Everything

I feed you my dessert. Rest my hand on your knee under the table, just like when we were 15 and you insisted on hiding our non-relationship from all our friends. I let you lead on the dance floor and pick the songs we should sit down for. I always needed you to lead me.

But the night seems so short. And now they're making us leave. You're disappointed. Until you remember the reservation. I work at a hotel and secured a room at a place nearby, off the highway. It's not far from here. Booked, paid for, done. We just need to arrive. Show up. Alone.

We arrive in a mild frenzy. Well, you do. You inadvertently keep me calm, because you are so high energy. Chaos has a reverse effect on me. When those around me are hectic, it often keeps me level headed. So, when you get excited, as you normally do in these situations, it keeps me cool. I check in without you to keep things easy and low-key. I don't need you bouncing around while I sign the registration card, and neither does the guy working the front desk.

You follow me to our door. Now I'm leading. Not surprisingly, you've never checked into a hotel room before. At least, not on your own. I guess neither have I. But I'm comfortable in this situation because I work in the environment. I'm acting like I'm in charge. Fake it 'til you make it, I guess.

That's the theme of the evening.

I open the door with the keycard and step inside first. You watch the back of my body as I enter the dark hotel room, a room we get to share for the night.

I want to share this bed with you. No interruptions. For as long as we want, as long as we can. That's what tonight is for.

You're good at making decisions. You are not afraid. At least, you are not afraid of me. So you close the door behind us. I turn at the sound of the door clicking shut to find you closer than I expected. You move quickly.

I'm not afraid of you, either.

Even you didn't expect this. But, your natural inclination- now that we're alone- is to immediately put your hands on me. You slip your arms around my body, one hand on my back, the other sliding down the curves of the rear of my body. You've always liked my backside. You feel my hands on your face, then your neck, then one of my arms reaches inside your jacket.

You haven't kissed me in months. You didn't even kiss me earlier. Not when you picked me up. Not in the car. Not on the dance floor. Not even when we were alone in a dark corner or up in the mezzanine.

I know. There were too many people around. It was too public. This, now, is just for us.

I feel your mouth on mine, and I'm home.

The thick beading on my dress is suddenly a massive problem. You touch me but can't feel my body. Very unfair.

I make a move to remove your jacket, and you shrug it off, tossing it away. You break our kiss to look down at my dress and say, "Does this come off that easily?"

"Do you want it to?" I ask you. I am never one to give you an easy answer, am I?

My strapless, beaded dress has a simple zipper and eye hook in the back. It will only take a few seconds to undo, and then the weight of the dress will allow it to, more or less, fall off my body. I am not wearing a bra. The dress is so well structured, I didn't need to wear anything else.

I reach behind me to undo the hook, so you aren't confused by it. I turn around so you can see the zipper. "Go ahead," I tell you. I want to let you do it. I want to let you undress me. Please.

I feel your delicate, beautiful fingers run along the skin on my back as you briefly fiddle with the tiny zipper at the top of the dress. You hold the fabric taut as you slide it down, and you seem very aware it is uncasing me. It's such a thick, heavy dress. You want to see it on the floor.

Just as you realize the zipper has reached the end of its track, several things happen all at once. You see the top of my underwear. Simple white fabric, running across my skin. It looks so small. This makes your eyes trail up my bare back, instinctively looking for my bra. But there isn't one. Bra-less? Bra-less. Nothing covering my breasts? You didn't expect that.

You always assume panties come with a bra. Don't they?

Maybe not.

Then, before you can process these two things- the visual of my underwear and the realization I am not wearing a bra- the dress suddenly begins to slide down my hips. The weight of it takes it down. In a soft

whoosh

, the fabric and beading falls into a pile around my feet. Before you or I are really prepared, I am left mostly bare in front of you, still facing away.

I glance at you over my shoulder, giving you a once-over. "That's just unfair," I tell you. I want you to catch up.

I'm sure you won't argue much. I wouldn't want you to. Not anymore.

From behind me, before you can stop yourself, I feel your hands on my hips. You'd rather pull my nearly naked body into yours before taking your own clothes off. You slide a few fingers under the strings of my underwear before beginning to migrate to my breasts.

I can't take your clothes anymore. I have to turn around. As I do, our mouths instinctively find each other. But kissing you is not my main priority, believe it or not. My fingers fumble with your shirt buttons. What are these? Tux buttons? Are those different than regular shirt buttons? And they say girls' clothes are complicated.

I can hear you teasing me. "Do you want help?"

"Don't get arrogant," I volley back at you. I feel you smile at me, because you know arrogance is foundational to who you are. It's what you're made of, and it's why I love you.

You can be arrogant because I want it. I want you. More than you. I want everything.

Your tongue is back inside my mouth. My hands are inside your shirt, finally open for our skin to make contact. You lift my feet off the ground so I can kick my dress aside. Your belt rattles in my hands as I undo it and toss it away with my dress and shoes. The moment your pants button and zipper are undone by my hand, I feel something change between us. Now, we're here. We've never been here before.

I've never held you like this.

Well, yes, I have touched you before, and you've touched me. Yes, I have caused you to climax. My hand has been down your pants. We have even been totally naked with each other. More than once.

But in those moments, did you ever feel totally alone with me? Did it feel private? With our friends always around, or sneaking in and out of our houses, were we ever just together? Truly?

This is it.

I feel you exhale into my done-up hair before breathing in again. I run my left hand along the back of your neck and reignite our kiss. My right hand begins to explore further inside of your remaining clothes, and your body both tenses and relaxes in a way only you can.

"Let me taste you," you tell me. It almost sounds like a demand. You seem hungry, curious, and I wouldn't dare tell you no. Your tone is a purr, a plea, but at the same time an order.

"Please," I start to beg. I would consider crawling across broken glass to have you touch me.

While pulling off your shirt, you playfully back me up against the edge of the bed, which we've barely noticed until now. It's finally time to acknowledge it and what is likely to happen in it tonight.

The back of my knees hit the mattress, and I'm forced down. Your shirt is off, and you drop to your knees. I fall back on my elbows when you reach up to my underwear and begin to slide it down. We've been here before, too. But, again, never so privately. So seriously. So passionately.

It suddenly dawns on me that we flipped on a couple of lights when we came in the room, nothing else, and it's otherwise starkly lit and very quiet. I think about asking if you'd like to turn them off, but I know you'll say no. You'll want to see me. I also don't want to distract you or let any of my insecurities get in the way. You hate that. So, I stay quiet.

I just need you.

I hear your voice, but I can't make out any distinct words. You may utter, "Damn," to yourself. Then I feel your breath, shortly followed by your hands, on my thighs. Your fingers are trailing the outside of my legs, down from my thick hips, towards the back of my knees. Your mouth is hovering between my legs, getting closer to where you want to be.

"Do I make you this wet?" you ask, simply observing what you have to work with.

"Always," I tell you, confirming what you've already known, felt, and had proof of for years, nearly as long as we've known each other. I'm the one who taught you this. I'm the one you first got to touch. I'm the one you get to experience this with.

I love your hands. I feel one of them travel from my thigh to the wetness you are staring at, and your fingers begin to penetrate me. This is familiar territory for you. But you surprise both of us by touching me with your fingers first. I thought I would be feeling your tongue first. And then I do.

With your fingers still inside me, your tongue begins rotating on my clit. I realize two things overcame you at the same time; you had to reach out and feel what you saw, but also do what you came to do: pleasure me with your mouth.

I hope you understand I can't possibly want anything else from you in this moment. You have stolen all words and sounds from my body. I may have forgotten your name, and likely my own too.

My hands try to reach your hair. I brush your face with my fingertips, hopefully giving you any type of reassurance that, despite my stolen tongue, I am amazed. You glance up, pausing. Despite my best efforts, I've made you question.

"Okay?"

"Oh yes," I can't help but almost cry. The look of almost pure relief on your face nearly makes me laugh.

This. This is how I know how right it is.

You go back to what you were doing, more excited than before. I can feel your urgency. Your right hand, still stroking my thigh, periodically grips my skin in waves of hunger.

You've told me you've wanted to see me come before. I've alluded it may be a far-off dream, at least for now. I've been making myself come for years, and I'm comfortable with a certain set of factors. Adding other people, hands, or surprises to the mix? That stresses a girl out.

But to be honest, if you keep doing that, who knows what might happen?

It feels like waves of heat are hitting me, and hitting my pussy. You make me hot everywhere. But what you're doing now? What are you doing to me? How did you get me here?

Finally, words come back into my brain. They're not good or sensible words, but they are English. A string of vulgar affirmations, along with your name, and the word "yes," suddenly get pulled out of my mouth as you keep working your fingers in my pussy and moving your tongue playfully on my clit. There is an excess of wetness, and I can barely feel your fingers anymore.

It's not a bad thing.

I don't want to tell you to stop. How dare I tell you to stop. But I need more, and I need you. I need your mouth on my mouth again, and your body on my body.

My hand finds your jaw, and I sweep your face up to look at me.

"I need you. Now. Please." I'm back to begging you.

"Are you sure?" you ask. You don't want to rush. You want to explore every little thing, thinking we might not be able to go backwards.

I nod at you, and reach for more of your hair. I want your arms around me again. I don't need to tell you again. You are sliding onto the bed with me, your mostly-removed pants coming the rest of the way off.

Then, you think better of yourself. You get off the bed, tossing your pants in our pile of discarded clothing. As you click off the most offensive light closest to the bed, you kiss me gently. "Get comfortable," you tell me, and walk away. I am slightly miffed.

Get comfortable?

The lights in the room change experimentally, and land on something more appropriate. A rustle of a bag. You are rummaging through the overnight stuff you brought. I don't disapprove, but if you're going to do that...

I slide off of the bed. "I'll be back, okay?"

"No—wait," you tell me, hurried.

"I'm just washing off my clown makeup," I tell you. I can already feel my mascara running. We did just have a formal night out, and I got into full hair and makeup. You did no such thing.

"Oh. Okay, I guess." You are appeased. I shut myself in the bathroom and leave you alone in the hotel room.

❧ ❧ ❧

As I'm patting down my face with a hand towel, I begin to hear something from outside. Is that music? Did you bring music?

Of course you did.

I try not to stare at my bare face for too long. I'll start picking it apart, figuratively and literally. You've seen it before, of course, but not here. Not in this setting. I know you'll take me as I am. I just hope it's all you expect.

I try to finger-comb out some of the obnoxious shapes in my hair before I crack the door open. Since I didn't bring in anything to cover myself with, I come out of the bathroom still wearing nothing. I find you just getting into the bed, the way you had instructed me to.

Now I can hear what's playing. It's coming from the clock radio, now relocated across the room instead of directly on the nightstand, probably to improve the acoustics. I gesture to where the sound is coming from just as your eyes scan me. My hair is softer than it was before, my makeup is gone, and my body is completely bare. Because you took all my clothes off.

"You look..." you begin, but do not finish.

"Did you bring that?" I ask, about the music.

For a moment, you don't know what I mean, then you regain all components of your brain. "Umm, yes. It had a cable input."

I smile at you, and I'm not sure why. It makes me want to be back in your arms.

I walk to your side, at the bed. I'm unsure if you're completely undressed yet, but I'm waiting to find out. Your hands come back to me, and we're right back where we were. Your fingers grip into my hips, pulling me down to sit on your comforter-covered lap. To both steady myself and because I cannot live without you for one more second, my hands wrap around your face and bring your mouth to mine.

You're twisting my body onto the bed and ripping at the blankets in order to get me under them with you. My legs kick up and I slide off your lap, landing safely on the mattress on the other side of you. As I'm making space for myself inside the sheets, my hands confirm you are not completely nude, as I have been for some time.

My fingers play at your waistband. My lips skim across yours in a casual way, which I feel like we've never explored before. It's like we finally know we have all night. Not rushed. No one is coming for us.

I look up to meet your eyes.

"Un. Fair." I lightly snap the elastic on your remaining clothing.

You can't help but laugh at me. Or at the situation. Or everything. Or are you just pleased with how things are going?

I love your smile. I love your hands. I feel them all over me. Where your hands aren't, the rest of you is pressing into me. Hunger, again. I've always been able to feel when you're hungry.

"You can have them," you tell me. You're talking about your underwear. Before I can be helpful at all, the garment seems to be gone. You've kicked it off, lost in the bed forever. Well, then.

This. This is familiar. You are back in my hand. Something in your breath changes. Slows. Focuses. Disconnected, but zeroed in. Your mouth comes for mine, slowly. I know what you want.

If it's possible for you to be firmer in my hand, you get there now. You've been in my grasp before, many times. But never so freely, and never reaching out towards my bare legs, my uncovered torso, my unforbidden pussy. Everything is yours right now.

I don't want to lose you completely. I still want to talk to you. I break our kiss.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want, babe."

Had I waited any longer to ask, I may not have received an answer. It takes you just a moment to refocus. "I want... you. Like this." You begin to lean into me from above. I want to feel your weight.

"Fuck yes," I whine into your ear.

I notice a slight smirk on your face before you pull away slightly and reach towards the nightstand. Ah, we seem to have reached the "boring paperwork" stage of the evening.

Although, there are some benefits to this. Namely, the scary diseases we were taught about in health class, and any insecurities you may have about "lasting." Although, I really don't care about that. I'd much rather revisit this three times for 10 minutes each than once for two hours.

As you roll back over to me, though, I rethink this. I may not mind fucking

you

for two hours.

You re-approach me with a new authority. My back is against the mattress, my head grounded into the pillows, your legs beginning to tangle with mine. Your hands drift down between my legs again, still finding heat and wetness. Whether it is new or leftover from the previous hour's activities, you can't be sure. What I can assure you, though, is it's all from you. It's all

for

you.

"Right now?" I ask you, just to be sure you're ready.

"Yes," you answer, more seriously than I anticipated. "More than anything."

I cannot anticipate the amount of quaking happening in my body or the rush of heat racing through my veins as you say those words. My hand reaches out and makes contact with your sheathed cock. It is beautiful and perfect as it is and having it covered would typically be an atrocity. Although, protection appears to fit you well, and lubrication slides my hand around it without complication. I can only hope you don't notice much of an interruption, either.

With a confident hold on you, and your body above my hips, I guide you towards my wanting pussy. I've needed you for so long. Too long.

Like your fingers, the immediate sensation of your cock along my outer lips is almost whisper light due to how wet you've made me. But quickly, your fullness takes over. My hand is unnecessary. You don't need me anymore.

Well. Except for--

"Jesus Christ," escapes from your mouth as I lightly lift my hips to collide with you. And here we are.

My mouth feels frozen in a silent cry of pleasure as I lock you into a kiss. You were built to fuck me. I can feel it already.

You feel hesitant to withdraw, so you lower down with me to the mattress. We are locked against each other, you filling me for the first time. Your body weight, which I was eager to feel, finally relaxes down on top of me as your elbows find homes next to my head. You balance above me, and I feel your mouth on my neck. You had almost forgotten the rest of my body was naked.

You rise up again, slightly, and look at me again. What is that? You seem unsure.

"How do you feel?" I ask. I have to know.

"Like I could come," you admit. I can't help but smile. Good. Doesn't that mean things are going well?

My mouth needs yours again. I resume our kiss, likely doing nothing to help your cause. My hips grind against yours, further complicating your situation. "I just want to make you happy," I pull my mouth away from yours long enough to say.

I both feel and hear something guttural come from your chest. Approval. Excitement. The hunger, again.

This lets you relax enough to pull back, mentally, and I feel you move inside me. Your hands touch my shoulders and my head confidently. I belong to you right now, because I told you so. You know you can do this. So, do it.

For the first time, you slide out of me, and then back in again. I feel like I might die.

"Fucking hell," I can't help but utter, my voice muffled by my own hair. My legs, gripped around your body, loosen slightly, only because I have to let go. Of myself, of you, of any control I thought I still had.

Again. I feel you move again. Your mouth connects with my neck, then my ear. Your breath and little beats of your voice hammer into my consciousness each time I feel you slide through my heat. Your teeth graze my earlobe, sending a shiver down my neck, seeming to end at my tailbone.