A sort of slow, molten heat kindled between us the moment our lips touched that night. You took care of that for us both, a mere hour and a half ago. After ordering our third round of drinks. you returned and offered me your hand, guiding me to your side of the booth, settled in, and tucked me against you. Thigh to thigh, hip to hip, your hand on the small of my back tracing delicate, sharp-nailed circles. You saw it when my hips rolled before I could stop them, my lips parting. You felt it. You smiled, and it was hypnotic, predatory, and possessive.
That’s when you kissed me. Slowly. Gently. An exploration of territory uncharted, thick with the underlying promise of kisses to follow.
That same promise shimmered in the air between us as our conversation turned intimate, our voices low, heads close together in the dim light of the bar. You turned my body toward you and tucked my leg behind yours, your hand on my knee, mine clasped lightly around your biceps. The next time I laughed, I lightly touched my forehead to the curve of your neck, and your hand immediately pressed me there, held me there, and you purred in my ear, “It’s time to go. Now.” And my breath caught in my throat, and I whispered, simply, “Yes.”
As I slipped from the bench you helped me up, returning your hand immediately to my lower back, although beneath the fabric this time. I burned beneath your touch and nearly lost my balance, but you steadied me and chuckled darkly. Your hand found mine, our fingers entwined, and I followed you, trustingly, back to the lobby of the hotel.
The elevator, empty. Small talk, extinguished mid-syllable. Your eyes on mine as you pushed me against the mirrored wall, then pointed to the security camera and smirked your wicked, wicked smirk, your fingers already working the hem of my top from my skirt, your eyes never leaving mine. I panted, caught like a deer in the bright light of your full and undivided attention.
The elevator ticked up, up, up, and likewise, you peeled my top up until my breasts were exposed – and I didn’t stop you, didn’t beg you not to, didn’t even dream of it. I just gazed at you, need and desire writ plain in every move I made: hands at my sides, palms up, relaxed; chin tilted up, back arched, offering my bare tits to you. You growled and your lips claimed mine in the same instant your fingers found my nipples. Tugging, you pulled me closer by the tips of my breasts, deepening our kiss, your tongue insistent in my mouth.
And yet you were holding back, and we both felt it.
The doors opened as I adjusted my top, but it didn’t matter. The hall was deserted as you took my wrist and pulled me along behind you, smoothly keyed the door and had me inside before I took three full breaths. And then I couldn’t breathe at all.
I was against the wall with your mouth at my ear, your tone stern and demanding. Safe word, now. My skirt, now. My panties, now. Shoes off. No questions. One hand in my hair as you pulled me further into the room, and I lost it, lost myself, wrapped my arms around your neck and kissed you like I was drowning, because I was.
And you knew it, chuckled, grabbed my throat and pushed me up against the bedpost, blood beating in my ears like faraway wings.
“You’re going to be perfect for me, aren’t you. Perfectly naughty. Perfectly filthy. Perfectly obedient. Yes?”
I drew a deep breath, looked into your eyes, and breathed, “Yes, Sir.”
This delicious morsel of erotica is presented courtesy of the lovely @thebuckandthedoe – an even more delicious friend of the blog
