slowly away from the parking lot, she glanced back in the mirror. He was standing on the sidewalk watching her, not moving. He was there still when she rounded the bend and disappeared from his sight.
It had been a strange day, or just a strange five hours. She had met him at three at his new house, and now it was almost eight and it felt like she had been with him all day. She was conscious of the tension she felt inside. He had been a pleasant surprise.
She had arrived at the Inhalt property a few minutes early. She hated being late, and it gave her a chance to survey the house and its surroundings. It was quite something. Even from the driveway it had a magnificent view of the outer harbor all the way across to Vancouver Island. The Lighthouse at Point Atkinson was framed perfectly by the West Vancouver mountainside and the Gulf. The south tip of Bowen Island was visible in the distance. This was truly a million dollar view.
The house itself was set low, wrapped around a gigantic outcropping of granite. The previous owner had installed a cement patio between the crescent shape of the house and the roughly rounded inside of the granite. The house itself was a rancher design with what looked like might be an open ceiling. The double carport tacked on the street end of the house was a poorly executed design. There wasn't enough room for the full length of a standard sedan, although the width was suitable for two cars.
She guessed the house was built in the seventies and hadn't been touched on the outside. The good news was the thick, horizontal cedar siding. It looked to be in good condition despite the fact that it had been left to weather unfinished for thirty years. A fresh coat of stain would do wonders for the aged appearance.
The garage would be a major project if her guess about what was underneath it was right. The house wasn't very big, probably only 1500 sq. ft., but its unique design and fabulous view made it a worthwhile investment. She wondered how he had found it.
At three that afternoon, she walked through the rustic brick arch and cedar gate onto the patio toward the front door. Three large single pane picture windows looked out over the southwestern view. She noticed patio doors at each end of the main section of the house. The east wing was probably a sleeping area. As she walked toward the large double front doors, she noticed there were no curtains. The inside was dark and she couldn't see anything from the outside. She walked up to the door and knocked.
He seemed surprised, caught off guard by her arrival. As she entered the house, it took a couple of minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dark interior. They exchanged introductions as she entered, and she began to look around. Despite the large windows, southern exposure, and the bright, sunny day, the inside of the house was unusually dark.
The walls either featured large windows or plain white drywall. In the center of the living room a massive rustic brick fireplace interrupting the otherwise drab interior. The east end of the great room was a dining area, evidenced by a forlorn chandelier hanging from the gabled, cedar deck ceiling.
A small galley kitchen with a pass-through to the dining area took up very little space. As she wandered through the house, she noted a decent sized laundry and mud room. Next, a small second bedroom, and then the main bathroom with just the basic necessary fixtures in dated colours. At the south end of the rambling home, a reasonably sized master bedroom with an adequate ensuite.
She snapped pictures to remind herself of the contents. She made notes on her clipboard as she moved through the house. She took rough measurements of each room to help her with the estimating. She could come back later for the detail information if she was awarded the contract.
They chatted as she moved about the house. She was fascinated with it. It was a mess, but it had enormous potential, inside and out. The house was empty with no furniture except an aging bar stool at the kitchen pass-through. Steve sat patiently on the stool while she conducted her survey. It was going to be a challenge to get light into this house. Her first questions to the new owner were related to the renovations.
Steve told her that he intended to push the kitchen out eight feet onto the only flat area on the north side of the house. This would produce a big increase in kitchen size, 150 sq. ft. or more. In addition, the window wall would be all glass, from floor to gabled ceiling. That would greatly improve the light in the centre of the house. New cabinets and the removal of the pass-through would also help.
When she inquired about the builder, she was pleased to hear it would be Tony Blanton. He was just what this job needed and was great to work with. She looked at a couple of sketches the architect had done on the kitchen addition and garage and was pleased with the new look. It would be a dramatic improvement.
It was a shame the kitchen window wall would only be seen from the inside of the house. When she looked north into the back yard, she saw only a steep, rocky hill with scrub bush. No one would be going up there anytime soon.
The drawing indicated it was a triangular lot, narrow but long. It was three-quarters of an acre, half of which was occupied by the massive granite boulder in front. The house was sitting on the only section of the property on which anything could be built.
She made a note of the architect's name, and would consult with him if she got the work. She didn't have long to wait. When he told her, almost off-handedly, that she had the job, she was excited, but tried not to show too much. The man made quick decisions.
He surprised her by asking her to join him for an after-work drink in the village and she surprised herself by saying yes. They had progressed to first names and she felt comfortable around him. She hoped this was a sign that she would enjoy working with him.
He was about her height, maybe an inch or two taller. Short cropped brown hair with a hint of gray showing even though he was only in his early thirties. He was neat, even in work clothes, and looked like he chose what he wore carefully. He had a quiet, pleasant voice, and spoke in clear, concise sentences. Except, that is, when he stammered.
She was smiling, thinking about his awkward greeting at the door and later, during their conversation at the restaurant. She suspected she was the cause of his brief stumbles. She was quite pleased with herself that she had this effect on someone who was clearly a sophisticated businessman. But he had a good sense of humour and smiled easily. He was obviously financially secure. The house, a nice car, and what appeared to be a good relationship with the best restaurant in town were evidence of that.
There was something about him that told Ingrid he was holding back. He was unmarried, reasonably handsome, and successful. Just the kind of man she had been looking for. She'd had too many losers in her life, especially her former husband, Max.
Max Durham had been screwing anything that wasn't from another planet. She put up with it for while, but he rubbed her nose in it one too many times. Her current independent status was thanks to a particularly hard-nosed divorce lawyer who extracted a very high price for his wayward ways.
The money was enough to make sure her new business could survive until either she succeeded, or went back to being an employee in some established firm. Luckily, it looked like the money might just be enough to make it. The job with Steve would definitely change her financial circumstances for the better.
All in all, it had been a strange day, but for a change, one with a happy ending.