**Authors Note: Thanks to the many who've voted on my other stories, and to those who've offered feedback.
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She had lips I could kiss for about a year solid. I stared at her mouth on the screen, watched her shout, scream, and scowl at the enemies around her. Her name was Sarise, and the game was Kiss of the Red Blade. It was a game developed by a British studio and based on Japanese history. Sort of. Sarise had an English accent, lilting but not Irish, succulent but not Welsh. Her voice was lavender velvet except when she yelled, when it cracked, turned rough, hoarse, almost like a boy in puberty.
Her shouts, though made in anger during a fight, had for me become erotic. I imagined her making those shouts while writhing beneath my lips. I dreamed of our bodies locked together, her skin sweating against mine, with my mouth locked to her nipple. That nipple would be small, dark, a succulent cinnamon brown against her honey-glaze tan. I could see it in my mind, feel her beneath my tongue, the tiny nipple of a teenage girl on the modest breasts of an athletic warrior woman I could not stop fantasizing about.
It didn't help that I played the game at least an hour a day, and had for several weeks now. I had watched the game's screenshots evolve online during development, when Sarise went from a busty, blonde, Viking-chick to the exotic, red-haired, tanned vixen she was now. I watched her powerful, two-handed sword combat grow into the sleek, elegant kenjutsu I saw when I played her. I had drooled over the pictures before her arrival, and now that she was in my life, I was obsessed.
Sarise. Let me find you, make love to you, worship you. Let me taste you, inside and out, let me, humble, entry-level data processor me, tease you into wanton ecstasy.
I dreamed of her at night. I daydreamed at work. I lusted after her on the bus-ride to and from the offices. I sang love-songs to her in the shower. I whispered to her on my pillow as I rocked myself into silent orgasms each night. God, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I guess it's good for her she was fictional. No, good for me. Getting arrested as a stalker would definitely blow my next raise, and might even get me fired.
I first saw the real Sarise when I left my offices one evening. I had worked later than usual to meet the next morning's deadline. I was brain-dead, exhausted from sitting in that useless chair all day. My ass hurt. My back hurt. My head throbbed from the dual white glare of monitor screen and the obscene fluorescent blaze from the office lights filling every other panel in the ceiling. I slumped in my walk on my way to the elevators, and leaned against the opposite wall while the car made its way up fifty floors to me.
The gentle swish of long skirts alerted me that someone had approached. I glanced over towards the woman, then looked quickly back at the floor. Her hair was honey-blonde, not the rich mahogany of Sarise. Instead of a luscious, honey tan, her skin was pale, like mine. Yet, her face was Sarise. Her full lips gleamed as she sipped at a straw in a bottle of water. Her eyes were the same dazzling blue. She had that identical, long, narrow, Greek nose. Her hair, nearly long enough to reach her ass, hung in a multitude of tiny braids. Each braid was tipped with a wooden bead, some light, some dark, and the beads clicked together when she walked.
"Hi," she murmured as she took up a position a few feet away, her back to the wall and her other arm loaded with several thick binders. Her skirt was thin cotton, knitted along the bottom for texture, and slightly pleated beneath the waist. It rolled like an accordion around her legs, in deep, chocolate, tie-died hues. Her top was also crinkle-textured cotton, with a low, square, crochet neckline. The rich cream color contrasted with the brown skirt. Her pale chest showed almost no cleavage; her breasts were small. Modest. Like Sarise.
I looked into her eyes. It was Sarise. I couldn't look away. Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly she signed something to me. What depth of sensitivity had led her to the conclusion that I was deaf? What level of staring had I exhibited to force her down that path? I'm an idiot. I admit it. But I couldn't look anywhere but her wondrous visage.
"I'm not deaf," I stammered.
Her eyes narrowed again. My staring had to be annoying. I looked away. God, she was so beautiful. Those lips. I could kiss her a thousand times, then do it all again.
"I'm Alexia," she told me. Her voice was like Sarise's too. Pure velvet, dark, throaty, with a bit of an accent. I couldn't place it. Not English. Not European. It tickled my ears, made my spine itch most pleasantly.
What would that luscious mouth feel like on the back of my neck, just beneath my hair?
"Camille," I said back. I should have said something funny. I'm good at playful self-mockery. I stared at her face again.
With a shocking abruptness, I realized she was returning my gaze, unabashed, unashamed, and decidedly not offended. I looked away quickly and thought I had gotten what I deserved.
The elevator was only half of its long, extra-orbital transit to our floor.
"What do you do here, Camille?"
She was baiting me. Tomorrow I would find a sexual harassment charge on my desk.
Trying to speak while staring into her eyes brought a stupid stammer to my words. "Data processing for Spinkle." I gulped. Why had it taken me three tries to say it?
"Really?" Her grin was infectious, but I was getting nervous. But even unhindered trepidation could not keep my eyes from her face when she spoke. "I work up in accounting. How's the office life on your floor?"
A deep breath reconnected my brain to my lips and vocal-cords. Why did I have to think about what her lips would feel like against mine? "Oh, you know - fifty men, one woman, and I'm an outsider. I'm not related to anyone, I don't go to church or bowl with anyone. Quiet little me. Oh, they're nice enough, I suppose."
Alexia grinned. "If you watch them the way you're watching me, they might simply be afraid."
Afraid? I was so busted. The only question was which particular flavor of busted. The best I could hope for was a simple accusation of rudeness. "Afraid?" I asked aloud.
Alexia slid closer on the wall. "Yes. You look starved, Camille." I loved hearing my name on her lips. Her soft voice rolled along the wall between us, caressed my ears, hinted at the brush of her lips across my cheek. "I'd imagine they take you for a cannibal."
I must have turned pale. I looked at the floor. Such an idiot.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
She laughed softly. "No, I like it. You're forward with your feelings, when you dare to talk. I can see your shy nature like a pop-up banner from AOL."
She was so close. Sarise in mortal form. I could touch her, if I just stretched out my arm.
"Your boyfriend must be a lucky man," Alexia continued. Now, looking back, I see her gentle voice in a probing question. At the time, I fell for it.
"Oh, no boys for me." Not as if they hadn't asked, but I never accept their proposals for dates. I had tried, early on, and had no stomach for men. Actually, I really don't hang out with anyone. It's mostly just me and Sarise. It was lonely before Sarise.
The elevator pinged.
"Looks like our ride is here," Alexia murmured, and strolled across the hall as the doors opened. The carriage was empty, and she held her hand over the door for me.
"Are you coming, Camille?"
I swallowed. She was confident. Assured. And beautiful. I felt ugly. Clumsy. Stupid.
Once I was inside the elevator, she pushed the button for the first floor. I settled against the back of the elevator for the long ride to the ground. To my surprise, Alexia set her binders on the floor and walked up in front of me. Her hands went around my waist. I stared at her in shock and clutched my purse close to my chest.
"Wha - what are you doing?"
Her answer was a smile, and she leaned close. I turned my face away from her. Why? I don't know. She kissed my neck instead, those perfect lips feasting on my skin, directly beneath my ear. I took a deep breath. Something inside me screamed to push her away, but I didn't. I couldn't. A louder voice screamed for me to rip off her clothes. Her mouth sucked at my neck, trailed moist, open kisses down to my collarbone. My nipples stung, they had tightened so much. Somewhere in my belly, a stoked fire roared to life, burst into my cervix and flooded my vagina with liquid heat.
Alexia took my purse, set it on the floor beside us. Her lips locked to my chin. I tilted my head back, panting with the sudden lack of oxygen in my body. My breasts ached to be held. They tingled. I so wanted her to cup me, to lick them until I screamed.
As if reading my mind, she traced a finger along one mound, and I savored her touch across the swell of my bra. Her lips munched up from my chin, made a gentle offering to my mouth. I let her lips touch mine without my moving. She kissed me once, twice, then sucked my bottom lip between hers. Her finger slid over to the buttons on my blouse, slipped between the buttons, into the opening, where my skin was now clammy with sweat from my urgent need. Up and down she stroked with one short, petite nail, grazing the bony center of my chest before bringing both her hands up to unbutton my shirt.
I reached up to her hands with the initial plan to stop her. Security cameras watched the elevators. Our jobs would be in jeopardy. Yet, when I felt her skin beneath my finger tips, I only held her, the pads of my fingers resting over her knuckles as she opened my shirt. Sarise was invading me, taking what was hers. When I did not resist, she pulled my shirt open, out of my business skirt, and wrapped her arms around me as she sucked my tongue into her mouth.
Fire spread across my loins as her fingers released the clasp on the back of my bra. Her kiss was the start of the fire. Her fingertips sliding around my ribs was gasoline on the spark. The explosion was my groin thrusting as if of it's own accord against her pelvis. She pushed back at me, her tongue slid far into my mouth until she was licking the roof, trailing the tip of her tongue along my upper ridges until she licked my teeth, then ended the kiss. Did she taste my mind after such a wanton intrusion? Did my soul leave a palpable flavor? Would could she taste but fevered hunger?
She looked into my eyes. Her blue orbs held a mixed note, somewhere between unquenchable lust, apology for nearly forcing me into this, and a desperate request that I let her have her way. My head dropped back, thumped against the wall of the elevator, as her fingers slid beneath the front of my bra, cupping both my breasts. I groaned, and felt my seepage leave my insides and kiss the lining of my panties.
Alexia squeezed me, lowered her gaze to my tits, where each hand, with the thumb and index finger forming rings, encircled my nipples without touching them. I put my hands on her hips as she lowered her luxuriant mouth to one nipple. My knees sagged as her lips and then her searing, wet tongue glided onto my throbbing, aching point. She sucked me into her, tasted of my flesh with the broadness of her tongue, then thinned it into a narrow dart to push into and upwards across my nipple, and the sensation brought a tightening of my vagina, a clench I felt all the way up to my cervix, and a fire across my clitoris I could not endure. My head twisted to one side, and I moaned deep in my chest, where the vapor of my breath mixed with the smoke from the fires in my belly.
