Subtext: What does PWP mean to you?
If you'd like to tell us what wonderful writers we are, or that we royally suck, feel free at: XenaNut@hotmail.com or firstname.lastname@example.org
Subtext: What does PWP mean to you?
If you'd like to tell us what wonderful writers we are, or that we royally suck, feel free at: XenaNut@hotmail.com or email@example.com
I pushed back from my desk, glanced out the huge windows of my office, staring down onto the city. It was getting dark; yet another late one. Mark would be pacing the floor by now, wondering where I was. But then, he did that anyway.
I turned back to my desk, shutting the computer down, clicking out of all the programs I had been working in today. It had been a busy day, though I had made it an even busier day. It was nice to get home late. By then Mark usually had either gone to bed, or was too angry to bother me. This had become my game. I hated lying to him, but it was easier than trying to answer his questions. I certainly didn't have answers for him.
I switched the machine off, and put everything away, locking important files in my filing cabinet. Not to say I didn't trust the cleaning lady; I was just tired of losing my lunch change.
My London Fog waited on the coat tree where I'd left it, the autumn coming early this year, bringing snow with it. Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I headed out into the night.
Fall in New York was such a beautiful time. I raised my head, sniffing the air, closing my eyes. The air was crisp, yet the moisture could be felt. It was late for a work day, closing in on eight-thirty, and the city had grown dark. I used to walk the streets before I'd go home. Mark soon put an end to that.
As I headed down Thirty-second street, headed toward the subway, it took longer see, than if I took the direct route via cab, I reached into the pant's pocket of my suit, expecting to feel the hard, cold metal, ready to put the leash back on after another day of freedom.
I stopped walking, only feeling loose change in the pocket.
"Shit," if I went home without that, Mark would kill me. How would I explain that one? Yes, honey, I don't want anyone to know I'm married to your ass, so I take my wedding ring off.
Instinctively I looked around the sidewalk around me, then remembered. With a sigh of relief, I hurried back to the building, digging the keys to my office out as the elevator made its way up to the twenty-ninth floor.
Flicking the light on, my recently deserted office came to light, and I unlocked my desk drawer. Sure enough, right where I'd left it at eight o'clock this morning.
I grabbed the cold, hard metal that once I'd loved, thinking how powerful I felt with it on, showing the world, making a statement.
It made a statement, alright. It showed Mark and the world the first piece of artwork he had begun his collection with.
I slipped the two carats onto my finger, and hurried out again.
As I headed toward the elevators for about the hundredth time today, I glanced over, noticing someone standing at the other bank of elevators. She was young, wearing khaki pants, and a navy peacoat. Her dark hair was down, surrounding her face, full of youthful zest, her blue eyes bright. She was quite stunning, and smiled at me, I smiled back, then turned back to the elevator when I heard the doors ding open.
As I made my way toward the station again, which was about six blocks from my office, housed smack dab in the middle of Featherweight Publishing, where I worked as an editor, I thought about the dreams. They were coming back again, with a vengeance. Waking up in the morning in a sweat, my fingers clutching painfully to the sheets, my legs spread wide apart.
How could I explain this phenomena to my husband, where a dream lover took over my nights when I rarely let him near me, let alone touch me? When it happened, and I gave in, I had to project myself out of my body, or at least him out of his, and imagine another person on top of me, making love to me.
There really was no one in particular that I fantasized about, but just something... different. I had dreamt of smooth skin, soft, silky hair, soft lips.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I thought about it, that same involuntary twitch between my legs that I felt every time I thought about the impossible. I wanted to reach up and grab my breasts, feeling what I knew the thoughts did to me.
Instead I ran a hand through my blonde hair, recently cut short. Mark hated it, but that's the breaks. I got tired of having it constantly put back in some sort of hairdo that only served to give me headaches. I loved this new style, feeling almost as if it had helped to shape a whole new me.
Not so. It was the same me, the same 7,000 square foot apartment with the two dogs, and unhappy couple.
I didn't want to think about it anymore, knowing I'd have to enough tonight when I got home. Instead I noted all the people I passed, smiling at those who smiled at me, even saying hello to one woman. The subway terminal was not far now, and soon enough I'd be seated, taking the reports out of the briefcase I carried, reading figures for tomorrow. See, I never really left work; doing that would mean having to step into my personal life.
I sighed, thinking back to my dreams.
Hasn't there ever been a time when you felt like doing something crazy?
I yawned and stretched my hands above my head, cracking my back. It was only 10 a.m., and already I felt like I had been hunched over my desk for the past four days. A new novel was spread out before me for final technical proofing. Most people preferred to work on the computer, using the new software to make the changes in grammar, spelling and punctuation, but I preferred the old-fashioned way, complete with a red pen.
It was the red pen that kept me grounded, amazingly, and reminded me why I was in this field in the first place.
I stood up and stretched even further, rising up on my toes to stretch out the cramps in my calves.
Perhaps I shouldn't have gone out last night with Kelly, but she was always so damned persuasive. It didn't help that she and I were roommates, and she knew when I was home and when I was out. Otherwise, I might have been able to avoid being dragged to some girl's birthday party she worked with. I don't even remember her name.
Then again, last night, I don't think I remembered my own.
Of course, that's what happens when you're a light-weight drinker and the beverage pressed into your hand, which truly tastes like some sort of juice, is spiked with almost every kind of alcohol out there. I didn't realize it until too late, and by that time, I was dancing on a table, holding onto the beam above my head.
I was too old for this shit. At 24, no less.
I gulped down two aspirin with the ever-present water on my desk and vowed never to allow Kelly to drag me out again. It was all because of her pity that Meaghan had left me last week that she even did it. I tried to tell her not to worry about it because it didn't hurt - which was true - and that it wasn't her fault - which wasn't - so she didn't need to baby me.
It wasn't her fault that she was attractive, but Meaghan never believed me when I said she was straight. Besides, we'd been friends since second grade, doing anything with her would be like messing around with my sister.
Oh, that was NOT a nice visual.
I grabbed my jacket and pulled my dark hair from the inside of the collar before quickly tying it up into a long ponytail. I needed food, because for the first time in the four hours I had been awake, I wasn't nauseous, and needed to take advantage of the reprieve to gather energy to get through the rest of the day. I briefly considered grabbing the subway to go home, but decided to wait a little. Maybe Little John would let me leave early today.
I snort, yeah, that'd be the day. Little John, so named for the extra 250 pounds he packed onto a five-foot-six frame, was not known for being accommodating to the grunters, the name for those of us that did the grunt work.
I pulled the navy peacoat around my shoulders as I braved the cold stairwell. The thin khaki pants I was in did little to keep the wind from blowing through them, but I was glad I wasn't in a skirt. Some of the women at the company felt that the way to advance in their careers was to dress in skirts, the shorter, the better. I knew otherwise.
Black and white cookies. Little John loved black and white cookies, a fact I learned when I was working late and had gotten one from the bakery down the street. He stopped in and was yelling at me for missing some semi-colon somewhere, when he saw it. He got the strangest look on his face, before looking back at me and looking down at it again. He left after a brief staring contest with the cookie. I assumed he lost. It was like kryptonite for Superman.
That's what I'd do. The novel I was working on wasn't due for another three days, and I needed sleep to continue. I quickly walked down to Caesar's Bakery and ordered two black and whites, just in case.
I was going to get the rest I needed, come hell, high water, or breaking the bank for Little John.
I felt a drop of rain just as I hit the top of the stairs that would lead down into the subway. I was glad I had made it before the storm started. It had been predicted to rain this afternoon, but I guess it was a little delayed.
I brought out the appropriate amount of money from my wallet, slipped it into the machine, and pushed through the turnstile, heading toward the platform. The train wasn't there yet, but I know it would be soon, checking my watch to see that I had about three minutes. That had worked out wonderfully.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I waited with a small crowd until the familiar whistle of the train alerted us of its arrival. Stepping up toward the doors, which had yet to open, I glanced around, taken aback when I saw a familiar-looking young woman waiting to get on, as well.
I'm sure she was glad she had that warm peacoat tonight. It was chilly, and was getting more so as the weather became more inclement. She didn't see me as the doors opened, and she quickly hurried inside to grab a seat. I did the same.
I leaned back on the hard molded plastic, sighing in comfort. At least Little John had been nice enough to give me a few hours, I had to thank him for that. Unfortunately, with the deadline for the technical proofing on that novel had been bumped up, and even with BOTH black and whites, he wouldn't give me the whole day. Hell, he had been hard-pressed to give me a few hours, but at least now I was going home.
With no one at work to bother me, I had quickly finished the allotted chapters and even added a couple for good measure, just in case the late night made me tired for the next day.
Going home on the train this late at night was an added benefit as well, because the cars were even emptier than usual.
I stretched my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, and looked around the car.
Oh shit, look, it's that woman from work, and right across from me. How did I miss seeing her get on? God, she's hot. Looks like she's a little bit older than me, but that's cool. Older women have experience. Mind you, it's not good if they're old enough to be your grandmother, but a few years isn't bad. She can't be more than six or so years older than me.
The lights overhead glinted off something in her hand, I dropped my gaze to her lap.
Of course. Married.
I felt eyes on me, so I glanced up, meeting two blue ones. Well, I guess she'd found a seat right across from me. Her eyes trailed down to my hands where I was playing with the ring, twisting it this way then that. I had been losing weight over the last year or so, and was certainly smaller than when Mark had first slipped this ring on my finger seven years ago. Stress and unhappiness always affected my eating habits.
I glanced up again, seeing the woman looking at the empty seat next to mine. For a moment I was bothered somehow, thinking that perhaps she'd lost interest in me. Not that it mattered, of course. I took the opportunity to look at her.
She looked young, perhaps in her early twenties. I wondered if she were a secretary at the publishing firm. She looked far too young to do anything else, really. Her skin was smooth and clear, not even the tiniest hint of any sort of blemishing lines to mar that beauty.
My eyes trailed from that perfect face to what looked as though would be a perfect body. The coat was large and bulky, not giving away many secrets.
Her legs were long, adding to her height, one ankle resting on the other, her left foot slightly, nervously perhaps? Bobbing.
I scanned until I saw her left hand, seeing nothing there, not even the slightest bit of a tan line where a band would be. No, nothing but the silver thumb ring that she was tapping lightly against the plastic seat.
As my eyes made their way back up, I was a bit surprised to see those eyes staring at me again.
No one straight enough to be married is allowed to look at me that way, I thought with a grin. Something's got to give. I'd heard of people wearing wedding rings and bands to ward off unwanted advances men were said to give all the time. Why shouldn't she be doing the same thing? She certainly was attractive enough. I'll bet if she didn't wear that ring, she'd get hit on all the time.
I stilled my foot where it was bouncing along in tune to the tinny music from a nearby walkman - how in the world did he still have eardrums after listening to music that loud? - and ran my eyes up her body.
She looks sharp in the black pantsuit. Probably would look better out of it, I thought with a mental leer. When my eyes finally met hers again, she hadn't looked away.
I could look at her all day, the straw-blond hair just long enough to brush in front of her eyebrows. Her eyes are a clear aqua, even visible from across the car, and one corner of her mouth is upturned in a smirk. I match it.
Oh, lady, I can play this game. Smoldering looks from across a train car. I uncross my legs and lean my elbows on the top of my knees. And I stare at her.
Did she just wink at me? I have to admit, I was beginning to feel a little, oh, what was the word, unnerved, perhaps? No, certainly not that. Uncomfortable? Getting a bit closer. Interested? Closer, yet, though I didn't want to even think of that sort of thing.
This girl had some serious nerve, and this personal attention from her was a lot to try and handle from some woman who, though she was utterly beautiful, and certainly what most would consider sexy, or at the very least having a sensual quality, had no right to look at me that way. How does one respond to this?
Then when she leaned up a bit, elbows resting on her knees, her eyes boring directly into mine, I have to wonder what's going through her mind. Then suddenly I felt a bit of sassiness kick in, and I crossed my arms over my chest, my legs crossing, and I stared fully at her. No more games of cat and mouse with my gaze.
I took in her high cheekbones, straight nose, dark, arched brows, one of which was lifted slightly, almost in challenge. As I watched, she reached up and pushed her hair behind an ear, her hand going back to meet the other one, elbows still firmly resting on her knees.
I brought one hand up, my fingers nervously playing with the diamond stud that was in my left ear, my head cocking slightly to the side, my eyes never leaving hers. I was actually quite surprised by the affect this was having on my body; I felt suddenly very hot, as if feverish, doing my best not to fidget my legs as I felt a dull pulsing between them.
Never had I had such intense scrutiny and attention from a woman. And though I may have sat in my office thinking about it, once slipping my hand down below the level of the desk, hand pushing into myself, daring someone to walk in, my imaginary inspiration had been a woman. But now, faced with this uncertain situation, I wasn't sure what I wanted.
Unbelievable. There was a point when I was going to lay off, because she looked like she was ready to bolt, even from the speeding train, but then something must have happened and I knew; I'm not the only one playing the game anymore.
What is that? Is she doing my eyebrow thing back at me? And oh my god, I think she just licked her lips at me. I paused for a second in my mental gasping session to re-evaluate that last comment. Licked her lips at me? Am I that confident in my abilities that I think some hot woman across the train is licking her lips for the sole purpose of exciting me?
Well, there was no room for doubt now. I would have to come back, two-fold. I was 24, I could handle her.
I smirk at her obvious seduction and start to unbutton my coat. I only had a few minutes more before my stop, but I couldn't seem to stop. I notice her eyes are glued to my fingers as each button pops free, and I can't help but grin. It's hot in the car, but not hot enough to warrant my undressing. And she knows it.
Watch me, I think to her. If you are married, I could ruin you for him. He'd never have a chance.
A man just can't compare.
I see the smirk, and for a moment I feel inadequate, as though perhaps I'm in over my head, out of my league, or she just thinks me plain silly.
But then, my eyes are caught by the movement of her hands, which have moved from the seat beside her to her coat, the fingers playing with the top button. My eyes find hers again, seeing that they're still on mine, almost as if to make sure that she has my attention, that I'm watching, though for what I'm not entirely sure.
The first button pops free, and I see the barest bit of the white collar of her shirt. I'm wondering what she's doing, as the car may be warm, but the city was under a massive rain storm, bringing cold, autumn air with it.
The second button comes free, and her fingers, which are now on either side of the jacket, pull the material apart, just so. I can see there is a silver chain around her neck, probably matching the thumb ring. The bit of skin, soft-looking, like that of her face, a long throat. My tongue slides across my lips once again, this time of its own volition.
What is this girl doing?
I glance around the car, wondering if anyone else is seeing this, but the few people who join us aren't paying a bit of attention to us. The man with his loud Walkman is bobbing his head to the music as he scans a magazine. Another woman is reading a novel, while still another is typing on her laptop.
My eyes hurry back to my quarry, though I do think the tables have turned somewhat.
My god, I can't take my eyes off her. Good thing she can't seem to either, or else I'd be playing all alone. As it is, I might be playing with something larger than I can control.
I start to lose my confidence, now that I'm playing so blatantly. This is totally unlike me, regardless of what Meaghan thought, and I suck at flirting. It's almost like someone else has grabbed hold of my body and is determined to either get this woman interested, or me shot.
Who the hell knows, with New York?
Despite my reservations, though, the thought of actually stopping and going to the book within my bag is nonexistent. Nope, doesn't even make a blip on the radar.
She, however, pings like mad.
The train slows to a stop at my street and a I gather my coat. It my be quite toasty in here with the fire she's set under me - and above, and between, and all around - but the weather outside wasn't going to be as forgiving, and I'd probably freeze to death on the two-block trek home. With Kelly away for the next few days at some convention for a job as a nurse, she'd never even realize I was missing.
This woman could warm me right up, though. Maybe I should take her with me, just to keep me warm on the way home. And if something should happen afterward...
I stand and walk to the opening door, before looking over my shoulder. She's still looking at me.
There is an intensity in her eyes, it's almost scary, but yet I'm not afraid. I return the stare, my eyes trying not to lower, as she has the coat fully unbuttoned, now. I can see the button-up shirt, the collar open to the second button, the silver chain completely on display.
I can see where the material of the shirt is bunched up where her breasts press against it, and I can't help but think of the silkiness that I crave and dream about. I know that skin would be as soft and silky as that of my own breasts, which I often run my fingers down, feeling the roundness, imagining running my fingers along the sides of another woman's.
The train begins to come to a stop, everyone within being slightly jolted from the inertia, myself included. I reach out blindly to grab the pole that is not far away, my eyes moving back up to hers. I wondered what her name was, but didn't really want to know as it would ruin my future fantasies.
To my dismay, I see that she is gathering her belongings, pulling her coat closed as she steels herself for the cold she's about to meet.
I turn away, not wanting to see her go, but I hear her footsteps moving toward the door, waiting her turn, then her movements stop.
I lift my head, turn toward the chill rushing in from the open doors. She is standing in the doorway, looking at me over her shoulder.
I stare in disbelief. Did she just offer for me to follow her? My stop was still a good fifteen minutes away. I can see the expectant look on her face. With no thought, because I knew if I gave the situation one ponder I would say no, instead I grab my briefcase, and stand, not saying a word, I follow.
Holy shit, she's following me. I can't believe she's coming. I can't believe I said that. I can't believe I have some strange woman following me home.
Well what a way to go, if she does end up being a mass murderer. But I knew she worked at the publisher's, because otherwise, she wouldn't have been in the building. Damn, but is she hot.
I slow my pace to allow her to catch up, because she's still a few steps behind me from her pause on the train.
My hand reaches behind me to allow her grab it if she wants. I'm not sure what's going on, I don't even know what I want, let alone what she wants, but I just feel this desire to touch her.
She clasps her hand within mine, surprising me somewhat. I don't think a mass murderer would hold hands with her future victim. Besides, aren't men usually mass murderers? I had no worries, then. And if she was a thief instead, there wasn't much she could take from my place. Between a brand new nurse who works the shit shifts and a technical proofreader, there wasn't much in our apartment to steal.
What in hell was I doing? I decided not to think, and just tightened my hand around hers. Wait, her ring. I stop and turn her to me, her left hand in mine. I look at her eyes as I pull the wedding rings from her finger, and hand them out to her, just so she knows I'm not trying to steal her rock. It's hard enough thinking that I'm about to take some woman back to my place that I've now said a total of two words to, without thinking about the fact that she's married.
The rings glitter in the streetlight as I hold them out to her.
I followed her, almost feeling like I couldn't catch up, not so much because of her pace, but because of the weight of my guilt. I did not love Mark, nor did I want to be married to him, but I still was, and that I could do nothing about.
She had slowed her pace, allowing me to reach her, her hand held out behind her back. I look at it; it looks so inviting, so safe, even though I have no idea who this woman is, nor her intentions, though I hope and pray I at least have an idea.
Was this normal for her? Just to invite strange women from the train to her place? I didn't think so, well, that is, I hoped that wasn't the case.
Yet again, my loins and loneliness taking over for my brain, I reach out and grab her hand, feeling the fingers immediately wrap around mine. This feels odd, yet comfortable to me. I can't remember the last time I touched a woman in any way; I wasn't the hugging kind.
She stopped, me nearly walking right into her on this dark unfamiliar street. She turned and looked down at our clasped hands, then brought them up, fingers on either side of my wedding ring, and slid it off my finger. She looked at me, into my eyes with a question. I took the ring from her, looking down at it.
I knew this could be an out for me, claiming my nuptials, and walking away, but did I want to?
"A token of my husband's esteem for a possession," I said, my voice low yet matter-of-fact. I looked up into her face, and she nodded. I slid the ring into my pocket, and held my hand out to her. Now it was her turn to decide if she wanted to continue this dance of uncertainty.
She wrapped her fingers around mine once again, and we continued walking.
It's a good thing she took that ring off; I'm not sure what I would have done had she decided to leave that on. Or if she had decided to leave. I don't know, this woman could be anyone, but I wanted her to come with me. I wanted her to step into my home, to share my, well, there wasn't another way around my saying it, was there.
My body, then.
No matter how much parts of my body were wanting me to walk, the two-block trip seemed to take forever. Part of me wonders if I am holding back on purpose, and part of me wonders if I am just so anxious to see what will happen when we get there, that when we actually DO get there, it seems to have taken forever.
No matter, we were here now.
I unlock the front door of the apartment complex, and hold it open for her. She walks in, looking half uncertain, but like she's decided to go through with whatever we do, regardless. Good, at least she's as confused about what we're doing as I am. It means she wasn't expecting to be picked up in a mostly-empty train car.
Soon we're standing in front of an elevator, and I remember her less than an hour ago, looking at me like I was a stranger. I'm still a stranger to her, like she is to me. And I'm inviting her to my apartment.
Of course, if this doesn't work out, I can blame this on my lower anatomy doing my thinking for my brain. Perhaps my brain's on vacation.
Pushing such thoughts aside, I hit the button for the fourth floor, and look over at her.
My heart is pounding in my chest, so much so that I bet if I looked down, I'd be able to see it through the skin.
She pushed the button on the elevator we stood in front of. I nearly smiled at the irony of the situation; when I had first seen her, we had been standing in front of our respective elevators at work.
The building was old with an old elevator. When the car arrived, she pulled the mesh door open, yet again, allowing me to enter first. So chivalrous.
She followed me in, pushing the button, then turning to me. I faced her, my palms becoming sweaty. I pressed them to the sides of my thighs, hoping to rid them of some stress.
This strange woman whom I'd followed home like some stray cat, was looking into my eyes, then her gaze fell to my lips, and further below, then back to my eyes again. I could see the look on her face, animalistic, hungry, much like that Mark gets on his face just before I finally submit to him. Yet this time I did not feel repulsed, nor did I dread it. I could see the apparent effect I was having on her, and decided to press my advantage.
I took a step closer to her, the elevator small, only about three foot by three foot, but I still had enough space to work in. I reached out, taking her hand again, feeling how warm her skin was, her fingertip rubbing up and down along my knuckle. Looking up into her face, I could tell that her breathing was forced, shallow, yet she was trying to keep herself under control. She looked down at me, waiting for my next move.
I couldn't believe she'd taken the first step. This, this, married woman had taken the first step! I looked at her, that look on her face, most likely matching my own. God, I want her.
I don't need to wait any longer. I know what she wants, and I know what I can give. She's definitely not here to have a slumber party.
I step forward to meet her as well, although I'm not sure whether to just follow my instincts and throw her against the wall of the elevator and kiss her senseless or simply bend down.
She must be able to read my thoughts or something, because the next thing I know, I hear a growl coming from the back of her throat. Oh hell, we were both adults, and those lips were much too inviting to resist.
I follow through with my instincts.
I temper my lunge to keep her from being hurt or scared, but suddenly she's backed against the wall, my hands on either side of her head. Who the hell had taken over my body? Since when was I the aggressor?
No matter, it seemed that the decision had been made, and I needed to follow through.
I stared at her face briefly, only inches from my own, and licked my lips. I bent down to just barely touch my lips to hers before moving back a few inches, but the taste is too much to resist. I start to go back, but the elevator doors open up on my floor.
I take a step back, and reach out my hand to her.
"Coming?" I smirk.
Still a bit surprised by her sudden aggression, I only look at her when she asks me to come. I understand the pun, see her smirk, and I smile in return, nodding.
"For certain." I say, following her quick lead out of the elevator. God, just that one, tiny press of her lips against mine was the equivalent of seven years of sex with Mark. Never in my life had I felt so alive, and certainly not so aroused.
She took me down a dim hall, doors on either side with gold numbers nailed to them, a large window at the end. She stopped at the door, second from the end, and pulled out a set of keys, fumbling with them as she tries to find the right one.
My body is thrumming now, and I'm feeling bold. I move up behind her, my front pressed to her back, my hands on her hips, afraid to move them anywhere else, despite where I might want to go with them.
Finally the lock clicks open, and she just about pushed the doorknob into the inside wall as she hurries to get inside. The apartment is dark, and for a brief moment I feel a surge of fear, knowing that I'm in her territory, now. No longer are we in the public trains, or streets.
I feel a warm hand grab my wrist, tugging me inside. No time for fear now. I am immediately against the closed door, my back pressed to the hard wood, and a warm body pressed to mine, breath coming in quick spurts on my face.
The heat is spreading through my body as I feel hands on my hips, making their way up, under my London Fog, and suit jacket, the heated fingers easily felt through the silk of my blouse.
My eyes close as I absorb the sensations, swallowing as my mouth has suddenly become parched. I can sense her face close to mine, then feeling a kiss on the tip of my nose, taking me by surprise. With that one, small gesture, I feel any remaining fear seep out with my arousal.
I reach my hands out, feeling her peacoat, and I realize I want that off. I bring my hands up to the lapels, and push, hard.
I knew she was still a little uncomfortable in the elevator, and that eased the rest of my fears. If she's afraid, she can't have done this before, and she can't be after anything but exactly what I want.
When we finally reach my apartment, she becomes a little bolder by putting her hands on my hips, surprising me, and arousing me even further. I don't think I've ever been this aroused before, and it almost scares me. Part of me wonders if I have a naughty side I've never even seen, the one that comes out when everything's at stake. Although I hope she'd go further, I know there's time enough for that later, and I don't want to start off on the wrong foot. Besides, hands aren't the only thing of hers I'd like on me.
Plus, I'd never be able to get the door open if she went any further, and with some of New York's weird laws, I don't think it'd be entirely legal to christen the hallway. Much as I'd like to.
Once inside, my body zinging with enough electricity to power the entire island of Manhattan, I push her against the door. What lights? I kiss her nose for no other reason than to calm her down, and it seems to trigger something within her. That animal I heard briefly in the elevator is taking over. Who said I would be the aggressor the whole time, anyway.
Her hands go to my shoulders to push away my coat, and I let it fall down my arms. I agree. We're both totally overdressed.
But first things first. Those lips I've been craving need to be tasted and that small sample in the elevator only served to fan the flames without dampening anything.
I press my mouth to hers, her bottom lip fitting neatly between mine, and run my tongue over it. The moan I hear will spur my fantasies for weeks. My hands are caressing the side of her face, running through her hair, down her neck, trying to find purchase anywhere on her skin. God, she feels so good.
The jacket is only halfway down her arms when I'm pushed further against the door, her mouth on mine, her body on mine, her hands on my face, in my hair, my neck. I wondered if she could feel the out of control pulse there. Even though it's fast, crazy, there is a tenderness and sensuality in it that I have never experienced before. I can't stop the moan that erupts from my throat, my hands grabbing the coat again, but this time to pull her into me even more. I need to feel her body against me. God, who knew?
This woman's lips work magic with mine, that full upper lip between mine, allowing me to do anything I wish to it; but then I feel her tongue run along my own lip. This sends a shiver down my spine, and I moan again.
Whenever Mark kisses me, it's rough, wet and sloppy, no matter how many times I tell him to slow down. But this, oh this. I had no idea. The feel of these unbelievably soft lips on mine makes all the movies and books make sense. We could do this all night, and I'd be fine with that.
She pushes further into me, her fingers finding a place in my hair, and pulling my head toward her, yet her movements are not harsh or painful, just authoritative.
Her mouth opens, and I follow, feeling her tongue fully enter my mouth, trying to find my own, rubbing against it, melting my already boiling blood.
Suddenly her lips are pulled from mine, and I hear movement, realizing she's taken her jacket off the rest of the way.
"Come on," she whispers in my ear, sending new tingles up my spine. She takes my hand, leading me further into the apartment, and I hear a click, then the overhead light flicks on, momentarily blinding me.
I don't even take note of my surroundings, not really caring. We're heading down a short hallway to the door at the end. I can see from the light in the other room that shines dimly in here there's a bed, dresser, and some weight equipment in the corner. My attention is on the bed.
I feel hands on me again, from behind, pulling my coat from my shoulders. I gladly allow the garment to slide down my arms to the floor, then the hands are on me again, this time sliding my suit jacket off.
Turning to face my lover, I can just barely make out her eyes in the dimness. She is looking at me, into my eyes, her fingers trailing over the silk of the shirt. I imagined she could feel just how hot my skin really was. Her fingers trailed over my shoulders as her face leaned in, her lips taking mine once more, tongue sliding inside as her hands continued to roam. I moaned as I felt them run along the sides of my breasts, then covering them all together, letting her hands be filled.
God, how can this feel so good?
This woman is unbelievable. Her skin, so hot, through the jacket, even. But that had to go. And now, I feel her breasts, and they are so warm, so soft, I feel like I'm doing this again for the first time. It should be illegal to feel so damned good. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and now, now, I wonder why. But there's that part of me that knows, oh, it's just her.
I can no longer bear the thickness of the shirt she's wearing. It's as though the thin silk has become a barrier as large as a fur coat, and I can't handle not touching that overheated skin.
I tug it from the pants and start to unbutton it, top to bottom, when she stills my hands and rips the shirt open, her mouth on mine the whole time.
I guess I was taking too long.
No matter, as long as she's no longer wearing it, I'm happy. I groan into her mouth when I feel her hardened nipples beneath her bra. I pull away from her luscious mouth, that wet, deep, silky mouth, and stick the tip of my tongue out to just run across the hardened nipple still in its lace barrier. She sucks in a breath and stops me, and for a second, my heart stills for fear that she doesn't want me anymore.
She smiles, in understanding, I think, and tugs at my shirt as well. I follow her course and rip it off, the buttons flying in all directions, my own white bra stark against my tan skin. Who the hell cares about what I look like when she looks like that? I take a second to drink in her body; she's intoxicating all of my senses to look, taste, touch, smell and feel her.
Her skin is velvet flames, her mouth liquid heat. I don't remember going back to it, but I can feel her tongue sliding against mine, her moans vibrating my chest we're so close. Or were they mine? I can't seem to stop touching her, sliding my hands up her skin, over the back of her bra. I pop one, two, all three clasps on the back, but the bra remains, held up to her breasts by the melding of our bodies.
I want to scream as her body presses to mine, our bras the only barriers, now. My nipples, already beyond sensitive, scream out with need and sensation as they're rubbed against her, and the material of my bra.
Oh, god, yessssss, I nearly purr inside as I feel her hands reach around me to unhook the detestable garment. I needed to be released from its restraint, and she was going to help me with that. But, nothing happens. I chuckle low in my throat as I realize it's been trapped by our bodies pressing together. I take the smallest step back, she nearly groaning with protest, but then she saw my bra fall away, the straps making me shiver as they slid down my skin, and fell to the floor.
I smile, pleased by her reaction as blue eyes widen, staring at my naked breasts. I can't remember the last time Mark even looked at my breasts. As long as he had a hole to insert into, he was happy as a clam. But this woman, she looked at me, at them, as if she'd never seen breasts before, though I had the feeling that wasn't the case at all.
She reached her hands out, palms covering my painfully erect nipples, and squeezing. My eyes closed, and my mouth opened with utter joy and pleasure, nearly on the verge of pain.
I felt myself being pushed toward the bed, and I went happily. The back of my knees hit the mattress, and I fell onto its softness, followed by a near crazed mouth on my breasts, her body straddling my hips, back arched as she took the nipple into her mouth, between her teeth, sucking it in.
"Oh, god!" I cried out, feeling my insides convulse with the pressure and pulse she was setting. My other breast was covered by a hand, the skin kneaded and played with, two fingers catching the nipple between them, tugging on it.
My hips had begun to move, and I could smell myself, knowing that my Victoria Secret, lace panties were completely saturated now. My arms reached around her back, fingers fumbling to feel the hooks of her bra.
"In front," she panted, quickly going back to my nipple. Feeling my way, I finally found what I was looking for, and clumsily unclasped her bra, pushing the ends of it away as her breasts swung free.
If this woman hadn't have taken my bra off just now, I was going to shred it with my bare hands, just to feel hers on me.
I could smell us, my own scent and something that was unmistakably someone else's - hers. It was delectable in the same way I found the taste of her skin.
That smell would remain for days, hung around my room like a cloud of perfume, unable to be seen, but smelled thereafter.
And she didn't even have her pants off. For that matter, neither did I. That would have to change.
But first things first. I lowered my upper body on top of hers, my breasts swaying ever so gently over hers until our nipples touched and her hips rocketed into mine. I dragged my swollen, hardened nipples over her stomach, her breasts, until she guided me to place them over her mouth.
If she hadn't been with women before, she sure was a natural. She definitely had a knack.
Such was my last coherent thought as she suckled on my nipple, her eyes closed. The noises she was making, slurping, sucking, was enough to send my hips into spasms. I ground into her open legs, disregarding the clothing between us. With the way she was working me over, I felt like there wasn't anything there anyway.
I arched my neck and back, my head thrown back, my throat exposed as she continued the assault on my breasts. Her other hand traveled to my left breast and she ran her knuckle slowly across the nipple. I sucked in a deep breath, unable to control the sounds coming from me anymore.
"Oh god," I groaned, as she matched the pace of my hips with her own. It took every effort for me to retreat, but I had to be naked with her. I couldn't do this halfway, and if this is what she made me feel with only my shirt and bra off, I couldn't wait to be killed with her assaults on the rest of me. And if I didn't feel her skin soon, I was going to be doing the killing - as in the next live thing that walked my way.
I groaned, my mouth trying to hold on to her breasts as she pulled them away, almost feeling desperate. She moved down my body, unbuttoning my pants, pulling the zipper down so hard I thought she might rip if off, and then I felt my pants being tugged down over my hips, me lifting my butt to try and expedite this matter. Finally feeling the coolness of the room on my skin, especially where I was wet, which was just about everywhere now, I shivered. She stood briefly, just long enough to tug her own pants down, peeling her underwear off, and then turning to mine, doing the same. Shoes and socks were next.
She climbed back onto the bed, and back on top of me, our bodies completely freed of barriers, just fire on fire, causing a fast burn. I arched myself up into her, our breasts touching, nipple on top of nipple.
Her mouth was on mine, again, tongue forcing its way into mine, my mouth responding in kind, wild and starved for attention. I felt her adjust herself, putting a thigh between mine, which of course made me instantly begin to thrust against it. We slid against each other, our wetness not allowing for any friction.
It took only moments, and my body seemed to explode from the inside out. I was completely taken aback; only when I had pleasured myself had I felt anything even remotely close to this.
Everything I had read in those romance novels, secretly holed up in the bathroom in the middle of the night, I truly understood now.
She grabbed onto my shoulder, burying her teeth into my neck as she came, too. Then to my surprise, with a growl, she pushed herself up, and moved quickly down my body, thrusting my legs apart, she laid on her stomach, and my hips flew off the bed, toes curling as she buried her face between my legs, taking my clit into her mouth and sucking it in, much like she had done my nipple.
I had heard about such things, I had even read about such things, but to experience this was unlike anything I had ever known. My hands shot down, tangling themselves in her hair, almost pulling it as her mouth was relentless on me, never letting up until I felt the bomb building again, ready go off at any second.
And it did, with a huge bang, resounding throughout the room in my scream.
When she came the first time, just my thigh between her legs, it only gave me a taste of what she would be like.
So taste I did.
And she tasted as sweet and good as she smelled, the musky smell and taste heady to my already addlepated brain.
And the scream she let out when she came, I knew she would be like that. I knew she wouldn't be able to contain herself.
For what her hands didn't do, and what her mouth and skin didn't do, and what the taste of her didn't do, that scream did. I moved up her body until I was poised over her stomach, and rocked against her, needing that last little bit to tip the scales, and tip me over.
I screamed as well as I came, my head thrown back again, my hair hanging down my back, until I stopped, and fell forward on my hands, ready to kiss her again.
I can't get enough of her. My tongue plays with her lips, and then leaves them completely as I rake it down her neck, down her sweat-salty skin, to encircle her nipple. Her hips rise again, and she holds my head to her breast. I flick my tongue once, twice, her hips jerking each time.
"Oh you like that, do you?" My voice is low and sultry, even to my own ears. She only nods. I smile before running the edge of my teeth against her nipple and nipping gently. One finger travels down her stomach to the soft area between her legs, and I tease her, straying to the crease in her legs.
Her hips are insistent, and each time I go anywhere near the area she needs me most, she bucks. I continue the soft touches on her upper thighs and stomach before returning to the trimmed thatch of blonde curls to play around the outside.
"Please," she groans. "Don't tease me."
I smirk against her breast, but comply. Plenty of time to try that again later. I run one finger up the length of her, coating my finger with the essence of her excitement before slipping it inside her.
She writhes beneath me.
Never in my life have I been able to have more than one orgasm at any given situation, my doing or Mark's, on the occasion when he can make me come. But this, this woman has thrown me over the edge so many times already, and I know it's about to happen again.
Part of me feels ashamed for being so easily tormented and excited, but does a thirsty man stop with only one lap of water? Does the dying only take medicine once? And this was equivalent, considering orgasm means little death, and I have certainly died and gone to Heaven.
Her finger inside me, I feel filled, the muscles of my inner walls already trying to grab hold of her as I am close, very close.
I reach down, pulling her up so her mouth is on mine, her finger still inside me, she adds another, and another so I have three inside, and my hips are bucking wildly against them, for them, with them as she pumps slowly, painfully slowly, no matter how hard I buck, her thumb joining to rub over my clit with the same slowness as her fingers pump inside.
My legs spread wider of their own accord, trying to get her deeper inside me, her thumb more access to my clit.
Like a bolt of lightening, my orgasm hits me, causing my entire body to shudder She groans in satisfaction, kissing me softly on the lips.
I take a moment to compose myself, and then deciding my body needs a bit of a break, I look at her, into her eyes, trying to figure out what she'd like. Pushing her over onto her back, I move on top of her, trailing my breasts along her sweaty stomach, her eyes closing, hands reaching down to caress my back and butt, pushing me into her.
Not entirely sure what to do, no matter how many books I've read, or how many dreams I've had, this was new to me, and I was certainly apprehensive about pleasing her as much as she'd pleased me, again and again.
I moved myself down, laying to the side of her, leaning down until my mouth was mere centimeters above her nipple, my hands trailing lazy designs across her skin, slowly making its way down.
The hardness of the nipple tickled the delicate skin of my lips, but I parted them, snaking my tongue out, running it across the rigid skin. She sucked in a breath, her hands finding my head, pushing me down to it. I took the entire nipple into my mouth, sucking, and running teeth over it, as she'd done to me.
My fingers, on the other hand, had found the wet, wiry hair between her legs, dark like that on her head, and sifted through as she opened her legs, finally feeling the soft wetness, and brushing over her hard clit, causing her hips to buck, her to suck air between her teeth in a hiss.
My fingers stayed where they got the most reaction, and I began to rub all the while my mouth played on her breast, alternating between biting and sucking, then licking only to return to biting.
Her hips began to buck higher and faster with each pass of my finger, and I pressed down on the nub, causing her to cry out as I rubbed, putting more pressure on it, my sucking and biting quickening with my fingers. Her breathing was heavy, body squirming wildly, her hand reaching down to my forearm, and squeezing as she bared her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, a scream ripping from her throat.
I grinned, extremely proud of my accomplishment. She lay there, her body completely collapsing, her chest heaving a s she continued to pant, her fingers on my arm going limp.
I crawled up her body, pressing my body to her side, my head resting on the pillow next to her shoulder. She reached over, bringing my head to lay on her chest, and I did. It was amazingly soft, compared to the hardness of Mark's.
"Holy shit," she breathed, her body calming.
She nodded at my comment, breathing just as heavily as I. I paused for a few more seconds, taking big gulps of air, and played with her hair as her hands glided over my sweaty skin.
"Wow," was the next statement I could manage after my first genius comment. She nodded again.
"Have you ever done that before?" I had to know; I had a bet with myself.
"What, with a woman?"
She shook her head as best she could against my chest.
I lost the bet.
"Where? How? Why?" I just couldn't form any more coherent sentences. She chuckled at my attempts at conversation.
"I hear you. And I don't know."
I continued stroking her hair, getting the wet strands off her face as she turned onto her back.
"Can I ask you a question?" I had to know one thing before she went back to her other life.
"What's your name?" She chuckled at the incongruity of the question, I supposed, but hopefully, she wanted to know mine as well. She struggled to sit up and held out her hand for me to shake. I took it, again amazed at how soft and strong she was.
"Taryn. Nice to meet you. And you are..."
"Remy." I paused, not sure how to ask this other question, but feeling the need to just the same.
In the end, I just blurted it out.
"Can I see you again?"
She looked down, although I'm not sure what she saw. Maybe nothing. Maybe her husband. Maybe, oh god, why hadn't I thought of this before, her kids? I shuddered, but came back to reality when I heard her voice.
"Yes." She hesitated before continuing. "The token which once sealed my fate as a possession shall now be returned and portray my freedom. Thank you for opening my eyes, Remy."
She looked down at our still-joined hands and smiled before looking back at me quizzically.
"Uh, what exactly is it you do at Featherweight?"