Chance 9

The day dawned wet and rainy. Their mingled moans still echoed in the room, the smell of their bodies together permeating the stale air. They had spent the day in each other's arms, forsaking spouses, carefully crafted identities, even the jobs they told people they loved.

It started innocently, she was outside a bar, having a smoke, relaxing a bit before she jumped on the train and headed home. He asked her for a cigarette, maybe wishing for relaxation, to rekindle a lost memory, he couldn't be sure. Neither could remember their conversation; there was an introduction, perhaps a shared joke.

"You got another cig?"

"Yeah." She digs through her purse, finally finding the pack and handing it to him with a shaky grin. He takes it, fingers warming against hers for a moment, before shaking one out and putting it in his mouth.

"Thanks. My wife keeps telling me I need to quit."

"Yeah, mine too. Oh, not—I mean, my husband." She laughed nervously, shaking her head at the mistake, moving closer to light his cigarette. Her hands cup the flame protectively for a moment before the tip catches.

He smiled and shrugged, blowing a puff of smoky air toward the grey sky.

"You from around here?"

"Yeah. Born and raised in the East Bay. You?"

"East coast, Long Island, actually."

"Oh I see. Why'd you come here? Running away from the weather?"

She pushed damp curls back from her face and smiled, trying to remember the last time she cared what anyone thought of her looks. He glanced down tapping a finger against his cigarette and laughed.

"Sure. I mean, not really. The wife, she hates it over there. Says it gets too cold in the winter. I proposed, and she says yes, but only if we're gonna be in California." His eyes meet hers for a moment, and she feels her cheeks grow warm as she thinks of him staring at her face, mocha complexion, light red lips, cheeks a bit pink in the cold, the expanse of her neck, bared to the elements.

His eyes travel, stop at her ample breasts, and she feels her nipples growing hard. He fidgets, as if suddenly afraid or surprised, she's not sure which. She laughs, reaches out a careless hand and smoothes the shoulder of his jacket, dusting small raindrops into formless blobs of water.

"Blackmail. Effective technique." He nods, alluding to their conversation, it seems like they began talking ages ago.

"Would you like—to get a drink?" He is hesitant, but she is sure.

"Yeah." She lets him lead the way back to the bar, where their hesitant conversation merges into one loud, long laugh. It has been so long since she let go, when he invites her to a room in a hotel, she can hardly say no, is not afraid of seeming immodest, simply nods her head, and slips her hand into his.

His long fingers curl around her shorter ones. He has been trying to find a way to get close to her all night, so he simply pulls her body into his, and they walk out, looking for all the world like two lovers who have known each other for years, ready to renew their acquaintance.

When they reach the room, he gets nervous again, unsure about where to put his hands until she glides forward, pushes his coat from suddenly hunched shoulders and whispers,

"It's okay," her lips brushing his ear. Her soft touch releases him, and he pulls her to him, takes her sweater off and kisses her neck, all she is wearing underneath is an old white tanktop, threadbare, but comfortable, his hands cup her breasts and she pulls his shirt from his slacks, finds an undershirt and pulls it up too, desperate in her quest to reach skin.

He shudders as her palms caress his lower back, and belly, and their lips meet finally, touching tentatively, then more firmly, tongues exploring and caressing this newly found space, until she pulls back, almost violent in her need, pulling at his tie, his shirt, until she has him naked from the waist up, light brown skin shivering under her fingers, his mouth again seeking hers.

His hands find the soft expanse of her belly and he pushes her shirt up around her neck, starts unbuttoning her shirt. She can feel herself getting wetter, and moans as his fingers slide into her pants and curl gently against her cotton panties. One finger slides along the her pussy lips, and her hips move involuntarily toward him.

"You have on too many clothes," he mumbles against her lips. She laughs and pulls him against her, pressing her breasts to his chest, then his mouth to hers, he sweeps his hands down her back, and under her, then lifts her so she can wrap her legs around his waist. They fall to the bed and she rolls, sitting up she straddles him, breasts swaying over his mouth.

She unbuckles his pants and soon they are both naked, tangled in each other's arms, mouths trying to memorize bodies that have just met. His penis is pressing against her belly and his fingers between her legs beckon her closer, he presses two fingers to her clit, and at the first touch, she moans and clenches her thighs. She sits up and takes his cock in her hand, it is heavy and throbbing, and as she slides her hand over the head, his his body stiffens, and he kisses her, hard and wet, moaning. His hands cup her hips, fingers indenting the soft flesh, and she lifts herself, wet pussy lips moistening the tip of his cock.

She shudders at the touch of his flesh, and a quick breath hisses out between his teeth. She reaches between her legs, positioning herself. He kisses her breast, tongue and lips pulling on her nipple. She moans, lowering herself onto his cock, and he pushes upward, slowly.

She leans back, disheveled curls a halo around her face. Her eyes are closed, and she throws her head back, hands charting the length of his belly and chest. She cries out as his blunt width stretches her, she sways in his arms and it is only his firm grip on her hips that keeps her upright. He sits up suddenly and pulls her to him, brown eyes fierce, and she moans as that movement shifts his hard length inside her.

She begins to move her hips, slowly, then more purposefully, grinding her g-spot against his dick, fusing their mouths in a kiss that never seems to end, his hands are on her hips, then kneading her breasts, she arches her back and throws her head back, he moans deep and loud as he buries his face in her chest, kissing her breasts, then pushes himself to his knees, needing to thrust and meet her movements.

He is holding her hips so tightly his fingers are making indentations in her ass and she has her hands clasped around his neck as he feasts on her breasts. With each movement she moans and catches her breath, her hips are moving wildly, and she cums first, crying out and moaning as she clenches around him, shivering, wet, warm and tight. He growls deep in his throat, and she can feel his dick spasm as he cums, his hands grip her ass even tighter, and she pulls his face to hers, and kisses him slowly, her tongue slowly exploring his lips, then his mouth.

His lips are slack, and he exhales slowly, leaning back to lay down completely, as if cumming had robbed his body of all strength. She follows him, and pulls a sheet over their spent bodies. His soft cock is still inside her body, she clenches her inner muscles and he shudders.

They don't stay the night, both have business meetings in the early the next day and must prepare. As they head back out into the rainy evening, she glances over at him.

"Do you come to the city for work often?"

He pauses, and then meets her eyes. His pupils expand into grey irises.

"I do. You?"

"I'm always here." She looks at him from under her lashes. He resists an urge to kiss her again, and restart everything.

"I love smoking on Wednesdays."