Dinner was a formality. Just a way for the two of us to convince ourselves that we weren't being foolish; Meeting like this. Coming all this way for one night of passion. Foolish. Unless... Unless it was more than that. If we went out for dinner at least we could say that we spent some time together, had "gotten to know each other," before rushing into the bedroom. But we both knew why we were there. It sat in the air between the two of us, as we stared across the food at each other, our appetites for the dishes we'd ordered disappearing into the wake of our carnal appetites. The anticipation of what was to come fed on our inaction and was fueled by the momentary lapses in will that kept slipping past our control. The way my hand fell on the small of your back when I ushered you towards the chair I had pulled out for you. The way your breast "accidentally" brushed my hip as you sat down (Good line). The seemingly innocent, sensual sight of your lips wrapped around a breadstick as you bit into it. The momentary burst of sexual electricity as our feet met under the table, you heels removed, as your leg brushed against mine, lingered, then moved away. I knew you felt it too, the rush. I could see in your eyes the same mischievous grin that I knew shone in mine. Dinner was foreplay, an omen of what was to come.
And now here we are. Alone, having stepped into the elevator in my building. Explicit thoughts stirring my loins as my mind turns back to your movements on the dance floor only half an hour before. The way your body moved, the liquid sensuality of your body against mine. The smell of you, wafting into my nose as I pressed my hips into you. I open my eyes and see you across the elevator, your eyes moving over the front of my pants. I look down and notice that my erection is clearly visible straining against the fabric of my slacks.
"What were you thinking about?" you ask coyly, knowing full well where my mind had wandered.
I take the two steps needed to reach you and leaning in I gently press my lips to yours. My heart begins to race as you respond with the same passion that I feel. Our lips part and I gently push my tongue into your mouth, meeting your tongue in a gentle embrace. Your hot, sweet breath mixes with mine as you moan and press your body into mine. With your breasts pressed into me as they are, I can feel, only slightly but clearly, your hard nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt. I reach my hand up and gently cup the back of your head, running my hands through your hair as we continue to kiss. Just as I gently suck your tongue into my mouth, our kiss is broken.
"Are you getting off here?" A middle aged man who I know as one of my neighbors asks, standing in the door of the elevator.