Until the next time

Until the Next Time

Alone in a bar, nursing my drink, I hear him tell the bartender: “Get the lady another of whatever she’s drinking.” I look up to see him sitting at the other end.

“I’ll have you before the night is out,” say his eyes.

I shoot back a noncommittal glance as he gets up, places his glass on the counter, and walks towards me, a slight saunter, a confident stride, and the trace of a smile as he bends over. I can see the hair on his chest where his shirt opens at the top, and my lips part slightly as his eyes casually graze my flesh. He takes the glass from my hand, sets it on the counter and takes my hand leading me to the dance floor.

The latin jazz is hot soft and slow as his eyes probe mine, his hands teasing me through the silk of my dress. I lean back moaning softly, swaying to the music as fingers touch the back of my neck working their way to my chin and then down. He pulls me just a bit closer breathing into my ear. A soft lick on my earlobes and shivers course though me as his eyes take in the cleavage and the long slit in my dress. The music a bit faster now, he leads, punctuating his movements with fingers that knead my breast through the silk, with hands that work the slit slowly softly scratching my bare thighs until he can feel me shudder.Then he stops. The music is still playing as he leads me back to the bar, takes a key out of his pocket, drops it on the glass counter of the bar and walks away.

I sit there finishing my drink, looking at the key, noting the room number, and feeling the eyes that may or may not be watching me. I pick up the key.

He’s waiting at the door when I knock, a sly smile on his face. Prey meet your captor. A pocketknife cuts the straps that hold my dress up, and it falls to the floor. Another flick of the knife and my bra is gone as I stand there. His eyes lock with mine immobilizing me, a deer in the headlights.

I feel his lips and teeth raking my breasts as my nipples rise, areolas puckered. My breathing is faster as his mouth closes around each one, sucking, licking, biting as my moans tell him that I am want. I am need. Hands close around my breasts kneading harder, scratching and then stopping for a moment. One wet finger returns and traces a line down my belly and around the rim of my panties, lingering for a moment before a sharp tear pierces the air. The palm of his hand presses hard against my wetness sending shivers through my spine and a smile across his lips as my eyes plead for more.

There’s the pressure of hands on my shoulders, the sound of a zipper, and the carpet against my knees as I gently touch the hard shaft. My mouth wants to feel it swell, my tongue wants to lick its tip, my lips want to feel its veins protrude. I am lost in a silent world of sensations, of sucking, of hands pulling softly at my hair, of legs mashing against my breasts.

He pushes me back onto the floor. The rough surface chafes my back. I meet eyes that read mine as hands knead my body, my breasts and then my thighs relentlessly but too slowly, ahhh such exquisite torture! Finally, they reach my mound. A pause and then without warning several fingers penetrate deeply. I cry out and arch my back for more grabbing at hard shoulders, biting, scratching, smelling, growling.

Hands hold mine to the carpet, constraining my movement as the musician plays on plucking my strings, stroking my timbre, eliciting a symphony of sensations from my depths. The sounds I emit are not of human tongue: soft grunts, wails of joy, sobs of passion as I feel the thrusts of his shaft. Fingers, gentle at first, rub against my nub pushing harder as my breathing grows harshly ragged. My legs wrap around him pulling him closer as deeper thrusts send sensations to the tips of my fingers and toes; lips meet lips heralding the crescendo. With him, I explode endlessly a mass of formless gel, of electric jolts and hot lava until exhausted I fall asleep on the carpet.

When I wake up, he’s gone. My dress straps are stitched together and my purse is on the mantle. I smile, still feeling the relaxed aftermath of pleasure and knowing that it will remain with me for a while. Dressed, I close the door behind me.

The car is waiting when I get downstairs. He smiles at me as I open the door.
“God you’re good,” he says.
I put my hand out before getting in. He hands me three crisp hundred dollar bills. I smile, take my seat, and stuff the bills into my purse.
“Mmmmmm” I say not wanting to talk just yet.
“Do you think the kids are asleep?” he asks once we are on the highway
“They sure as hell better be” I reply. A few hours ago he was someone else. Now he’s my husband again, that is, until the next time.