(part 1 is here)
Two and a half drinks passed, what I imagine was a little more than an hour. I paid my tab, tipped in cash, and walked to the elevator. I was calm, fortified with time and liquor, and I could feel it in my stride–longer, more purposeful, decided.
Up to the room, fourth floor. As soon as I was inside the door, I could feel the air had changed–it was warmer, more fluid.
At the far end of the room, on the corner of the desk, there was a tray with an unopened champagne bottle leaning in a bucket of ice and two glasses waiting to be filled. J must have had it ordered to the room. It was nice, I guess, but I don’t really like champagne.
I ignored it and turned my attention to J. He was naked, as requested, but he wasn’t so much lying as he was lounging. His legs were casually crossed at the ankles, with one arm bent to cradle his head, and with the other, he was tugging on his obscenely hard cock. And that smile–broad and beautiful–but more eager to play than eager to please. I don’t like it when he’s that way, but I’m not sure I can articulate why it disappoints me and I still don’t know how to react. When he gets that smug, eager look on his face, I’m torn–I either want to rip him into beautiful pieces or walk away entirely.
“Hey!” he smiled in greeting.
“Hey,” I returned, still not sure what I was doing.
Play it cool. I worked to keep myself from smiling as I walked across the room.
“You didn’t like the party?” he asked, teasing.
“No,” I said, flatly, standing at his feet, looking him over. He’s only slightly less beautiful when he’s like that. Only slightly.
I dropped eye contact and tapped his ankle lightly. He uncrossed his legs.
I slapped the inside of his calf. He opened his legs in response, enough that I could kneel between his calves. With a hand on each of his ankles, I pushed his legs further apart and took a few moments to study him–the hard curves of his calves, the ridge above his knees that precedes the graceful slope of his thighs, and the sharp angles of his hips. I let my eyes rest at his cock, still in his fist, waning slightly. I blinked the thoughts out of my head and looked up to meet his eyes. I have no idea what my face gave away, but he immediately placed his hands at his sides, palms up.
I allowed myself to smile for a fraction of a second before I landed an open handed blow to the inside of his right thigh. He spread his legs wider. I smacked the inside of his left thigh and watched his muscles tense as he tried to spread his legs wider still. He isn’t very flexible, but he tried.
He wasn’t smiling, and he wasn’t looking at me any more. Instead, he stared straight up at the ceiling, wide-eyed and tense.
I sunk my nails into the skin on either side of his cock, curled my fingertips, and dragged my fingernails down the insides of his thighs, stopped at the knee, and started over, digging in and feeling his muscles shift underneath the skin. Long red lines started to rise on his skin–they were ugly, puffy, and uneven, and little drops of blood came to the surface in places.
“Who was that woman touching you?” The words came out clunky and poorly controlled–I regretted asking as soon as I heard the uncertainty in my own voice.
T—-? Wow. T—- is a senior employee at J’s firm, not really his supervisor, but in a position to provide her input on certain matters, and from what J described, nag him about little things like the unacceptable organization of files on his computer and the way he answers the phone. From his description of her in the past, I imagined her much shorter and heavier and older. I didn’t expect her to be pretty, or flirty.
“Have you fucked her?”
“Yes. Once. But it was a long time ago and we had been drinking.”
“How long ago?”
“A couple months before you and I got together.”
“Oh,” I said, doing my absolute best to hide my shock. Having fucked someone less than a year ago isn’t a long time ago, in my mind, at least. But why should I care? Do I care? I wasn’t sure.
I wished I hadn’t asked. I wished I didn’t care.
I leaned down and kissed the marks I had made, just above his knee, feeling the raised flesh with the tip of my tongue. I kissed all the way up his thighs, tasting him, all salt and copper. Nearly at his hip, I looked up and across his body–his cock was limp, his eyes were shut tight, and his chest rose and fell heavily, as if he were concentrating on breathing.
I moved forward to kneel between his parted thighs. When my kneecaps brushed the bottom of his balls, his eyes opened wildly for a moment, unfocused, and closed tight again.
I inched forward a little and watched his chest expand and his jaw clench. It felt familiar. I relaxed, back in possession of myself, of him. I moved forward by fractions of an inch, slowly, watching his body react as I crushed his balls between my knees and his own body. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and I gave him time to adjust. I watched him struggle to relax, to regain control of his breath. He’s so beautiful when he’s sweet, but those moments are too few and far between that I love them too much when they happen.
I rested my head on his chest in the hopes of hearing his heartbeat slow to normal. I held my own breath, closed my eyes, and focused on his rhythm.
After a few moments, he tangled his fingers into my hair, wrapped his arm around my waist and held me to his chest. I let him. I was folded on him in such a way that I could feel his cock grow and stiffen against my stomach, despite the fact I was still putting pressure on his balls. I reached under me and ran my thumb from the base of his cock to the tip, and held the skin of his frenulum between my thumb and fingertips. I twisted and pinched and felt his whole body respond under me. He started to tense, arms still wrapped around me. He squeezed too tight, checked himself, and placed his hands back at his sides.
I unfolded myself, still holding his cock, still twisting and pinching. A bead of precum had formed at the tip of his cock and I leaned down, licked it with the tip of my tongue, and kissed the spot where it had been.
I got off the bed, kicked off my shoes, and was about to remove my panties under my skirt. I checked to see if he was watching me. I’ve told him I don’t like to be watched when I’m undressing. I like the way I look clothed, and I like the way I look naked, but in between, I feel awkward. I don’t like feeling awkward.
I was disappointed to see that he was watching me… with his beautiful eyes and smug smile. I’m not sure I know how to interpret that look, but I fucking hate it.
I looked away and looped my thumbs around my panties.
And then, I stopped. Everything stopped. None of it was right. My feelings were hurt, and he either didn’t realize or didn’t care. And after the anticipation, anger, the self-doubt, feigned confidence, the sweet embrace, the smug fucking smile on his face… I realized it wasn’t in control of any of it. Not me, not him, nothing.
For the first time that night, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
I left my panties on and eased my skirt up just enough to comfortably straddle his waist. I leaned down and kissed his neck. God, he’s delicious. With my lips at his ear, I whispered, “Darling, no flirting. It’s one of the rules… you know that…”
I took a deep breath and sunk my teeth into his earlobe–not really hard, but hard enough to break the skin. When I tasted blood, I let him go. I heard the sharp intake of breath, but I didn’t look to see his reaction.
I half-fell, half-climbed off of him, hopped off the bed, and slipped my shoes back on.
I grabbed my purse and glanced around, feeling oddly naked in a hotel room with no luggage to carry. I looked back at J. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and steady–he was waiting for my next move.
There was no next move.
“I’m going home now. I’ll call you in a couple of days,” I said, with as little emotion in my voice as I could manage.
His eyes opened, but I didn’t give him a chance to meet my eyes. I had already turned and was walking toward the door.
(I’ll save the post-mortem for another day…)