She pushes herself back from her desk in frustration, the wheels on her high backed leather chair rolling across the oak flooring, carrying her back from the impotent keyboard, the mockingly blank page upon the screen. Her slitted eyes alternate between the two pieces of equipment. She wonders which would be the most satisfying to destroy first.
She leans back in her chair, staring sightlessly up at the matt whiteness of the ceiling. He talks to her of wanting to explore … of sensual discovery and wicked, decadent adventures. And yet she knows that he’s wondering if she truly wants such an opportunity, if she isn’t simply toying with him for her base amusement.
She does want the opportunity, though. Desperately. She craves it. She burns with it.
Oh, for the chance to kiss his sensuous lips with passionate intensity, her kisses leaving him breathless in their wake, their warm dampness setting his body on fire. She wants to melt away that look of determined cynicism she sometimes imagines him wearing, the look that wards off the insipid and the foolish … the look that challenges her femininity and dares her to be bold.
She feels herself stirring, warming, at just the thought of learning the delightful subtleties and nuances of his mouth.
Closing her eyes, she pictures him standing before her, in the evening hush of some anonymous hotel room. Their gazes lock as her fingers slowly work their way down the fastenings of his clothes, as she peels them apart and guides them from his flesh, unveiling him a piece at a time, until there are no more barriers between them. She shivers as she imagines herself running her palms over his shoulders and down the outsides of his arms, imagines his skin prickling into goose-flesh at the gentle, teasing nature of her touch.
She explores him with her hands, marveling at the warmth and strength of his body. Her eyes drink him in as her fingers trace patterns across his skin.
Plundering, she thinks absently. Such a perfect word for such a wonderfully passionate act.
She touches him with reverence and desire, relishing the way he responds to her caresses with sharp intakes of breath. She explores slowly, watching his expression transform as his longing blooms. She kisses his throat, his chest, trailing lower, her lips mapping territories previously unknown to her. His breath catches as she ministers to him, and then he gasps with pleasure and cups her head in his hands, whispering her name, urging her on, making his senses spark and dance.
She guides him towards the bed, bids him to lie back against the king-sized counterpane. She moves over his body, pressing delicate, lingering kisses against his skin. She takes her time, using her lips to stitch random lines of tingling pleasure across his torso, up his sides, across his shoulders. She strokes her palms and her fingertips along his arms, his chest, working the taut muscles gently as her kisses map new territory across his flesh.
He shivers as she kisses along his neck; he shivers with the realization of how intimately close they are. She lingers, making herself wait so that she can feel his excitement, breathe in the secret scent of his desire. She can’t help but wonder if the other women who’ve been granted such closeness have felt this excited, this fortunate.
Her willpower is not as great as she’d like it to be. As much as she wants to linger, she wants to join with him completely. You’re only human, she thinks as she begins to move, positioning herself, until they are poised at the threshold of their union.
For a time, she loses herself in her inner monologue.
Does he feel vulnerable, now that all pretense has fallen away between them? Is he quivering with burning expectancy, silently hoping she will bridge this final distance? Is he yearning to feel the rush of heat as they join, to feel their connection clearly, completely?
She moves to join with him, slowly, deliberately. She makes herself pause, giving herself the time to savor the sensation to the soundtrack of the tide of his breathing.
She begins to move in an ancient rhythm. The sensation fills her completely, his presence intoxicating, overwhelming. She moves again, and again, and again, each motion rewarded by the intoxicating sound of his pleasure. She touches herself as they move together, finding that place that holds dominion over so much of her physical bliss.
She caresses herself as she continues to move with him. Now, finally, she cries out, her voice loud enough to be heard in either of the rooms that flank theirs. She doesn’t care; she knows that he doesn’t either, knows that the prospect of their passion being overheard excites him as much as it does her. She touches herself again, more deliberately, drawing out the sensations deliciously. This time, she writhes and grasps at his chest, his shoulders, with one hand, while bringing the other up to her mouth so that she can bite down on her fingers.
She moves without mercy, relishing their connection. When she senses that her release is close, she leans forward, changing the angle, and she rocks against him so that every movement brings waves of sensation, and the rhythm of their bodies creates shared ecstasy.
She is as loud in her release as she had promised him she would be.
And while she is still trembling in the afterglow, he sits up and pulls her against him, his eyes never leaving hers. He only moves when she signals she’s ready. Her body welcomes him as he shifts their position. For her, the ultimate blessing has always been that moment of mutual surrender, when passion overtakes thought, when two become one. In all her experience, there is no other moment like it.
He moves with her, slowly, steadily, their bodies finding a perfect synchronicity. She closes her eyes as they merge more deeply, and in the sweet darkness, her mouth finds his once more. Their kiss waxes and wanes to the rhythm of their movement, their breath mingling. There was a part of her that had expected their first joining to be frenetic, a dizzying blur of clothes torn aside in barely constrained desperation. Instead, it is as slow and tender as she’d hoped it would be, as he had told her he wanted, needed, it to be.
Their kiss breaks. She opens her eyes and sees that he is watching her face intently, his eyes wide, searching. She doesn’t know what answers he seeks. As she looks back at him, she meets his movements and she bites down hard on her bottom lip as pleasure overwhelms her.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
The burning intensity of her eyes and her whispered encouragement urge him on. They move together with increasing urgency, just as they both wanted. The slow, even pace begins to quicken. A low sheen begins to form across his chest and she bends her head to taste the salt on his skin. Her slender legs entwine themselves around him, binding him to her as she presses ever more strongly against him.
“Oh again,” she cries, the whispering abandoned as her pleasure begins to peak for the second time. The rhythm they’ve discovered threatens to overwhelm them both, but he holds on until she reaches her peak, distracting himself from his own building ecstasy until he’s heard her cry out with completion, until he’s felt her body trembling beneath him, until he’s felt her nails scoring his shoulder blades … and then he surrenders to his own release, months of longing culminating in one exhilarating moment, and her nails mark his back as she holds him tightly. And as they crest together, she kisses him once more, losing herself within the swirling gratification of long-held fantasy.
She opens her eyes.
The matt white ceiling yawns down at her. She sits back upright; the blank page still waits for her on the screen. But now she draws herself back to the keyboard with keenness, with fervour. She pauses only for a moment, relishing the warmth of her thoughts.
Smiling, she begins to type.
