Bliss

"Well," Tony said. It was Saturday evening and we were at the Broadway Grill, sitting at one of the sidewalk tables, for dinner. It had been three days since my encounter with Malcolm in the elevator, and I had just confessed everything to my best friend, even showing him the fading bruises on my elbow from Malcolm's hand. "I can't believe you waited three whole days to tell me," he sniffed dramatically. "What happened on Thursday and Friday?"

"Thursday was weird."

"How?"

"I was really worried about seeing him again, you know?" Tony nodded. "But I didn't see him that much. He had a lunch with Ian, and a few other things that kept him busy. But when I did see him..."

"What?"

"Well, he would just suddenly 'be there'. I was at my desk, going over the proposal for umpteenth time, and suddenly he was there. Or, I would be in the hall or coming out of the restroom, and there he was. It was like..."

"Like what?"

"I should have been embarrassed or nervous, but I didn't have a chance to think about it before I saw him, so I wasn't. But on the other hand...it was like I would get what happened out of my mind, right, and be working along or whatever, and BAM! There's Malcolm again and it all came back."

"What about yesterday?"

"That was oddly...uneventful. We ran over the proposal a dozen more times, the powerpoint two dozen...but that's almost all there was."

"Almost?"

"Sometimes he would...touch me."

"Touch you? Touch you how?"

"I dunno...just little touches."

"Like...?" I shrugged but didn't answer. "What...do you need therapy dolls to show me?"

"Nice" I laughed, throwing a cracker at him.

"Well?"

"He would touch my hand, or my elbow...one time he put his hand on my lower back when we went for lunch."

"The bastard!"

"Ha ha."

"So what happens now?"

"I don't know," I said after a long pause, shrugging my shoulders. "I've never been to Texas."

"Mmmhmmm," he said, taking a sip of his martini. "Let me just see if I have this straight, okay?" I nodded. "Wednesday night you had sudden, intense, super hot big daddy sex with your boss?"

"Big daddy sex?" I asked, leaning forward and laughing.

"You want to revise your story? Because if not there's a whole lot of domination going on."

"He wasn't violent," I hissed. "Geez, you make it sound as if he was in assless leather chaps and carrying a bull whip." I chose to ignore why the idea of Malcolm with a bullwhip made my thighs quiver. I just wasn't going to think about that. Ever.

"All chaps are assless, my dear, that's what makes them chaps. But that's beside the point. I didn't say there was a whole lot of sadism going on, did I?"

"Domination, bondage, S&M...it all goes together, right?"

"Not necessarily, dearheart." He looked at me and shook his head, smiling. "Perhaps a little research on this is in order? Stop thinking 'Story of O' or 'Philosophy in the Bedroom'. Think...'Exit to Eden'."

I raised my eyebrows at that, making a mental note to google those titles.

"Anyway, you had this amazing encounter Wednesday, then spent Thursday and Friday in a weird limbo with neither of you mentioning it, and the only thing you can think to talk about with me tonight is the fact you've never been to Texas? Really?"

"What do you want me to talk about, Tony?"

"Talk about Malcolm."

"I don't know what to say," I said, picking up my drink and chewing on my straw.

"What are you feeling, Melly?" he asked gently.

"I don't know..." I said. "Mostly confused, I guess. You know I was never very...sexually active."

"But you responded to him, to his words and his actions, right? You said you felt like he was in complete control of you, and you liked that a lot, right?" I looked at him as he picked up his glass and looked at it thoughtfully. "Maybe your Dom has found you," he said quietly.

"My 'Dom'? What does that mean?"

"Sounds like you're a submissive."

"Please." I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him.

"Why not?"

"Isn't that a little...disturbing?"

"Not if this is what works for you." I snorted "What? You think you're the only one? You think it means you're sick? Or fucked up? I'm willing to bet there are millions of people who enjoy a little name-calling, a little roughness, even a little whipping." He swallowed the rest of his martini and signaled the waitress for another one. "You are not the first and you certainly won't be the last, Melly. This is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, but...It's the last word anyone -- least of all you -- would use to describe me, right?"

"Why didn't you let him take you home Wednesday? Why did you insist on taking a cab?" I just shrugged, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Was it because you were afraid it would happen again?'

"No." I said quietly, leaning forward so he could hear me. "I was afraid it wouldn't. Now...I'm afraid it will never happen again."

"I don't think that will be an issue, my dear," Tonysaid, putting his hand over mine and giving it a squeeze. "How did you feel, Melly, as it was happening? I don't mean physically -- I mean in here," he said, touching his head, "and here," he added, touching his chest over his heart.

"I felt...wanted...desired."

"And that was a good feeling?" I nodded. "Good. Then go with it, let it be what it will be and don't fight it."

I sat quietly as the waitress brought him another martini. "Can we talk about something else now?"

"Of course," Tony said, putting his glass down. "Let's talk about your upcoming trip to Texas with the luscious-lipped Malcolm," he said in his most over-the-top queen drawl, giving me a very elaborate wink, making me laugh.

We finished our dinner and walked about a bit, talking about nothing in particular, calling it an early night. I had a flight to catch in the morning and he had a brunch date. We parted, me heading back down to my condo in Queen Anne with a solemn promise to tell keep him updated, and him heading back to his house in Capital Hill. I felt better, lighter than I had since Wednesday night.

The next day I got to the airport early (it's a bad habit of mine, I'm always convinced I am going to miss my flight) and waited at the snack bar across from the gate. I wanted to watch Malcolm unobserved. They started making the pre-boarding announcements, and Malcolm still hadn't arrived. They started pre-boarding travelers with young children, and Malcolm still hadn't arrived. I glanced down at my boarding pass, knowing they would board first class next, and he was still nowhere to be seen. I shrugged inwardly and slowly walked towards the gate, throwing away my half-finished cup of tea, as they began boarding first-class.

I went to board the flight, glancing around one last time. Still no sign of Malcolm. "Dammit," I muttered under my breath, walking down the jetway. I took my seat by the window and got settled, putting the book I brought in the seat pocket in front of me and buckling myself in. I stared out the window at the early May sunshine -- a rarity in Seattle -- reflecting off the jets as they lumbered by, trying not to think about why the thought of Malcolm not being on the same flight made me want to cry. I sat staring, seeing nothing, not thinking about it, as the rest of the passengers began boarding and the flight attendants began their litany of announcements reminding them to allow others to pass and leave room in the overhead bins. I closed my eyes with a weary sigh.

"Are you alright?" A familiar accent. I smiled at the window while my heart rate doubled.

"Yes, fine," I said, turning my head as Malcolm took the seat next to me. "You?"

"Quite," he said. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes warm. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to change his mind, closing it again. He busied himself with getting settled in, standing up to dig something out of his carry-on in the overhead bin. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt, not tight but fitted enough to know what was underneath, and button-fly jeans that accented his package perfectly. His shirt lifted a bit, showing fine, dark hair on his lower abdomen that appeared to continue down below his waist.

I turned my head back towards the window and closed my eyes again, telling myself my mouth was NOT watering because of Malcolm. I could hear Tony in my mind telling me 'of course not, you're just suffering from Iwannadickinme Syndrome'. I laughed quietly at myself as Malcolm took his seat.

"Care to share?" he asked, catching the chuckle.

"Just thinking about something my friend said to me the other day," I fibbed, turning to look at him. "Sort of an inside joke, sorry."

"Your friend...Tony?" I nodded. "You're just friends?"

"Oh yes," I said, laughing. The plane gave a slight shudder as we began to taxi out. "I've never been his type."

"No?"

"I...I don't have the right equipment." I raised my eyebrows at him suggestively.

"Ah, I see," he said as the plane took off. I turned and looked out the window as the plane sped down the runway, picking up speed, rushing towards the point of no return. The nose lifted, making the brush at the edge of the runway seem to stretch as the back of the plane followed, gravity giving one last tug that made the plane lurch as it broke free to climb through the clear air. I watched the ground recede below and blue swell above.

"You like to fly?" Malcolm asked, leaning to look over my shoulder out the window. He put his hand on my arm and I gave a slight jump.

"I like the take-off." I said, shifting in my seat to sit back.

"So, tell me," he said, settling back into his own seat and removing his hand, "how long have you known Tony?"

"Since high school."

"So that's ...8 years? 12?"

"Three or four, actually," I said, one eyebrow raised. He laughed and casually rested his hand on my thigh. It wasn't sexual, his putting his hand there. Hell, it wasn't even sensual. It was like he needed a place to put his hand and my thigh was just as good as anywhere else. And yet...and yet...I physically responded to it. There was a tingling feeling radiating out from the heat of his palm, and it hit every nerve.

"So no boyfriend?" he asked. It seemed an odd question, considering.

"No, no boyfriend." He nodded when I answered but didn't say anything. I sat quietly for a moment as I slowly realized his question was a way to let me know what had happened, what may happen, was inconsequential, just for kicks. I almost slapped my forehead for being so stupid, but managed to just give a little groan.

"Something wrong?" he asked, looking at me with real concern. His hand was still on my thigh.

"I forgot floss," I said, shifting over in my seat. "What about you?" I asked him, wanting to let him know his message was received loud and clear. "No girlfriend? No one pining for you back in foggy old London?"

"No. No one." He looked at me closely. "It's always been difficult for me to find a woman I could...connect with."

"Oh?" I shifted again, turning so I was facing him more, my back resting where my seatback and the wall of the plane met. "How so?"

"Oh, well, it seems they were either physically...intriguing," he said, giving me a wink that managed to be both sardonic and sexy. "You know, lovely to look at, and compatible sexually, but no hope of intelligent conversation." I nodded at him to continue. "It's empty, not being able to talk to someone...over dinner or coffee, whenever. There's no real affection. Only..."

"Affectation," I finished for him mindlessly. I was fascinated.

"Exactly." Malcolm smiled at me, a full smile filled with sunshine that captured my heart instantly. "Or I found someone smart, pretty, clever, and she would be...ill-suited to my needs."

"Your needs?"

"Yes."

"Your 'needs' are that hard to meet? What are they?"

"Nothing too outrageous," he said, a small smile on his lips.

"Oh," I said quietly after a moment, blushing furiously. I felt like an idiot.

"And you?" he asked after what seemed like a long while of letting me stew in my embarrassment.

"Oh...well...I never really met anyone I liked, I guess. I mean, I would like them for a bit, you know, but it would always fade."

"Fade?"

"Well...yes. You know, that giddy feeling when you meet someone. You start talking, start dating, start...you know...'doing it'" (great, way to actually be an idiot, my mind screamed)"...but then the fun, the anticipation goes away and it would be dull, predictable."

"Doing it?" he smirked.

"Having intercourse? Screwing? Choose your verb, Malcolm."

"What's wrong with fucking?" he said quietly. He removed his hand from my thigh and leaned with his elbows on the armrest separating our seats. "I happen to prefer that verb."

"Alright then...doing that."

"Say it, Melody."

"Fucking," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I suddenly felt very small and very...shy. It wasn't embarrassment, but I was thinking about the last time I'd said 'fucking' in his presence.

"Mmmmm," he said, so low I felt it more than heard it. I thought he might kiss me. I hoped he would. I looked at his lips briefly, trying to telepathically encourage him to kiss me, but he just smiled and sat back again.

"So you never married?" he asked. He put his hand back on my leg and I realized how exposed I had felt when he removed it.

"What? No...no. Never." I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I've honestly never wanted to." I looked at him closely. "Is that unfeminine?"

"Not at all," he said, caressing my leg briefly and sending my nervous system in to orbit. "You know your own mind, don't you?"

The question surprised me, but before I had a chance to formulate an answer the flight attendant was there with our lunches. He removed his hand again to have his lunch, and didn't put it back on my leg for the remainder of the flight. We spent the rest of the flight chatting about nothing and everything. We talked about our favorite movies, our favorite books (he and I shared a love of D.H. Lawrence) and music -- he was a child of the 80's as well. We discussed our childhoods, our families and friends, vacations, politics...I don't think there was a topic we didn't touch on. It was one of the best times I'd had on a flight (after take-off I usually find them quite dull), and I was annoyed that the four hours passed so quickly and we were already landing in Houston.

We picked up the rental car and made our way downtown towards the Houston skyscrapers and our hotel. It was warm, much warmer than in Seattle, and I was overdressed in my jeans, boots and sweater. I was looking forward to a quick shower and changing into one of the summer dresses I brought. We pulled in to the hotel and I was surprised Malcolm didn't use the valet service. I never did when I traveled, believing it to be a wholly unnecessary and irresponsible expense, but I also knew it was common among executives. It impressed me. We parked in the garage and walked to the elevator in silence. In the elevator I avoided looking at him, fiddling with my luggage and cell phone, staring at the numbers over the door. I heard him laugh quietly behind me as the doors opened on the lobby and I sprang out, walking as quickly as possible to the front desk.

I checked in to my room -- a junior suite - aware that Malcolm was right behind me, allowing me very little privacy. I got my room key, 709, and turned to head towards the elevator. I wanted to avoid another uncomfortable elevator ride with him, and the knowledge that I was the only one feeling uncomfortable made me almost frantic to do so.

"See you later," I mumbled lamely before I practically sprinted to the elevator. I made my way up to my room -- thankfully alone -- and unpacked quickly (the layout of the room was a little odd, it had a semi-private bedroom/sleeping area with a dresser, but the closet was in the sitting room area). I pinned up my hair and hopped in the shower, relaxing a bit and laughing at myself for being so silly. I decided I would act as if nothing happened, and put the image of the two of us together out of my mind. I just...wouldn't think of it again.

My plan of inaction decided on, I scrubbed quickly and got out. I slipped on a strappy sundress and some flip-flops, pulling my hair back in to a ponytail. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror closely, turning my head to scrutinize my face, noting the shimmers of gray at my temples and the way my eyes wrinkled when I smiled. I stood up with a shrug, deciding to forgo any make-up in the mucky Houston heat. I grabbed my wallet and key card and head towards the elevator. I'd spotted a cute little bistro across the street and I was dying to get some real food in me.

The elevator doors slid open and I found myself face to face with Malcolm. I started to speak but he stopped me, stepping off the elevator and grabbing me by my elbows. He bent to kiss me, pulling me to him. I had always been in heels before so I hadn't really noticed the height difference between us, but in my flip-flops it was impossible to miss. He's six inches taller than I am, and when he bent to kiss me, I instinctively went up on my toes to meet him.

He slowly kissed me, thoroughly kissed me, kissed me like he had nothing else planned for the day and was luxuriating in kissing me. I felt devoured in that kiss. As if I ceased to exist outside his kiss, and when he stopped I would kind of blow out, like a match in a breeze. (Does that sound ridiculous? I don't care.) I had never been kissed like that before and it had my knees weak. When he broke the kiss I had to remind myself to breathe.

"709?" he asked, letting go of my elbows and taking my key card out of my hand. I nodded, unable to speak, as he grabbed my wrist and led me back to my room. He opened the door and gently...shoved me...inside, following me in and locking the door behind us. He stepped up to me, making me step back until I was leaning against the wall. I was so turned on by this point my panties were soaked and I knew they would be sticking to me. He pressed himself against me, and I whimpered, shaking against him. He looked at me closely, thinly veiled amusement in his eyes, and I had the feeling he knew

exactly

what I was thinking.

"What is it?" he said, his hands pulling down the straps of my dress.

"What is

this

?" I retorted. I hated the shakiness of my voice but was powerless to stop it.

"This is me getting ready to fuck you."

"No," I sighed as he licked lightly along my jawbone. "I mean...what...what are you and I?"

He looked at me, squeezing my breasts through my dress, talking to me in a soothing voice. "You are so lovely, Melody." He kissed along my shoulders, and it was as if his lips were magnetized, and attracted the iron in my blood; everywhere they touched on my skin tingled. I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation. He lifted my dress up and I obliged, raising my arms so he could take it off me.

"The moment I met you I wanted you," he said, turning me around to face the wall. He ran a hand from the nape of my neck to my ass, caressing it slowly. "I couldn't keep my eyes off you; you are so sensual, so womanly, your movements so sultry. All I could think of was kissing you, touching you, tasting you." He licked the small of my back, just above the waistband of my panties and I gasped. "Is that enough?"

I looked back at him, seeing the need to possess, the greed in his gaze. "Yes, Malcolm."

He turned me around and kissed me, another consuming kiss, and all reason departed. There was only this need, this aching hunger to deliver myself, to give myself over to his whims. He maneuvered us towards the bed and stood behind me, raising my arms.

"Hold on to me," he whispered, running his hands up and down my sides. I locked my hands together behind his neck as he gently caressed my breasts, making my nipples hard. I sighed, arching my back a bit and pushing my breasts out further, and he began to roughly pinch and twist my nipples. I moaned as the rough treatment sent waves of pleasure from my nipples to my clit, and I watched his hands, in a kind of swoon.