Most of my day has been wasted, lost in daydreams and utter unproductivity that weighs on me as I take in the evening sky. At least coffee tastes just as good in the dark, I muse, as I swirl the spoon in my mug and watch the steam dance across the metal as it rises. Nights like this were made for lounging and thinking about everything and nothing in cozy clothes and a nest of blankets on my bed. The floor to ceiling windows in my bedroom display a cascade of city lights twinkling across the horizon and streaking like fireflies when the rain catches them, dragging the glow down the glass in rivulets. My notebook lay open, untouched, pen still capped in my hand as I watch the raindrops.
Though I planned to spend my time catching up on work, getting ahead of some deadlines, the entrancing pattern of the raindrops racing down the window steal every productive thought before it can become anything and I've been lost to it (and my thoughts) for who knows how long when a litany of chimes from my phone startles me back to reality.
With an annoyed sigh, I lift the insistent device to find that all the messages are from the same person.
- Shit day.
- I'm too distracted.
- Fuck this, I'm coming over.
- See you in 20.
I smile to myself, annoyance giving way to a thrill of excitement more enticing than even my daydreaming. The swirl of restless thoughts coil and tighten in my head and drop straight to my belly, hot and waiting.
Wanting. Always wanting for him.
So I wait, but he doesn't keep me waiting the full 20 minutes.
It's maybe ten before the door to my bedroom is opening and he steps in, sharp suit and scowl from work still intact. But his expression softens when he spots me and I reach my arms out, beckoning him toward the cozy nest of blankets that conceal my mostly-nudity.
He crosses the room slowly, every step melting that scowl of his and restoring the cocky smirk I so love to see on his face. As he goes, he removes his jacket then his tie. The first he drops to the floor haphazardly, but the second he coils around his hand and tucks it into the pocket of his slacks.
"Hi baby," he says when he's in front of me, leaning down to kiss my forehead and the bridge of my nose softly.
"Hi," I return, eagerly reaching for his lips with mine but he pulls back. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and kicks off his shoes before joining me on the bed so I can finally reach him. My hands grasp his shoulders immediately, tugging him toward me until he's prowling over me and the press of his body against mine pushes us both back into the bed.
Finally, he's kissing me. His mouth is soft and sweet against mine, tender at first until I yield to him with a soft whimper against his lips, opening for him. He takes what I offer, the moments-ago sweetness of his kiss burning up in the fire of his want as he claims my mouth with his.
My hands find their way into his hair and I rake my fingers through the neatly combed strands until they are undone. I tug his hair, dragging my nails along his scalp until he growls something both primal and needy. His kiss is searing hot, possessive as it trails across my jaw to my neck. He marks me, nipping at my skin softly and murmuring praise as I writhe against him, silently pleading for more of the pleasure he gives with seemingly no effort.
Across the room, rain taps the windowpane in a rhythm that perfectly matches my pulse tapping against my throat. I can feel it there, but even if I couldn't, the way he's eyeing the tender spot tells me it's racing.
Oh, how my pulse races for him, especially as he moves away from me and leans back onto his knees. He kneels between my thighs, gesturing for me to remove the thin t-shirt that covers me. When it's gone, I lay before him wearing just my panties and a shy smile. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in every curve of my body and every shadow on my skin. He drinks me in like I am something to be savored and I can feel the rush of his desire almost as strongly as the anticipation that courses through me when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tie.
I gasp, a desperate sound that has him grinning down at me as he backs off the bed and gets to his feet once more.
He inclines his head toward the window, and I don't miss the shift in his posture as his shoulders go back and his soft tone drops into something low and commanding, "Stand there."
I do as I'm told, padding barefoot across the room. I slow when feel his eyes on me, on the sway of my hips and the curve of my ass until I'm standing in front of the window and looking out at the city lights. He closes the distance between us, pausing briefly to reach for something from his coat pocket on the way before I feel the heat of him against my back.
"Good girl," he praises, warm palms resting on the curve of my waist as I lean into his chest. He traces patterns in my skin and trails kisses across my temple, easy and affectionate as we watch the lights and rain paint magic on the windowpanes.
Until I feel it. The teasing touch of his favorite rope, just so across the middle of my back as he pushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. He teases the length of the rope over each place that he kisses, soft brushes of it against my skin.
"Are you ready, baby?" He whispers, lips against my ear and his breath blazing awareness across my skin with every word.
I whimper, and he retracts the rope and his touch except for his fingers beneath my chin, turning my face to his so he can look me in the eye.
"I need to hear you say it," he says, the patient need for my consent holding his lust and drive for possession in check.
