These fucking heels. I feel so sexy in them, but trying to run over the grating on this Manhattan sidewalk is only making me later, not to mention sweaty. I look at my watch, slowing down a moment to read it, and sigh; only 10 minutes late. I see the entrance to the restaurant and stop, get a tissue out of my bag, and wipe my face down. I catch my breath, and try to control the nervous anticipation in my stomach. Christian and I haven't seen each other in months, since the last time we almost...
But that's in the past. He's getting married in two days.
I push open the door and am relieved to feel the coolness of the air conditioner on my face. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but once they do, I immediately spot Chris sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. I smile at the maitre 'd and indicate my company. I ask for a glass of sauvignon blanc, some water with lemon, and make my way to him, to Christian, and I can feel every muscle in my stomach contract. Ten years of friendship and still my desire for him, to feel him, to taste him, has not abated. Thank God he's getting married. Thank God there is no longer a possibility.
He stands as I approach the table and wraps his arms around me. Even now, I can feel the strength in his embrace, can feel the muscles in his back, his arms, can smell his sweet manly scent. He never wears cologne; it's just him, just his body, his heat that gives off this scent and it drives me wild.
We talk and order, and talk some more, laughing and joking as we always do. We catch up on the past few months, talk about the big day, and I watch with keen interest as he seems to become less animated as he starts talking about his future wife, and his very soon-to-be future life. The food arrives and the silence that ensues is more than just hunger driven. Something's wrong.
We continue ordering drinks, and as I become more lively, he becomes more withdrawn. Finally, when I can feel the buzzing in my head, I stop and pull his chin up so that he's looking me in the eye. "What is it?" I say. "What's wrong?"
It happens so fast that even were I able to think straight, I wouldn't have been able to stop it. His right hand grabs my hand off his face as his left hand envelops the back of my head and pulls me to him. He pauses for just a moment to look me in the eye before his gaze falls to my lips and he gently presses his own against mine. His lips are soft, and I can feel his tongue graze delicately over my slightly open mouth. My tongue responds, it moves slowly and tenderly against his, and both my hands are now around the back of his head, feeling the softness of his short hair. His scent and his taste fill me up, and the way his tongue feels in my mouth make it almost impossible for me to breathe. I pull back and look at him. There's no inkling of humor, no hint of a smile or a laugh. He looks away to find our waiter and hands him a wad of money without even looking at a check. He says nothing as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of my seat, leading me out the door onto the busy street.
He pulls me briskly along with him, and I curse these fucking heels one more time as I try and maneuver the sidewalk in my half drunken state. I don't say a word, don't ask where we're going because I can see on the opposite corner a glowing Manhattan hotel. We jog across the street, dodging angry cab drivers, because our need for each other is so great we cannot wait for the light to give us permission to be have one another. We slide into the revolving door together, forcing me to press my tits against his back, wrap my arms around his stomach; he pushes the door with his right hand and his left hand reaches back and grabs my ass. My pussy starts to ache.
He speaks to the man at the desk about getting a room, no a suite now, and the man just smiles and complies, our lust palpable even to him. He hands us a key and we step into an elevator. He presses the button for the 54th floor, and turns to push me against the wall. His hands are in my hair, his body up against mine. I can feel how hard he is without even moving, can hear his shallow breath as he struggles to control himself. His brown eyes just stare into my blue ones and we say nothing as we go higher and higher up. No kissing, no touching. Just looking.
The elevator opens and we make our way to a corner of the floor. The key clicks the door open and he guides me in before him, puts the do not disturb sign on the knob, and deadbolts the door. He turns and looks at me. His eyes take in every inch of my body, from those fucking heels, to my curvy hips, to my heaving breasts, to my messy hair. He stands there for what feels like forever, and as I watch him desiring me, I become more and more aroused. Finally he moves toward me and takes my face in his hands. He moves me toward the bed, and my hand goes to turn off the light.
"No," he says. "No, I want to see every inch of you. I want to learn every inch of your body." He then skims his lips across mine, and does it again, this time with his tongue. He comes back a third time, this time diving into my mouth, both hard and soft at the same time, delving and exploring with his tongue, pulling back to bite my lips and then moving in again. I let out a small moan as his mouth moves to my neck, licking, sucking, biting. My hands go up the back of his shirt and I can feel his heat, his sweat, his muscles. My nails scratch into his skin, my rapid breathing making me lightheaded.
He pulls back and his hands move to my sweater. He pulls it over my head and looks at my chest. My tits are big, round and soft and he lowers his mouth to them, gently kissing them and touching them with his hands. My hands are around his neck and I arch my head back and softly moan. I feel him stop and I look down at him.
"You make me so fucking hot," he says. I lick my lips and pull his face to me and bite his lower lip. He pushes me down onto the bed and unbuttons his pants, letting his jeans drop to the floor. I can see how hard his cock is and become overwhelmed with my need to have it, to feel it in my hands, my mouth, my pussy. I sit up and look him in the eye as I feel him through his boxers, feel his balls, his girth, his length. I can feel it straining against the cotton, begging to be released. He watches me and I watch him back as I palm the tip, the shaft, then the tip again through his shorts. I can see his pleasure, can see his breathing become deeper. He closes his eyes and I lower his shorts and put my hand around his dick. I can feel it throbbing in my hand; my cunt is wet and aching, but I can wait, I can prolong feeling him inside me a little longer. I want to taste him.
