Adam 4

We weren't supposed to meet. That was what we agreed to when we started chatting. No exchange of any real identifying information. Just email tag throughout the day. I couldn't admit out loud how much I wanted you to show up. Just drinks at some dive bar out of the way where no one would recognize you. That's what we'd agreed to when we decided that maybe we needed more than email ... at least once. We were adults. Temptation or not, we set our boundaries and we would stick to them. Just one meeting. That's all. Nothing else.

And yet, after an awkward start, you walked me to my car, stood a little too close as I put the key in the lock and pulled the door open. I didn't want to say goodnight. I lost myself in every fantasy we'd ever shared about the back seat of a car. More than anything, I wanted you to pull open the back door, slide inside, and wait for me to join you.

But you didn't. You just leaned in, your chest pressed to my back, and let your hands move to my hips. I wanted you then. Knew that if you asked me to touch you, if you asked me to climb into the back seat with you, if you asked to go back to my hotel room, I would say yes. For a moment, I thought you might lean in, pull my hair back away from my neck, and kiss me there in that spot you know drives me crazy because I told you a hundred times in our emails.

"It would be easy to be bad." Your voice was a low rumble just past my ear. I could feel you pressed hard at the small of my back, and I let myself sink against you, if for no other reason than to commit that feeling to memory—to keep it for the next time I played alone, thinking about you.

"We don't have to be bad. Just meet for a drink. That's what we said." As much as I wanted to savor the feel of you pressed against me, I took a step away and turned to face you. We both wanted it. There was no doubt in my mind. The one drink we'd allowed ourselves to have had lasted too long, and every time our eyes had met, I could see every email exchange playing behind them. Every dirty thought. Every confession. Every picture. Even then, in the cold night air, I felt my face flush.

"You want to. So do I," you'd said, and you reached out to push my hair out of my face, "We shouldn't." Then you reached for my hips again and pulled me against you. I don't think I'd ever wanted anyone as much as I wanted you then, and you knew it. Could see it in my eyes, the way I barely breathed as my hips pressed into yours, the way I bit my bottom lip to keep from kissing you, the way my hands trembled as I pressed them to your chest and folded into your embrace.

"Then I should go now," I said, and immediately regretted the words. I wanted to stay. Even if that was all we did. Just stood there, under the clouds and the streak of moonlight that peaked down from overhead. We wouldn't have to say a word. I could let my thoughts wander, get lost in another fantasy, the email I'd probably share with you that night after crawling into bed alone.

I don't know why I did what I did next—why I let one hand slip down between us until my palm was pressed against you. When you groaned, I was tempted to wrap my hand around you as much as I could, stroke just a little, but I pulled away and shoved my hands into my pockets.

I felt the key card for the first time all night, and turned it over in my hand as my thoughts raced.

"You don't have to come, and if you don't, it doesn't have to change things, but I understand if it does," I'd said, and reached out to put the key card in your hand.

**********

I looked at the clock on the bedside table, feeling vulnerable in the skirt and stockings as I crossed my legs again. Twenty minutes had passed since I'd walked through the door and rifled through my suitcase for the one thing I shouldn't have packed. Now, I sat here waiting, wondering if you'd come through that door or if I'd wake up in the morning to find an email on my phone that said we had crossed a line, and it was better not to speak to each other again. Maybe this was a mistake. Impulsive. I gripped the sides of my chair and debated whether I should just crawl into bed and hope for sleep, or wait a few more minutes. This was stupid. Reckless. I knew better, and even still, my thoughts wandered to what I'd felt in the parking lot. The heat of you pressed into me, the deep rumble of your voice, your hands on my hips.

Those hands.

Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, my heart raced. I watched the yellow stream of light that slipped under the doorway, waiting for a shadow to fall there. When it did, I could hardly breathe. The room began to spin, and heat crept down my cheeks, along my neck and into my chest. For a long time, you just stood there, and I knew you were still undecided. You were there at the door, probably with the key card in hand, still trying to talk yourself into or out of whatever had brought you to my door.

When the quick beep of the lock sounded through the room, I sat up straight in my chair and waited. You pushed the door open, and our eyes met in the brief yellow haze of light that stretched across the room as the door closed behind you. Neither of us can speak, and even as shy as I am, as vulnerable as I feel in that moment, I can't tear my gaze away from yours. I don't know what I expect of you. You're standing in my hotel room, staring down at me, and I still expect you to turn around and walk out, not a word spoken.

Your gaze falls over me, taking in every detail. The button-up sweater that clings to my curves. The little black pleated skirt we'd talked about before. Black thigh-highs, shiny stilettos. The glasses perched on the end of my nose. Hair pulled back. I tugged at the hem of the skirt, feeling both foolish and sexy at once. I'd packed the skirt, everything, hoping for this exact moment, even if I couldn't admit it to myself.

As you look over me, I let my gaze fall, too, looking for any sign that you want me as much as I want you in this moment. We haven't touched since the parking lot, but I can see you're hard already, straining against your pants. Your jaw clenches, and I watch as you reach down to touch yourself.

"Tell me what you want," you say, and your coat slides to the floor. Still, you haven't crossed the room, haven't moved three feet from the door, until you see me start to squirm in my chair. I'm already wet, and you know it. You take a few steps along the length of the room, gaze never leaving me and my spot in the chair. There's no doubt in my mind you want to touch me, that you want me to trade you places, to see me walk around just out of your reach, watch the way the skirt moves with every step I take, to study my curves in motion, slowly start to peel away the sweater.

"I want you. I want you to take control, tell me what you want, command me to do it, touch me, tease me, any way you want to. I won't say no, I won't say stop." My face flushes as the words settled between us. Never had I been so bold, so open, about what I wanted—what I needed.

"If I tell you to get on your knees and open your mouth?" you challenge, jaw still clenched as you rub your hand over your pants.

I don't hesitate. Without a word, I slide down from the chair and drop to my knees. I look up at you and open my mouth like a good girl.

"Crawl to me on your hands and knees."

My face turns red, but I don't hesitate to follow your directions. I lean down, arch my back, and slowly start my way to you, never letting my gaze leave yours. When I stop in front of you, I can feel how much you want me. It's palpable in the room, your desire, that disbelief that this is actually happening, that after all this time, we're here like this, so close to finally having one another.

"On your knees, unzip me, and open your mouth again."

I do as I'm told, stretching upright, leaning back on my thighs as I reach out to unzip your pants. As I pull the zipper down, I meet your gaze once more and open my mouth. I still expect you to change your mind, to walk out at any moment, leaving me alone. You reach through your fly and expose yourself.

"And if all I want is to fuck your mouth until I cum?" A little grin tugs at your lips as you reach out and grab me by the hair, daring me to be offended, to hesitate just a second, to give you one reason to think this, we, are a bad idea.

I open my mouth wider. You love this game almost as much as I do. Your hand untangles from my hair, and you nod at me, urging me to take you in my mouth without saying a word. Using only the tip of my tongue, I reach out for you, wrapping my hand around your shaft as I lick along the head, slow and wet. You groan, and for the first time, your gaze shifts from me as you throw your head back. Every muscle in your body tenses with expectation, waiting for me to wrap my lips around you, to ease you into my mouth, take you as deep as I can. Instead, I swirl my tongue just around the tip, focusing on the ridge where the head meets the shaft. I press my tongue against the underside of the shaft and move slowly down until I've licked every exposed inch. I press my lips there and work my way back up, letting my teeth graze just a little along the way until I'm back to the tip.

When I look up at you, you're staring back down at me, mouth snarled a little, hands in fists as you fight the urge to take me by the hair and slide my mouth over you until I start to gag. Still looking at you from over my glasses, I stick my tongue out and tap the head against it before wrapping my lips around you. I suck against you, just enough to create a little pressure, as I slowly slide you deeper, tongue swirling along the underside of your shaft. You groan again, and this time, you can't help but reach for my hair, pulling me against you until I can't take you any deeper. I hold you at the back of my throat and ease back along your shaft until my mouth is at your tip again. Each time I start to take you deeper, you press into me, desperate for me to wet every last inch of you. I work a little faster, let my hands travel up the back of your thighs, and when I have your cock in my mouth as deep as you think I can take you, I pull you into me a little more, shaking my head from side to side until I start to gag on you. You pull me away, my mouth leaving you, but a string of saliva still connecting us as you look down at me.

Again, you plunge into my mouth, forcing me to take you as deep as I can, moaning every time I shake back and forth, grunting each time you pull my mouth from your cock. Over and over again until you're so close to cumming that your body aches. I can feel it, the way your muscles tense, the way that snarl turned into a grimace, the question in your eyes each time our gazes meet, wondering where you're going to finish. Maybe across my face, or holding me so tight against you that I couldn't pull away even if I wanted to as you release down my throat. Or you could tear the sweater, finally see what I'm wearing beneath it, and let yourself go across my chest.

You force yourself deep into my mouth one last time. I can feel you on the verge of exploding, and when you pull away this time, your free hand comes up to start stroking, furious and fast, desperate to cum. I open my mouth, stick out my tongue and wait, watching your expression as you get closer and closer—sweat on your brow, the flush of heat that colors your face, that grimace of excruciating pleasure.

And you cum, your hand tightening in my hair, jerking my head back just a little as your load shoots across my mouth, down my chin, over my cheek. So much. Warm. You squeeze a few more times, milking every last drop as the tension eases from your muscles, the grip on my hair loosens. Our eyes meet once again, and I can see you're both embarrassed and aroused—the same as me. You pull me in a little closer and press your cock into my mouth a few more times. I let my tongue swirl around you, once again, sucking with just a little pressure as you pull out of my mouth for the last time. Using the tip, you run it across my face, swiping the cum from my chin and cheek, into my mouth. You smile as I swallow and lick my lips.

"Should I get your coat for you?" I ask, and push to my feet. I can feel your eyes on me as I walk around you and very deliberately bend only at the waist to pick your coat up off the floor. I know you can see my panties—purple lace shorts—can feel you taking in every detail; the way the skirt leaves nothing to the imagination in that position, the thigh-highs I know drive you crazy, the stilettos. It's only been a minute, but I can already feel how ready you are for act two, how much you want it. I hear your footsteps, but you're moving away from me.

"I want you to walk over here and straddle my lap."

When I turn around, you're seated in the chair, still exposed, and already hard. I give you my most innocent look, as if I have absolutely no idea what you might expect of me. I drop your coat along the way, never letting my eyes leave you as I slowly cross the room. Standing before you, I take a wide stance and lower myself over your lap. Immediately, your hands are around me, gripping my bottom, pulling me into you. You move my hips, sliding me back and forth over the length of you, and you smile when you notice how wet my panties are.

"I haven't even touched you yet, my dirty girl," you say, your voice just a husky growl, "take off that sweater."

I do as I'm told, using both hands to unbutton the sweater, slowly, peering at you from over my glasses, almost lost in how good it feels to be so close to you, so close to finally feeling you inside of me. You move me a little faster, one hand sliding back to the front to pull my panties aside. You hold still, no longer moving me along the length of your shaft. You're teasing, prolonging the moment I get to feel all of you. I peel the sweater back, already breathless with anticipation, and let it fall to the floor beside us. The dark purple bra cups each breast, and your gaze is lost there in the dark lace.

How many pictures have we shared? How many times have you stared at this part of my body in those pictures, and wished that you could tear the bra away, feel how soft my skin is, run your tongue over my nipples, sink your teeth into the soft curves just enough to make me draw in a breath? I lean in a little, making sure to press my breasts together in the movement, teasing you as much as you were teasing me. I want to feel your hands on me. I start to shift my hips over you, wanting to feel you gliding along my lips, wanting you to feel how wet I am.

Your hands move from my bottom to my hips, up along my waist and to my breasts. You squeeze, letting your palms fall over the lace and your fingertips dig into the exposed flesh. A groan escapes your lips as you use a fingertip to tug down one cup. My nipple is already erect as you lean in to take it in your mouth. Now it's my turn to groan, loving the way your tongue flicks along the sensitive flesh, your teeth nibble just a bit, the way your grip tightens as you suck a little harder. I can feel your cock pressed hard between my thighs, but my panties have slid back into place, all I want is to reach down with one hand, pull them to the side, and guide you inside me with the other.

You move to the other breast, leaving the first half exposed. Again, you swirl your tongue around the nipple, squeezing with one hand as your teeth bite down. I gasp and sink down over you, so close to an orgasm of my own and you haven't even touched between my legs. I let my hand glide down your chest, your stomach, until I can wrap my hand around your shaft. You're so hard again, throbbing at my touch.

"Good girls only touch when they're told, Elizabeth." You chuckle as you pull your mouth from my breast and take both in your hands. You wait for me to let go. I want to touch you. I want to feel you. Not being able to is driving me crazy. I want to squirm, desperate to feel you, even if it's only your cock sliding over my panties. "Spit on my cock and show me what that manicure looks like as you stroke me."

I do as I'm told, pulling you out from under my skirt, and letting a string of saliva fall from my lips, down to the tip of your cock, my gaze never leaving yours. I love it when you look at me like that, like you're still waiting for me to tell you that I'm done with this game, that I thought I wanted to be your dirty girl, but it's not as fun as I imagined, that the quiet, shy girl the world sees, is exactly who I am in the bedroom, too.

I grip you a little tighter, sliding my hand up and down your shaft, pressing my fingertips into the underside on the stroke down, and easing my grip on the way up. Faster. Slower. Tighter. Just index finger and thumb. Both hands. Again, you're so close, and I can't help but wonder how you're going to make me take it this time.

"Is this what you think about when you play all by yourself? When you tease me with those emails?" you ask as one hand slides down between my legs. I can feel your fingertips creeping along my inner thigh, teasing, prolonging the moment you touch me. When you sweep the panties aside and run your middle finger along my lips, I can't help but groan, so distracted by the feel of your hand between my legs that I can hardly keep a hold of your shaft. My movements slow, the pressure eases and I murmur yes and nod my head. You slip one finger down into the wetness, and smile as I close my eyes at the touch.

"You really do get soaking wet, don't you?" You chuckle again and let your hand slide away. I bite my bottom lip and open my eyes, pleading with you to touch me again, ready to beg if you ask me to. I'm ready to beg now. Again, I nod and manage to mutter a yes. I watch as you raise your hand, your middle finger elevated above the others, and slide it into your mouth. Your eyes close as you wrap your lips around it, as if you're savoring the taste. A smile spreads across your lips as you pull your finger away. Again, you let it find the cleft between my thighs, work your way down to the warm wetness, and let your fingertip brush through the heat. When you push it inside, every muscle tenses around you. Short and shallow at first, just teasing me. I start to grind my hips against your hand, needing more of you, so close to cumming myself that my thoughts only dance between how much I need you to touch that one spot and hoping that you don't make me stop.

My grip on your shaft tightens. The closer I get, the closer I want you to be. I stroke you harder, faster, grinding my hips over you. You love that I can't get enough of you, and I know you want to tell me to stop, to remember you're the one in control and you'll let me cum when you're ready for me to, but maybe you like this too much, knowing that as I'm working your cock, and you're fingering me, I'm so close to the edge that I can't stop myself from grinding against you, wanting more, needing more. Your fingertip brushes against that spot and I sink down a little deeper, groaning. Again, you sweep over it, knowing you've found it. You press a little harder, and I work my hips a little faster.

I can hear you breathing, can feel your cock pulsating at my touch, ready to explode. I lean over and let a little more saliva drop from my lips to the head, and work faster. You slide two fingers inside, plunging deeper, stroking harder. My body starts to tremble. You can feel it. Every muscle quivering. My breath short and shallow. The way I tighten around your fingers in anticipation. So close. I'm dripping wet now, and I can feel the pressure building in you. You want to cum at the same time. That ache is there again, I can sense it. I grind harder, and when you brush past that spot, I can't take it anymore. My whole body starts to convulse, I'm pulsating around your fingers, trembling as you wiggle your fingers just a little more, and I work your shaft faster, harder, can feel you ready to explode.