We've been talking for months, a work project brought us close. As we have gotten to know one another, we discovered we had much in common: children, broken marriages, ambition, and certain... appetites. And we were starved.
How do you start a conversation like that and not cross some kind of line?
Is it love? Is it lust? Is it loneliness? We've gone in circles, dancing around these ideas for months, trying to justify pulling apart from each other, or justifying coming together.
So many of the same interests and curiosities to explore and discover. The possibility for so many first. The possibility for trust, vulnerability, and power...
Power. Isn't that what's so intoxicating? To be able to trust or be trusted that much to be so vulnerable as to command or surrender?
And whatever this push-pull dance we've been doing, needs to be explored. So what better place to meet in person, for the first time, than Washington D.C.? A place where power dynamics are the lifeblood and where right and wrong are just chess pieces on the board of a bigger game.
So, I leave my blue state and you leave your red one, and we agree on faux middle ground. We agree to meet in an exclusive club where high-powered professionals seek an escape from thinking, from the responsibility of choice, so they can just feel. Tonight, finally, no more thinking, just feeling.
I've dressed in my best black wrap dress, over-the-knee boots, and lace so delicate that not much is left to the imagination to anyone seeing the effects of the cold and wind on my body, through my dress. Lips are a rich red and my long blonde hair is tousled in loose curls.
With coat and clutch in hand, I make my way from my hotel and its city view, following the instructions to our meeting place.
I'm arriving early, so I can get a sense of what to expect. I'm not vanilla, at least not in my mind, but have never had the opportunity to come alive like this. I make my way up to the floor of the club and once in, having checked my coat and bag, I grab a cocktail and begin to explore the rooms. I'm trembling both in fear and excitement.
The anticipation of months of stolen moments we've collected, the dreams and fantasies we've shared, mixed with adrenaline and my sight being filled with people in the library, sitting room, and corners of this pristine place, engaged in behaviors anything but proper.
I continue walking down a hall towards the dark. I can see the panoramic view of the city that the glass windows reveal, as I get closer to the threshold of this room. In fact, the city's glow is the only light in this space.
My eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, as I find a table to set my glass on. I can feel eyes on me and feel other people in here, almost make out their silhouettes on the couches, and believe I'd hear breathing, and skin, and leather, if it wasn't for my heart pounding in my ears.
I decided to go to the window, so I can keep an eye out for my lover as he comes up from the street. I can feel eyes on me still and begin to wonder if I should leave, if this was all a mistake. I also wonder if I should take charge and have him discover me with someone else. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying. And lost in my thoughts, I don't hear who's come up behind me. I just feel the light touch and the heat of their body. And as I flinch from fear, I'm pushed into the window with such force and surprise, I'm too stunned to make any sound.
I just hear a low voice growl in my ear, "You. Are. Mine."
It's him. And his forearm has me pinned across my shoulders against the window, while one of his legs pushes mine apart and I can feel him tug at his belt and pulling at his clothes.
He, with his arm still pinning me, stills. My chest is heaving against the cold glass and the blood rushing and my heart is still the only things I know for sure I'm hearing. He leans in again, and his full lips are grazing over my shoulder, up my neck, and to my ear but he just breathes. No words.
His free hand traces up my thigh, over my ass, and then back down, going under my dress where he feels me soaked through my lace thong. He groans with pleasure and traces along the side of my panties and then pulling them aside to feel my sleek wetness.
He pushes one finger in, then another. I cry out, forgetting where I am or who may hear me. He hushes me in such a whisper, I question whether I even heard it. He moves slowly in, then out of me with those two, thick fingers, filling me up. And my body wants so bad to rock into him, and this coupled with the sensation of being pinned feels like heaven.
