Kiss

"Come here." You aren't gentle. I didn't expect you to be. Your hands flex on my waist, drag me against your body. Your mouth on mine. Finally...Finally....oh God finally I know what it's like to taste you, to feel the heat. Your tongue is possessive, slides deep. My mouth opens welcoming the invasion. Your hands under my coat molding the curves of my body. I shiver with pleasure at the caress. Your teeth scrape over my bottom lip. I moan. You shudder. Our lips part. Both of us are panting. Your hazel eyes are flashing almost green in the yellow light. Did you growl the word "Mine?" Did I only hear...feel...taste it in the way you kissed me, the way you held me?

It doesn't matter. My lips are swollen from our kisses, my senses full of you, but there's more. For both of us there's more. I slide my fingers under your coat, stroke fingertips lightly up your chest until my hands slip behind your neck, tangle in the dark silk of your hair. I'm aching to touch. One hand stays there, stroking at the nape of your neck. The other moves to cup your cheek, tenderness to match the fierceness vibrating through you. For every action there is an equal, an opposite. I whisper your name. My lips brush yours. Softness equal to your greed, your possession. My tongue caresses. Tiny licks along your bottom lip. You don't realize the exact moment when you open for me but you do. I swallow your moan as I slide my warm, wet tongue deep into the caverns of your mouth, tasting. It isn't fast or hard but the need is great, the desire raw. Pulsing. I recognize the tremor that runs through you. I felt it only moments before.

"Come home with me Jack." Your line. Your question. Your move. I took the step first. I've annoyed you again. I can feel it in the way the muscles in the back of your neck tense under my fingers. I don't mind annoying you. Annoyed or not you want me like I want you. That's all that matters.


Cab Ride

I hang back as you step the curb, signal for a cab. I'm aware of even your most simple movements. The bunch and flow of muscles. My fingertips are tingling as if I'm already touching you. Images flashing through my mind. Erotic in the extreme. Everything is tinted a shadowy gold, like watching an old movie through a glass of dark, amber colored liquor. Tangled limbs, straining bodies, desperate moans. Your hand on my arm, guiding me toward the waiting car. A spark of electricity runs along my spine, nerve endings firing. I shudder.

"You're cold. Forgive me. Take my coat."

My shudder has nothing to do with the chill in the air. I suspect you know that. I don't voice a protest. Your coat draped over my stocking clad legs like a blanket as you slide into the taxi behind me. My address, and the driver pulls away from the curb with barely a glance at his passengers.

Your arm slides around my shoulders. I can smell you, the distinctly masculine aroma of soap and salt. My mouth waters. I wonder at how you will taste when I run my tongue along the column of your throat. I'm tempted to simply tilt my head back and find out, but your breath, warm against my ear stops me. You flex your fingers on my thigh an inch above my knee. I'm trembling. The muscles between my legs clench hard and release, my bottom lip c aught between my teeth to quell the moan rising in my throat.

"Still cold girl?" Your words are silky in my ear. So soft. So warm. So close. I'm no where near cold but I nod my head, whisper softly.

"Yes, a little."

Your lips curve against my ear. Your body shifts allowing me to settle fully against your side. There is so much to feel. Your lips, a soft kiss,a whisper against my ear. Fingers slipping higher on my thigh, under my skirt, stocking giving way to flesh. Their progression is slow I notice the sensation more than the movement. You've pushed my legs apart. I glance nervously at the driver. One look at him tells me our world is still ours alone. The slight quivering of muscles sliding into a shudder.

"Don't worry baby. I'll keep you warm." Fingers — *oh God* — Your long hard fingers stroking slowly, firmly up and down the swatch of silk between my legs. An in drawn breath, my hips arch, the movement both denial and plea for more. "Don't scream Chelle. He'll hear you. He'll know." A challenge. I never could resist one. A scream would embarrass us both, I know that. The last thing I want is for you to stop touching me. At this moment I'd rather die than be left without your touch.

I turn my head, look into your eyes, press my mound up into the heat of your hand. Your eyes as stormy, as dark as mine must be. I like that you can feel my arousal wetting the thin silk. Maybe you expected me to stop you to struggle, to blush at least? Maybe it annoys you— yet again— that I accept —no— welcome the invasion of your fingers when you abruptly push the silk aside and sink them into me.

My muscles spasm around your fingers, my body quivering, but I make no sound. The sublime pleasure of being a woman. Concentration, discipline allows us the opportunity to be aroused completely, to orgasm even, without the knowledge of a single soul. Except of course for the exquisite man whose fingers are moving inside me caressing slick walls, searching hidden pleasure spots. You will know, will feel it when I cum for you in the shadowy back seat of the cab, before we ever reach my apartment. Our eyes lock. Elemental communication, beyond the clutter of words, of sound. My muscles flexing tightening, coiling around you, telling you all you need to know. My breathing is a little uneven. You can see it in the rise and fall of my breasts though you can't hear it. I'm close. So torturously close and you know it. Watching me intently searching my face, raking my body with hot eyes. You're fucking me already, fully clothed in view of strangers. You love it. I love it. I long to tell you how good it is. You only smile, push harder with your fingers.

The orgasm is sweet and slow, running deep, erupting out of me in a silent wave of pleasure. I allow my head to fall back to your shoulder, my lips parted in a slow soundless scream, the impact of which must be felt for miles. Although my hips aren't bucking as I'd like to allow them, my muscles are spasming, shaking, clutching so that you can feel my release. Feel how much I need you. So you can see how much more there is to give.

A discreet cough from the taxi driver. I jerk my head up, wondering if we're caught. I look around, realize he is only trying to signal us that we have reached the address I specified. My appartment..

I slide out of the cab before you do, my legs only a little wobbly from the recent orgasm. I look over my shoulder as you hand the drive some bills. "Come into my parlor darling."

Inside

Light and shadow. Everywhere and always a contrast. Right now it is the soft glow of streetlight playing across your face, across mine, as we stand on the sidewalk, less than a breath apart. Your fingertips tracing over my bottom lip. The taste of my arousal on your skin makes me hungry for more— for you. Our eyes lock. Hunger. Yes, no contrast there— yours— mine— those fires flare with equal intensity.

"Come inside."
"Inside." You echo the word— a promise.

The two flights of stairs to the third story are endlessly longer than ever before. The key seems to slide into the lock for centuries. Life in slow motion. In the movies everything slows in those moments before triumph or defeat. I realize I'm holding my breath. I mourn for those who have never experiences a moment or two of wonder.

My apartment. Comfortable, familiar. It's different with you in the equation. It's different with you. Your hand is at the back of my neck, sliding into my hair, fisting there slowly, fingers tightening around silky strands. I draw a breath, prepared to ask for your kiss, but your lips are on mine, and we're tasting again. Feasting. My soft moan, yours lower, deeper, tangle together and echo through the room, the sound finding its way into corners. Lingering there, making itself at home.

Your mouth. I'm lost in it again. That soft wet meeting of tongues as I explore the depth of it, swallow your groan. Yes it was yours this time but there's enough for both of us. More than enough. The kiss turns quietly into another struggle for control. My teeth, your tongue. Both of us probing, taking, waging the most devastating war. In this particular case I revel in the taste of battle.

We pull back, panting, desperate, both gathering our forces. I already know there will be other times for gentleness. Not now. Your eyes are dark, glowing with flashes of gold— violence— the kind that releases itself only in knife-edged passion. I tremble. From want, not fear.

"A drink Jack? I have wine?"
"I thought you didn't drink."
"I don't." Low-toned, amused laughter. I'm learned already to love that sound.
"Wine. Alright, white?"
"Yes, I'll get it. Have a seat."

Your dinner jacket discarded, draped over the back of a chair. I step out of my high heels as I return with the open bottle, two glasses. "I make an exception for a toast or two now and then. On special occasions."

Your gaze shifted, moments ago to the red painted toenails now visible through the smoky black sheer of my stockings. It lingers there while I pour the wine. "A toast then, little girl. To surrender." I pull my glass back before crystal glasses chime together.

"Mine or yours?"
"Yours of course darling. It will be exquisite."
"Hmm..." Biting my bottom lip, considering. "I can definitely drink to the exquisite. We'll just wait and see about the rest."

Crystal tapping lightly to crystal. The smooth, cool taste of wine.

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Have you ever been felt up...Over the panties...no bra...calvins in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?-- John Hughes