Two Years & One Night. {Adult}

“I’m happy with my life. I am,” he stated.

She knew he was convincing himself. He sat across from her, unsure of what to do with his hands, shifting his feet from side to side. He wanted to crawl out of his body and into hers. He yearned to be with her, without conversation, but she wanted to talk, to know how he was. She demanded honesty from him. He knew that about her, and he welcomed it.

She challenged him in a way no one else did. She made him uncomfortable, which turned him on even more.

Two years ago, they met on a business trip and spent half a day together. They transformed from strangers to friends instantly, although he wanted her from the moment they met. That was the first and last time they saw each other.

Since then, he missed her. She was always on his mind, pulsing from his heart to his cock every time he thought of her. He initiated all of their communications in a sporadic but calculated way.

He waited just long enough between their connections, so she wouldn’t know how important she was to him.

She saturated his thoughts. He tried to feed his cravings—remembering her smile, the way she looked at him that day, and how vulnerable and courageous she was as she told him about her life.

He ached to be near her, already tethered to her being. He kept his eyes on her, witnessing her life from a far, never allowing her to know he was watching her—watching over her.

He had fantasized about this night since that day. Now, they were finally in the same place at the same time. It was dark when he arrived. He surprised her, calling when he pulled into the parking lot. He didn’t care about the rules, he cared about her.

As he walked toward her, she was reminded of the familiar and soothing comfort his presence brought her.

He hugged her, nestling his head in the crook of her neck: softening into her.

They existed separate from everything and everyone else. Untainted by both of their lives. Unaffected by circumstances. Nothing mattered, but them—their bond.

They had both grown up since their first meeting. They looked older and healthier, lived in just a little more.

They sat in her hotel room as if it were their living room at home. Sitting across from one another sharing their day’s experiences, as though they did this every night as a ritual. This was the first time they had ever sat together.

He watched sports as she got dressed. She found herself enjoying the sound of the television, which usually annoyed her. Tonight, it was a serenade. Here he was, finally—sitting right outside. She felt at ease, relieved to see him again. As she prepared herself for him, she realized he could do whatever he pleased; it wouldn’t bother her. He was special.

She understood him and he understood her.

He always knew, without knowing when something was awry in her world. Texting or calling when she needed a hug of support.

He was different than anyone she had ever been drawn to. He was confident with a saturated bravado. His cockiness wasn’t manicured; it was raw. He intrigued her.

He was handsome, sexy but not her type. Her attraction for him came from a visceral place, a place no words could survive.

She’s known him—before this life anyway.

She could feel the conflict from the other room. He decided on his drive that she was his for tonight. He had already claimed her and  he couldn’t turn away. He had longed for this and now the time had arrived.

During dinner, they grew closer with each sentence, with each laugh. Sitting next to each other, his knee touching hers. She couldn’t move, paralyzed by the chills trekking up her legs to the place that thirsted for him the most.

She made him nervous, he told her so.

As they drove back, he tried to fight his heart one more time. He told her he would drop her off and leave, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He followed her.

As they walked to her room, she knew the next time she would walk out, something would be given to her and taken from her. She was right.

They lay on the bed listening to music. She promised to rub his feet earlier in the evening. She cradled his feet, massaging him as he covered his face with his arms. He was thinking, teetering on the precipice of action, crawling toward the moment. The moment when they would free fall into a hurricane of passion.

As the desire began to boil, surging through her, she resisted. She continued her work, pressing her fingers into his firm heels, rubbing the crunchiness out of his arches.

He started to stretch, unveiling himself, accepting the choice that would embrace him for a lifetime.

A day dream to last throughout his days. A fantasy grounded by the reality of conscience—is this right or wrong?

She was both right and wrong for so many reasons. It was unimportant—he would weather the consequences and the gifts of his actions for this night with her.

He peeled off his shirt—defined strength. His tattoos—rooted into the crevices of his muscles, like trees on a mountain. He sculpted himself, just as he does his life, every part of it. She was another muscle almost developed, exactly as he wanted her to be.

He turned over onto his belly. She straddled his back, rubbing his shoulders, trying to release the knot stuck behind his heart. She began tickling him lightly: grazing her fingertips up and down his spine, goosebumps bursting to the surface.

He caressed her ankles with his fingers—testing. What would she do? Or, maybe he was testing himself. What would he do? What was he willing to do?

His head was turned to the side. She watched his pulsing veins beat as his heart quickened its pace. She clawed at his back and head. Grabbing hold of his biceps, she dug her nails in.

“Kiss me,” he ordered.

“You kiss me,” she insisted.

She hopped off him and lay back on the pillows. Her sheer top caving into her cleavage. Her nipples trying to break through the lace of her bra. He rolled over and placed his head in her lap. She stroked his hair. He looked up and without saying a word, he began.

He straddled her. The weight of her head denting the cloth headboard behind her. He drew his lips to her neck, tasting— sampling her. Her sighs turned to moans.

She sat up and grabbed the sides of his torso. Sinking her nails into his flesh as if bracing herself for what was to come.

They clung to each other with balanced pressure.

He was strong. The type of strong that was impossible to break free of. She knew there was nowhere to go.

She felt safe and petrified equally. He drew shapes with his lips on her neck, her face, her chest. She pierced her teeth into his arm, sucking, trying to extract the ink from his tattoos. He had stories on his arms; she chewed the meaning right out of them.

Her chin lifted just as his lowered—lips, tongues, teeth, breath—churning like an engine.

He lifted to his knees as she traced her tongue on his chest. She licked him, from his throat to his waist.

His hands dominated, grabbing her shirt and freeing her chest. He pushed her back onto the pillow, capturing her breasts in his hands: kneading them in every direction. He sucked every inch, consuming her nipples, biting them until she thought they would bleed. He turned her beautiful sculpted tits into victims of desire.

Pain and pleasure had no separation; they married to ecstasy.

She couldn’t catch her breath. She had no control. Control was something she begged to have stolen all of her life. She hated being in control and here he was, ripping it from her and giving her exactly what she needed.

He ate her skin until it was flushed and tender, and then, he was ready. He raked his hands between her legs. He held her captive, manipulating the pads of his fingers slow, fast, soft, hard—plunging them deep into her pussy. Immediate bliss. Her muscles in spasms, her hands grabbing for anything she could brace.

She lunged forward and swallowed his cock. She melted around him, obeying his command, holding her head in his hands, guiding her as she drowned his swelling hardness between her lips deep into her wet warmth. Her screams silenced by his presence as she sucked him in.

He forced her back, pulled his fingers from her, damp with her orgasm, injecting them into her mouth.

“Taste it. You like that? You taste good, don’t you?”

Her eyes rolled back as she collapsed in surrender. He cupped her hips and pulled her to him. Kissing and gnawing at her thighs preparing to taste her, himself.

He was deliberately patient, working his way to her center. Her whole body undulating from the pleasure, the domination and the anticipation.

He knew exactly where to go, as if he had visited her land before. He found the secret door and unlocked her from the inside out.

She couldn’t tell the difference between his hands and his mouth. Synchronized to perfection.

She tore at his hair and pushed him all the way in, squeezing the sides of his head with her legs, hoping he would disappear inside of her. She wanted more of him. She was ready.

He climbed up her body with his teeth, teasing her. Guiding her hips wide open, he entered slowly. Smiling as he drowned himself inside of her.

He lifted her legs around his head, folding her in half, his cock diving in. The thunder of skin to skin echoing through the room.

He feasted on her toes one at a time—his tongue dancing between them.

No part of her was forbidden and he made certain to touch it all, taste it all, fuck it all. He wanted to please her, serve her and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Her tits were ripe and stinging from his grip, rippling with the rhythm of their movements. Sweat spitting down her sides, dripping from his forehead onto her tongue. She tasted his salt, licking her lips, drinking him in.

He spread her legs, her feet grazing the bed on either side. She reached down to touch herself as he watched with voyeuristic curiosity, grinning with approval. He didn’t take his eyes off of her, matching her pace with his.

She was all that lived in that moment—her release was his only goal. Her whole body vibrating from her throbbing climax.

“Let it go. That’s it. Let it go.”

Flipping her over, driving her knees apart with his. He thrust, forcing himself into her, plunging in until he couldn’t get any closer. He reached for her hair and pulled like the reigns on a horse—taming her for an instant. He was the only one she had ever allowed to try.

She was in love with the night.

The bed damp from her wetness, from his sweat, from their heat. She mounted him, devouring him into the cave of her circling hips. She pressed her chest to his, kissing their bodies together. She wrapped her legs around him as he tossed her onto her back and as she squeezed him tight, he let go of it all, flooding into her.

The canvas they preserved all this time was now complete. Painted with their flesh—a piece of art, a story—their story.

He held her. Hands interlaced. The outline of her body still heaving under the sheets. He traced her with his palms, pausing between her legs, coveting her one last time, hesitating as he released his bind. He knew all of her now.

She wanted him to stay, but she knew he had to leave, to save what they made together.

They discovered the answer—there was something. There will always be something. It was real. It is real.

She watched him dress as she lay in bed. He kissed her gently.

“Goodbye,” she said. “For now.”


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