For The First Time 2

For the first time since we'd met, it would be just the two of us.

We had spent years eying each other, meeting at tradeshows or conferences two or three times a year. And in all that time, I had watched him. We had talked often, but always in a crowd. Still, I'd catch him looking at me, too, his eyes running over my body like a pair of eager hands, intense enough to almost feel. Now we would be alone. I had arrived at this conference a day early and on impulse asked the hotel operator to ring his room, just in case he had, too. "One moment," she'd said. And in a moment I heard his voice, deep and surprised. "I just got in," I said. "It's raining too hard to go anywhere. If you haven't eaten, would you like to join me for dinner here?"

I expected him to say no. It was feeling all too easy. Instead, he said, "Yes." Then "When?"

"Twenty minutes," I said. "I'm still checking in."

"I'll be there," he said.

Twenty minutes. Time to change my shirt and fix my makeup, no time to shower. Oh well. I wasn't expecting much. He hadn't given any indication that he did, either. Would he this evening?

But then I hadn't a clue what he was really like. I knew the basics. That he was about six feet, maybe 240 lbs, all muscle. His hair was almost black and cropped short--he'd been a Marine and liked the look--his shoulders were massive, his back nicely tapered, his ass nicely rounded. His eyes were more bronze than brown. I was about half his weight, a few inches shorter, blonde, gray eyed. If nothing else, we made a striking pair.

I liked that he was a cop from New York, a vice cop no less. It gave an edge to our conversations, though it never came up exactly. I never asked, and he never offered. When we talked it was light, banter--all for fun, so that if anyone had been listening, they have heard just two casual acquaintances making very proper small talk.

In twenty minutes exactly I was in the bar, the usual gathering place at these events. He wasn't there. I walked across the lobby to the restaurant and he was there, at a candle-lit table, a bottle of Riesling on ice. He stood when he saw me, and my breath quickened.

"I thought you meant the bar," I said.

"Not tonight," he said. "I felt like something special. And you're looking too good for a bar." I could feel myself flush slightly. I could feel the warmth of that flush between my legs and wondered if he could tell. When I smiled at him, his eyes held mine. It was like striking a bargain, making a promise.

I could barely eat, I was so filled with anticipation. Despite the setting, the clear effort he'd taken, he seemed casual, more businesslike than flirtatious. There was the wine, after all, and the way he looked at me when he refilled my glass. I was sure I was right, that he also must feel the tension building between us. But I couldn't be sure, and my heart almost broke when, after signing the check, he offered to walk me to my room.

"Do you mind if we stop at my room first?" he asked. "I'd like to give you a copy of that report we discussed."

Oh how bland, I thought. Well, it was getting late and there were three days ahead of us. Surely by the third. . . .

"Yes, of course," I said.

When he opened the door to his room, I caught my breath. There were candles all around, all lit and softly burning. He closed the door and smiled at me. "I like candles," he said, "and I was hoping I'd get you in here."

In a moment his arms were around me and I could feel him growing hard against me. Then his lips found mine. It was no soft kiss. Instead it was hard and bruising, as if he hadn't kissed a woman for a long time. The force of it startled me--most men start gently. It was as if he were letting me know that there was no point in trying to stop. For a moment I thought I should at least try. He was too strong, too overpowering. I would have no control in this and the one thing I never gave up was control. I was used to being the seducer, used to playing a man's passion out, not at all used to having a man have his way.

This man was determined to have his way. That was clear. It also was clear that he would control the pace and what we did.

He moved his hands under my shirt, unhooking my bra and sliding it off my breasts. Then he unbuttoned my shirt, and motioning me to be still, eased my arms out. He sat back up then and put his fingers on my beasts, moving them slowly until my nipples hardened.

"You're just going to do what I want you to," he said softly. I nodded, feeling his excitement. It made my skin almost electric, so that wherever he touched me I felt a charge through my whole body. Whatever he wanted, I would want, too.

He started to kiss my neck, slow, soft kisses that already had me breathing hard and fast when he moved down to my collarbone, then the top of my left breast, then the top of the right, then to my nipples, kissing one then the other until I started to moan. He laughed gently, then took my nipple in his mouth, first sucking and nibbling it softly, then a little harder until the combination of pain and pleasure became almost too much to bear.

"You like that," he said. "You like to be hurt a little?"

"Just a little," I said.

He moved his hand to my pussy then, just touching lightly, waiting for me to react before spreading the lips apart slightly and moving his fingers over the skin beneath. I reached for his cock, which was already stiff, ready for me. You never know what a man has in his pants. What he had was wonderful: long, slightly curved--more than enough to promise deep pleasure. I began pulling at him, eager to have him inside me.

"No yet," he said, taking my hand away. "Remember, you're going to do just what I want. And what I want is to pleasure you."

He bent over me, brushing his lips on my nipples, then my belly, and my thighs. I opened my legs for him and immediately felt his tongue, wetting me while I moaned and held his head against me. I felt warm and cold all at once, just wanting this to go on and on.

Just when I felt on the brink of orgasm, he stopped. "Not yet," he said, "not without me."

He brought his face up to mine and kissed me again, a long, slow kiss before I felt his cock pushing against me until I opened for him. He began moving slowly and deeply, then more quickly as our excitement took hold. Our eyes locked, and we gave ourselves up to the pulsing of pleasure that kept building.

We were moving harder against each other now, each thrust of his cock reaching far inside me so that each felt almost orgasmic in its intensity. It was as if we were one body, intent on pleasure. "I'm coming inside you," he moaned, clutching at me, pressing into me with each thrust, and I felt great waves of pleasure rock us both at the same time, our bodies straining to feel every sensation.

And then it was over. He rolled to his side, his arm still under my head. "You're wonderful," I told him. "Better than wonderful."

He kissed me, another long, slow kiss. "Wonderful enough to be with again tomorrow night?"

"Yes," I said.

"Wonderful enough to go exploring?' He was nibbling at my neck. Because there is a lot I can teach you." Then harder. "I have a feeling there's a side to you that even you don't know." Then harder still.

"Yes, let's. Now," I whispered, lying back, waiting for what would happen next.

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