Who says consent and negotiations aren't sexy? We were "vanilla" daters, not kinksters planning a scene, but we discussed our trysts beforehand nonetheless. His casual openness was disarming and put me at ease in a way I'd never felt with someone new before.
Our schedules made it most convenient to meet in the mornings before work. Our first two dates were at a coffee shop where the conversation flowed so effortlessly that we both lost track of time and got to work late.
"I'll say metro was delayed." He laughed. "That shouldn't be hard to believe."
"I'll say there was traffic." That's the universal excuse here in the DMV. Everyone just nods in grim understanding.
At the end of the second date we shared a long, close hug and he whispered into my ear, "Damn, you look so good. I wish we'd met at my apartment instead of Starbuck's."
I whispered back with my lips a scant inch from his skin, letting him feel the warmth of my breath against the crease where his earlobe met his cheek. "Next time."
We met at his apartment the following week. We discussed it via text the day before and he asked me how far I wanted to go. I found his straightforwardness both surprising and refreshing. He wanted a plan, a limit. I was used to a very different sort of experience -- used to anxiously guessing at unspoken assumptions, used to buzzing with nervous adrenaline, used to frantically repairing the cracks in my defenses as my date battered them relentlessly.
I didn't want to rush things. I told him our pants would stay on, but anything above the waist was fair game as far as I was concerned. He didn't argue. He told me to wear a button down shirt, preferably something red or black. I felt an undeniable thrill of arousal when he gave me this instruction and I didn't understand why. Shouldn't I feel offended or at least a little annoyed instead of turned on, I wondered?
In any case, I found myself knocking on his door the next morning dressed in black pants and a red button down shirt. He opened the door clad in plaid pajama pants and a Captain America t-shirt -- an amusing change from the business attire he'd worn on our previous dates. He had brewed coffee and we sat on the couch sipping it while we chatted about superheroes and pets, until he shifted closer and asked, "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes."
"Good." He leaned forward to take the mug from my hand and set it on the coffee table next to his. "Because I'm going to kiss you."
Only a tiny flutter of nerves -- nothing like the panicked paralysis I usually experienced with first kisses -- and I bent to meet him halfway. He tasted of coffee and I liked the way he kissed, sandwiching our lips to slide, stretch, and suck at one another, with an occasional brush of tongues. His kisses drifted to my neck and mine to his, my fingers clenched in his hair. When I sucked his earlobe into my mouth, he groaned "oh, fuck" and rolled me onto his lap so that I straddled him with my knee-high leather boots planted along the outsides of his thighs. I threaded my fingers through his hair and gazed into his face. His eyes met mine, heated and hazy, and he bit his lip as though he could hardly keep from devouring me. I wanted him to do exactly that. Our eyes remained locked as his fingers worked open the buttons of my blouse one by one until he could push the sides apart with one easy gesture. I shrugged myself completely out of it.
"That's fucking hot," he said, dropping his eyes to the cleavage spilling from my red and black lace bra.
"Just for you." As he reached behind me to undo the hooks, I smiled and pushed my hips forward to slowly and deliberately grind my crotch against the hard length of his cock.
"Fuck, yes," he growled.
I kept moving as his mouth engulfed my nipple, rolling and pressing that hardness where I needed it, wishing we didn't have layers of clothing between us. His tongue circling one nipple with firm pressure while his fingers lightly pinched the other shot sparks straight to my clit until I squirmed and whimpered against him. Watching me, gauging my reactions, he closed his teeth gently around my nipple and tugged. I sighed, then moaned when he gave my other nipple the same treatment.
"Yeah? You like that?" he asked.
