He waits on the sofa in the dimming light, smiling broadly. The spread of room service food on the table before us is a far cry from the burgers and burritos from a paper sack I’ve become accustomed to sharing with Jeremy in front of the television most evenings we spend together.
He rises, opening the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and pours us each a glass. It’s all very elegant and refined. Grown up. Dishes with metal covers and silverware. Wine served in real glasses and linen napkins neatly folded. Fresh, white hydrangeas arranged in a clear vase.
“Aaahhh, aren’t you a vision?” He pulls out a chair and I sit, reveling in the glow of his attention.
“The food is delicious,” he exclaims.
But I can’t taste it. I am too full of tension to appreciate the rich, expertly prepared bisque and the exotic heirloom salad vegetables with the fancy vinaigrette. I drink, more than eat…hungry for abandon, hungry for physical release more than sustenance.
“Did you have a secret crush on me too all those years ago?” I peer shyly at him over the ultra-thin edge of my glass, feeling the crisp, icy burn of my third pour of wine seeping down my throat. I long for intimate contact, but suddenly back pedal, waiting for him to take the lead. To take responsibility for what is about to happen. To finally call my bluff.
“My dear, you are not the only one with fantasies. Come over here…”
Easing me onto his lap in the upholstered chair adjacent to the bed he picks up the hairbrush and strokes it slowly through my hair. I feel my pulse quicken and the throbbing returns as my thoughts drift toward the possibilities of this evening. Rolling my head to the side, I allow him to tenderly plant his warm lips along the curve of my neck as he sets down the brush on the end table.
“This has been a long time coming–for both of us,” he purrs, both hands free now to grasp my hips and gently pull my body closer–planting my bottom squarely and firmly against his groin. I don’t resist.
The pounding of his heart reverberates into the press of our bodies, sending vibrations down my spine. I shudder at the proximity of the bed to where we are now–a heartbeat away from consummation.
“We don’t have to wait any longer…” I whisper, barely audible to myself through the haze of my inebriation and the hot rush of blood to all zones erogenous. I thrill at the restriction of my movements. At the weight and press of his thigh wedged flush against my swollen sex, where I fear the slightest movement may cause me to lose control– teetering as I am on the precipice between arousal and orgasm.
“Do you feel it?” He breathes, hot and languid against my ear.
I nod with a low murmur, hardly making a sound.
“I want you to promise me something.”
I am mesmerized, hypnotized by his voice, thick and sweet with desire and corruption. I drop my head back against his shoulder with a deep sigh of surrender.
“Promise that you will give yourself to this moment. And don’t hold back, no matter what. I want you to let go.”
To be continued…