12
Weaver
Inside the elevator our laughter fades, and I look at Chris’s face and see a droplet of whiskey by the side of his mouth.
“Sorry about that,” I say, leaning in close and licking the drop from his mouth. “I guess I got you a little.”
“That’s okay,” he says, “but I think you missed another spot, here.” He points to the other side of his mouth, and I snake out my tongue and lick that imaginary drop too.
The mood has turned from lighthearted to serious, and the atmosphere in the elevator feels heavy with anticipation. The lights indicating passing floors seem to change too slowly, and it feels like Chris and I are suspended in time, eyes locked on each other, our breathing in synch. He catches my chin in his hand and lowers his head to me, resting his lips against mine. His lips feel warm and his breath feels hot. I feel his lips moving against mine and he says, “Thank you.”
With my mouth on his, I ask, “For what?”
“For being you,” he says. I feel his lips quirk up, and I smile in return. Finally, the elevator comes to stop, and we pull apart to walk down the hallway to his room. My body is humming, a whir of energy as I imagine what awaits me once we’re inside his room. The other night at the club, in the alley, was amazing, but now we’ll be able to take our time, and the idea of exploring his body, touching him, seeing him, tasting him, it overwhelms me.
Chris slides the key card into the door, the green light flashes, and he opens it for me, placing his hand on my hip and moving me forward. I step into the room ahead of him and into darkness, all I can see are the large windows, looking out on the city ten stories below. The view is breathtaking, and I’m drawn to the window to take in the full effect, leaving Chris behind as he takes off his jacket. The trees in Central Park are bare, so I can see all the way uptown. The Guggenheim Museum is lit up in the distance, and red taillights zigzag across the park. Below on Central Park South I see a couple climb into a handsome cab. I’m following the old horse with my eyes when I feel Chris walk up behind me. He brushes my hair aside and trails his fingertips up and down my neck. His mouth ghosts along my ear, but it’s his fingers that bring my body alive. Featherlight touches that send electricity traveling across my skin. He moves his lips to the nape of my neck, and his breath raises the small hairs there. His fingers tickle around my neck and onto my chest, tracing around the coral pendent. He lays his hand flat against my chest and whispers into my ear, “I’m going to take my time with you. You’re going to spend the night.” It’s not a question, but I nod in agreement, completely incapable of speaking.
I feel his other hand traveling around my waist, his fingers searching for the zipper, I think. Then I hear the slow purr as it inches down, and my skirt falls in a puddle around my feet. He travels down my body, his hands sending sparks across my skin as they skate across my sheer tights. He lifts an ankle, and then the other, so he can toss the skirt onto a chair beside us.
“You forgot your panties, Weaver,” he says, discovering me naked beneath my tights.
“I didn’t forget,” I reply. “I remembered you have a pair.”
My eyes find that carriage again in Central Park, and I see it’s coming back to the handsome cab stand. How long have I been standing here? I’ve lost track.
“Turn around,” he says. I turn hesitantly, self-conscious in just my tights and sweater. The sweater’s shape covers my hips at the side, but in front, it sits just above my bellybutton, leaving my bare pussy exposed. I imagine it’s not the sexist look, but from the hunger in Chris’s eyes, I immediately realize I’m wrong. He presses his open hand against me, his palm applying pressure to my pussy, and I can feel myself pulsing against him. He uses those magic fingers again to trace up and down my seam, and his fingers against the nylon on my skin feel like tiny bubbles, growing bigger and bigger until they pop, sending pleasure spiraling through my body. He continues playing like this, and I spread my legs wider, wanting more contact, a harder touch. I lean back into the window and the cold glass against my ass shocks me and reminds me I’m on display for the city below. But before I can suggest we move over to the bed, Chris hikes up my leg, resting my foot on the window’s ledge. I feel his finger, moving over me, and then I feel the fullness of his finger stretching the nylon, inching inside me. The friction from my tights over his finger is thrilling, and my toes curl as he pumps inside me.
“You’ve soaked through these tights,” he says huskily. He pulses his finger slowly inside me, and then he takes it out, dragging up, and skirting around my clit, swollen and straining under my tights. He surprises me then, and drops to his knees, pressing his lips against me and moaning with appreciation. “Fuuuck Weaver, you smell so good.” Sparks fly through me as I feel his tongue rasping over me, and both of my hands fly to his head, trying to hold steady, trying to keep his head exactly there. I’m abandoning any restraint now, moaning as he leaves a trail of heat over my pussy. The city behind me can watch, I don’t care. I need his mouth closer, his tongue faster. He’s winding me tighter and tighter and I have only one objective, to come.
His hand moves up my tummy and rests on my breast. He kneads me, not gently, but not too rough, not yet. His tongue is flattened over me and moves up and down. My orgasm builds slowly, but I know the barrier from my tights won’t allow me to come. It’s just not enough contact. “Mmmmm,” he moans, and I can’t help it, I pull his hair and force him to his feet, walk him backwards to the bed until he bumps up against it, and then I push him down, so he’s sitting on the edge. I take off my shoes before climbing on to the bed, and I settle myself in his lap. As soon as I sit, I feel his hard cock between us, and I grind on him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He thrusts up into me and tries to roll me over, but I put my weight onto him, keeping him upright. It’s been years since the days of dry humping in my mother’s basement, but this tease has it coming.
I shift my hips up and down in short motions, until finally I feel his length positioned against my wet seam. I ride him slowly, enjoying the pressure from his cock and the fabric on his fly. I know I could get off like this, with me in control. I reach for my sweater and strip it off.
“Don’t stop moving,” he whispers. “Just like that.” Chris’s hands are on my breasts, roughly pulling down my bra cups and latching onto my nipple. He sucks hard and I jolt up, his tongue swirling around and around until my nipple is painfully hard. He switches to the other nipple and I reach between us, trying to open the buttons of his shirt so I can feel his smooth skin. I manage to open one, and I play with his nipple, a new burst of moisture between my legs as I hear him wince and then thrust against me harder. I unbutton the rest of his shirt and push it off his shoulders, making sure to drag my nails over his smooth skin, hard enough that I see red marks blooming behind. His breath is coming faster now. His fingers are digging into my ass. When he tries to roll me over again, I let him. I want him to take control.
He pins me underneath him, hiking up my leg and settling between me. His hand is fumbling with his belt and fly. He sits up to take down his pants and boxers, and then he stops. “Remember when I said I was going to take my time?” he asks. I nod. “I changed my mind.”
He reaches down and tugs at the crotch of my tights. I hear a tear and feel his fingers, finally, sliding over my bare skin. He thrusts two fingers inside me, and I’m so wet there’s not a bit of resistance. He crooks them, sweeping against my g-spot. My eyes shut as I sink into the sensation, his fingers deftly working inside me, a thumb now applying steady pressure on my clit, moving it from side to side. I hear Chris’s bursts of breath and open my eyes to watch him. He has his rigid cock in his hand, stroking the head and looking down at me. “You’re so wet. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks between gritted teeth, and each word he punctuates by thrusting his fingers inside me. He takes my ankle and lifts it up, kissing the side of my foot and down behind my knee over my tights. He rests it on his shoulder and takes my hips, quickly pulling me down to him. Holding his cock, he rubs it over my pussy, and I see the muscles in his chest jump. Up and down he rubs his cock, nudging my clit every time he reaches the top until I’m hungry for it, and I start to moan and beg. “Fuck me now,” I say, lifting myself on my elbows to watch between my legs. “I want to feel you inside me.”
He stops moving his cock and holds it still at my entrance. “Say it again,” he says.
“I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to fuck me now,” I’m practically chanting, my head is swimming with the feeling of him so close, so close to filling me up, to moving inside me. I reach up and rub my hand over the light hair on his tummy. Then I lick my finger and reach down, reaching around my torn tights and finding my clit. As soon as I touch it, I jerk, it’s so sensitive. With the softest touch, I rub, in small circles. My hips dip down and back up, and Chris’s cock is moving with my motions. His grip on my hips tightens and he hisses in a breath, shooting back his head so he looks up at the ceiling. I shift my hips again, and the head of his cock rubs against my finger. It’s the last straw; he plunges into me, filling me up with his entire length at once, stretching me exquisitely.
“Like that?” he grunts, pulling out, and then slamming into me again. He stills for a moment, bringing his lips to my ankle and moaning against it. Then he starts rocking, and it’s slow and I feel it everywhere. I want to watch as his dick disappears inside me, but the feeling is too good, and my head falls back against the pillows. The pace is incredible, and he has me stretched so wide that I feel every ridge, every pulsing vein dragging against me. I want him to lose control, to pound into me, to come calling out my name, but his patience is incredible, and he continues steadily, excruciatingly slow, leaving a trail of exploding pleasure behind. I can feel a fresh burst of moisture inside me, and I clench down, chasing the trace of an orgasm that’s just within my reach.
He reacts urgently to the change and lifts my other ankle to his shoulder. His breath is straining, and he breathes out “Yes, yes, yes.” He’s increasing his speed and now leaning over me, his hand by my shoulder and his face hovering just an inch above mine.
“Does this feel good?” he asks against my lips, and I stare into his eyes, practically hypnotized. There’s no reason to reply because he knows. He knows this is the best I’ve ever had. I’m practically folded in half, his full weight against me, and with every move he’s riding my clit, a steady, mounting pressure grows. “I want to make you feel good, Weaver. You feel so fucking amazing on me. I couldn’t stop thinking about this pussy, and now that you’re here…” He trails off and drops his forehead against mine. I can hear every noise he makes. He’s moaning as he pulls out and plows back in, and I can tell he won’t last much longer. His tongue slips into my mouth, and our teeth gnash as we both tumble closer, the intensity growing, the feeling barreling toward us. “I want you to come with me,” he says. His mouth leaves mine and lands on my breasts, swirling his tongue around my nipple and creating a circuit of pleasure that send shockwaves through me. He looks up at me with a sly grin and says, “So that’s gonna do it?” I feel like I’m floating, in a hundred different pieces, and I focus on his face, the exertion and strain in his eyes, and then he hits a rhythm on my clit that tells me this is it, this is the one to follow. And all those pieces of me come into sharp focus. I’m riding this wave that won’t stop. And I want to tell him, tell him that I’m coming, but I can’t speak. But he can feel it. “There you go baby, there you go. Come for me. Let me feel it,” he says, and I do. I explode. My head thrashes from side to side on the pillow and the city lights come in and out of view in the window. I feel Chris pull out, and then he’s silent for a second, his face strained as the first spurts of cum shoot onto my pussy. I feel hot cum seep through my tights, onto my bare skin beneath. His groan fills the room. His face is illuminated by the moonlight, his chest covered in a layer of perspiration, and his hand is stroking the last drops from his dick and the aftershocks send him crashing onto the bed beside me.
I wake up to sun streaming through the hotel window. I love a hotel bed. The fine quality white sheets, the abundant pillows, the man next to me in bed. I move my arms all around me. Fine sheets? Check. Pillows? Check,check,check,check. The man? Missing. I sit up and look around. He’s not here. My heart drops.
I wrap the sheet around my body and walk to the bathroom. The mirror is foggy and the air smells like body wash. I rub my hand over the mirror to see my reflection. I look thoroughly used and sated. I instinctively slide my hand down my tummy and rest it between my legs. Memories of last night flood me and I start laughing to myself. Dates are pretty awesome.
I startle when I hear the door close outside. “Weaver?” Chris’s voice calls out.
“In here,” I call back, and step out of the bathroom. Chris has two cups of coffee and a small pastry bag in his hands. He places them beside the bed. He’s dressed in a dark navy suit, and I see his briefcase is set by the front door. I slide back into bed because I have some time before I need to meet Kate, and I’m not a morning person like Chris clearly is.
He leans down and kisses me, and as he pulls away my lips follow his, disappointed he can’t join me in bed. “I have an early meeting. I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you,” he says caressing the side of my face before turning toward his coffee and taking a sip. “I brought you this,” he says, pointing to the second cup. “And that’s a doughnut. I figured you be hungry this morning.” He winks at me.