Better

Chapter 4 - Andrea

Andrea: Of all the times I've spent with Michael and all the places we've been, he's always gone first class, but this by far was the most over the top. The shopping spree: eight dresses, six pairs of earrings, five pairs of shoes, five necklaces and three bracelets all for a whopping sum of what I make in a month. Hell, if he thought it was worth to spill that kind of change for a kinky exchange in a fitting room, I would have done it just for the thrill. Then there was the trim, the keratin treatment, the blowout, and the makeup Stephan used to fix me up for the night that went right in my bag along with a gift certificate for the lingerie shop next door where I picked up a couple of silk panties and matching bras -- and it wasn't as if I could wear a bra with any of the dresses he bought for me.

I walked into our room, a suite actually, wearing one of my new dresses and a pair of shoes and heard Michael go quiet on a phone conversation he was having.

"Excuse me, but I'll have to get back to you later, maybe tomorrow," he said.

He tossed his phone on the desk, walked directly toward me without saying a word, and pinned me face forward against the wall. He pulled my dress off, leaving me only in my heels, and penetrated me from behind, whether I was wet or not, but of course I was. Very. And the wetter I got, the harder and faster he slammed into me.

"Faster, damn it! Faster!" I commanded. "I want to feel you as deep inside of me as you can get!"

He took to my commands at face value and more, pulsing into me so hard that that front of me was pounded onto the wall like a fixture that was never going to come off. As I let out a stream of cum that made me weak in the knees, he pulled out slightly, smacked my ass cheek hard, and went back to drill me some more. I could hear him growl and feel him tense as he tried to hold back, but he couldn't.

"Ahhh ... yes, Rohhh ... Michael!" I cried as I slowly unglued myself from the wall, letting Michael hold me from behind as he pulled my hair up and kissed me on the side of my neck with his soft lips that barely touched my skin. My entire body went from being tight and stiff to wanting to quiver, collapse and fall to the floor. He promptly held me up to catch my fall and looked straight into my eyes.

"Please tell me you weren't going to say another man's name," he said.

"Uh ... my dear, I couldn't find words," I sighed, trying to catch my breath and reorient myself. "Any words. The English language was almost entirely wiped from my mind."

That was partially true. I couldn't think of where I was or what I was thinking, but the past several minutes were much like a particular time with Robert when I intentionally bent down from the hips to pick up a scrap piece of something off my kitchen floor and he drove me to the table, ripped my pants down, bent me over the table and fucked me like two pit bulls in heat. But unlike Robert, Michael brought me back to the way we usually connected post-coloitally -- tenderly, lightly and lovingly.

I cracked a smile, knowing I was in a safe place with him.

"I wasn't expecting that from you," I said, wrapping my arms around his still-clothed body.

He smiled, kissed me on the lips, held me close, and said, "I've learned not to expect anything when I'm with you, even in my best laid plans. Speaking of best laid plans, we need to get cleaned up and dressed up. There's a plate of oysters and a couple of flutes of champagne waiting for us in the lobby bar."

To anyone passing us by in the bar, we looked like the kind of proper, well-heeled, blissfully in love couple that peopled envied and said, "I wish that was me." He let me hold onto the crook of his arm like a gentlemen as we climbed the stairs of the ornate mid-1920's extravagantly restored concert hall to a private box just for the two of us where there were more champagne and finger foods. During the show, we'd scan the audience nearby before I'd rub my hand over his cock or he'd slip his hand on my thigh under the hem of my dress, each time sliding closer to the apex of my legs. Madeleine Peyroux was exquisite, and sang most of the songs off her new album, most of which Michael had loaded in his iPod and played earlier that morning during our two rounds of reunion sex in the suite. I laughed to myself that I hadn't picked up a hint of what was to come later in the evening.

Thank goodness we had a sedan that drove us back to the hotel. Tipsy, we made out like teenagers with Michael trying to score like a hot and horny captain of the varsity football team with the homecoming queen. I tried to push off his advances since there was no divider between us in the back seat and the driver up front, but Michael finally silenced me with an open-mouthed kiss and prodded his finger inside of me until I left a tell-tale puddle on the seat. Wanting to finish off what we started, I slipped off my dress as soon as we walked back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed with a "come get me" look as he undressed in front of me. As he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, he said, "As much as I would love to have my hands all over you now, we have to get some sleep. We have a plane to catch in the morning."