Gone 9

I see his face as I am lying in bed. The shadows from the street outside lap my skin where my bare arms are exposed above the duvet. It is cold. Every night it is the same; on some nights this silent time is better than others. On those occasions I will have seen him or spoken to him; he will have fed my fantasies. On other nights there will be none and I will have to make do with my imagination. I finger the bed sheets beside me.

I wish you were here, I whisper to the air.

I look to the window, where street lights shine dully through my thin curtains. I know he is out there, in the same city, and I wait with eager anticipation for when he will contact me again. I run a slow hand across my naked stomach. It feels hot and hard and smooth – I work hard for it, but it's wasted without him to touch it for me, like everything else. My hand creeps lower, between my thighs, where it is hotter still.

I love him, by the way. I also want him, and crave him. I know he wants me, too.

But he doesn't love me.

Not yet.

The next day when I awake, I almost forget where I am. Home, yes – and it's the weekend. I breathe a sigh of gratitude, and roll over. My bed is warm and cloying.

Without a thought I continue what I left before sleep...he is beside me, touching me, telling me how amazing I am. I giggle girlishly, and fight him off. But he slides his body above me, his great masculine form with its wiry dark hairs and lightly tanned skin, and begins to kiss my neck.

Don't, I resist, still smiling, trying to push his shoulders back. But it's pointless; he wants me too much. He cannot get enough of me. His head dips down past my neck. He takes my right nipple between his lips and tugs gently. I squeal, but he knows better than to stop.

And so he continues this downward meander of kisses, over my ribs to my belly button, clutching my hips. Then my legs are apart and he is probing my wetness with his tongue, swirling it around, spelling the alphabet I think. I don't care. I grab onto his dark mussed-up hair and force him further.

If you stop now I'll kill you. I moan louder. I mean it, I will.

He stops, looking at me square. He's smiling. Those dark, almost eastern eyes are staring me down, mocking me. I don't believe you, he says.

I laugh again, and push him back down. I want you so, so badly, I tell him.

He kisses me more, licks around my clit. It swells more, even though it feels already saturated with lust. He slides a single finger inside me and I groan, unable to help myself rocking against him. He sucks on it, gently at first.

I am almost there, but there is a sudden screeching noise. My eyes fly open, and for a fleeting second my heart seems to stop. It is my alarm clock. Nine a.m.

Shit. I hit it off, and flop back on my bed. The moment is lost, and I'm totally alone. My fingers hover between my legs, but I don't bother.

So the day drifts away. I do all the menial things. I wash, clean, walk to the shops. I check my phone for messages – none. Perhaps if I turn it off for a while, that will make the message come. It's Saturday night. He likes Saturday night. It says sex to him; it must remind him of rampant nights hunting in bars. At any rate, he usually chooses the weekend. And I'm usually very careful to make myself unavailable, in theory, but he gets the better of me. He knows this. Nobody else takes me out on a Saturday night, and it's not because I'm ugly or boring. It's because I say no – Saturday is free, just in case he calls. So I am always available, sad though it is for my pride.

But it's like I said before – I love him. Love and pride do not mix well.

It is six p.m. I am going insane already. I watch a film with sex scenes and it works me into an embarrassing frenzy. I surf the net, looking for somebody to talk to. Although, I do think, God help whoever falls unaware into a chat room with this completely fuck-desperate woman. I am so horny I can think of nothing else. I take a shower, but I can't face the cold taps. I am straight, but I find myself thinking of women. Their naked breasts, pushed against my own. Soap suds everywhere. Tongues and fingers bringing one another to a delicious orgasm. I must go for a walk.

But then, miracle! While I have been washing he has left me a message. It's dirty, and I relish every letter.

Hey babe. How is that nice crack of yours.

It's lewd and disgusting. It's him all over. I love it. I can see him smiling as he writes it. And as I read it over and over, I lick my lips, settling into a comfortable ball on the couch. I shouldn't reply straight away. I should wait...I should play hard-to-get...

But I'm insatiably horny, and I'm not in school anymore. I don't have to play games, I say defiantly to myself, hah!

Quickly I text back.

Why do you want to know. Do you want it.

Instantly I hate myself for being so available.

Yes. Now.

Obviously, he does. He takes barely thirty seconds to let me know.

I will come over

I say.

No. I will pick you up. I want to take you somewhere.

Now I am intrigued. I can feel my heartbeat pick up the pace. It thuds. I think about my hair, my clothes, my make-up. I will have to do something quickly, before he arrives.

I have the keys to a shop that my friend is working on.

I guess his friend is a builder, or something.

Do you fancy christening it.

This scares me. I have never done anything so naughty, but I know I cannot refuse. If he wants to do it, then so do I. I tell him to come round immediately.

He drives slowly, his hand on my thigh. He has made no effort, but still looks divine. His hair is dark and messy, and stubble flecks his chin. Dark, penetrating eyes turn to glance at me. A smile, like we are old friends. I drink him in, clutching to his hand as if I may never see him again.

'Have you missed me?' he asks easily, staring straight ahead. Street-lights flash by in pools of neon and the radio is on so quietly that I can hear the swish of his tyres against the damp tarmac.

Bastard. You know I have. This is what I want to say. Instead, I smile coyly. 'Maybe.'

He rubs my leg, as if to reassure me. It's almost too much for him to say that he has missed me, or that I'm wonderful, or anything so romantic. So instead he just grips me, animal-like, to let me know that he wants me.

I shake all thoughts of love away and look out of the window on my side. I will just enjoy this for what it is, before he takes it away again and I would kill to have it back.

We arrive at this place; it is dark and deserted, thankfully. He opens the door, sneaks me in. I feel dirty and dangerous, and I giggle uncontrollably.

He shushes me, flinging the keys on the side and pulling me to him. I almost want to faint from the happiness when his lips touch mine. His hands are on the small of my back, edging my t-shirt up. His tongue dips into my mouth like he is starving for me. I respond with all the passion I have had pent up in me, tugging on his bottom lip. He loves that. I hear him softly groan and pull me harder against him, his hands grappling up either side of me.

Then he thinks better of it and hoists me up. I laugh, alarmed, and instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. He rakes his hands through my blonde hair and kisses me once more, hard, then carries me over to the dark side of the room. I make out the shape of a counter, only just built, with no fancy details on it yet. It is just a piece of MDF or whatever they call that stuff, and he places me on it. The edges are rough and I can feel the sawdust against my clothes already. It smells warm and familiar. I say his name.

'Where are you going?' He has wandered off into the shadows behind me, and I can hear things moving about. He drops something and curses.

He shushes me again. I must talk too much.

When he returns he tells me to sit up. I do, and he pulls my t-shirt over my head. In the half-light I can see his eye shining. His warm hands reach for my breasts, small though they are, cupped in soft red lace.

'Red,' he breathes, 'you are so fucking hot.'

I am pleased he thinks so, and my nipples respond dutifully to his touch. He plays with them for a while, running his palms around the mounds they make, moving this way and that as if it is all new and wondrous to him. If only, I think, and the thought goes as quickly as it arrived for he is biting down on the top of my breast now.

It doesn't hurt. It makes me grab him, and a rush of heat tumbles between my legs. I can feel myself throbbing against the crotch of my jeans, literally aching for him. Nobody else ever made me

literally ache.

Then he fumbles with my bra, rushed, as if I might magically vanish at midnight or something. He unclips it and it falls to the floor, forgotten. Faint moonlight illuminates the curves of my breasts, and from here they look quite impressive. Larger. Heaving gently as my breath quickens; giving my desire away. I fall back as he sucks my nipple frantically, clamping my wrists down. His breath is hot.

'How bad do you want me?' he asks. His eyes are burning. From here I can see the change, even through this darkness. They are not his eyes anymore; he's possessed by lust for me.

Me.

A shudder, a thrill runs right through to my toes.

'Fuck me,' I say, with feeling. I want to regain control. I want to be in control, just for once. I can pretend that it's happening. 'Fuck me,' I repeat.

He says nothing, just moves to the side of me, pulling my hands back.

'What are you doing?'

He has found a piece of cord. I understand the scuffling noises now. He binds my wrists tightly behind me.

I whimper. He just smiles at me in that impish way; I am his puppet. My pussy throbs some more. I can feel the heat ready to burst. I am anxious for him to touch me. I tell him.

'When I'm good and ready,' he murmurs, gently pushing me back onto the surface. My hands bunch beneath my back and force my chest up into the air. I have to stretch my neck to see what he's doing. All of my stomach muscles are pulled tight and my back is arched.

He murmurs as he strokes my flesh, running fingers teasingly down my stomach, stopping just where he knows I don't want him to. He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them roughly to the floor, leaving only a tiny red scrap of lace to cover me. I shuffle, trying pointlessly to break free. My clit is aching to be touched. I need to come. He loves my helplessness; the evidence is hard against his jeans.

'I'm going to push your legs so wide it hurts,' he whispers, beginning to barely run a finger against my pussy. I whimper, trying to push harder against it. But he just softens his touch further. He is totally in control.

'And then I'm going to ram my hard cock into you,' he continues, flicking it a little now, 'and fuck you so hard you scream.'

'Do it now, please,' I beg.

But he won't, I know this. He pulls his jeans down and I can see how much he wants me; his cock is solid. He walks to where my head is, and stares down into my eyes.

'Ask for it.'

I look back at him, transfixed. He is so utterly gorgeous; I want to feel every bit of him.

'Please,' I say, my voice hoarse. I can barely manage anything more.

'Suck it,' he demands, thrusting his cock against my lips. I take the tip of it in, running my tongue around the head, flicking it. I crane my neck sideways to take more of him in, sucking hard and noisily. He likes it when he can hear my wet mouth around it, so I make it louder on purpose.

'Spit on it.'

I do, three times, until my mouth feels dry. Then I take it in again, as far as I can, and he watches intently as my soft mouth moves up and down his cock, now soaked and dripping.

Reluctantly he pulls it out and I look up at him. Silently he goes to remove my tiny thong, tossing it to the floor. He grabs two chairs and places them either side of me, then takes each of my legs in turn and lodges them behind the back of each until I am wide open; exposed. I could move them but I don't want to. I feel so erotic, displayed only for him in this dingy building site. The air swirls against my wet pussy. It tingles with the cold and I feel my toes curl.

He stands right before me and looks at it. A smile curls up on his lips. He licks them, then playfully rubs the tip of his erection against me. Round in circles over my clit. I moan and my back arches further. I want to say filthy things, disgusting things to this man who is teasing me, but I can't find the words and I fear saying them aloud might spoil it all. I am too ashamed to say what I wish he would do.

'Fuck me,' is all I can ask, again, in a desperate whimper. 'Make me come. I need to come.'

He pushes his cock in just a little, but it is almost enough. I cry out, resisting every urge to kick my legs or force myself up.

Then he is on his knees, my servant for just a few heartbeats, running his tongue in lines up from top to bottom. I have never been this turned on; this desperate to be fucked. This man is making me want to behave like a dirty slut. He pokes his tongue into me then out, quickly then slowly, tasting my wetness.

Finally, he pushes it in. It feels so good I cry out loudly and repeat his name with a series of desperate words thrown in. This is everything my fantasy was but so, so much more.

He couldn't bear it anymore either. He is close to coming. He is colder than me but he is still a man; he is so turned on, his eyes are shut, his face screwed up. He looks gorgeous. I love him. I want him to do this to me everyday, forever. I daren't close my eyes in case he vanishes.

I can feel the orgasm rising in my pussy as he thrusts into it. I can hear the wet slapping of his flesh on mine. Behind my back my fingers are bunching up, gripping my own skin, steadying myself.

I come just seconds before him, the pressure exploding within me. My whole body shakes and my back arches sharply, over and over, and I cry out. Something that isn't even a word, probably. I am panting like a dog; my lust is spent and I am quivering.

He comes with a sharp cry, slumping against my stomach, pumping into me. I reach out and hold his shoulder, as if some part of this is mine. I can somehow claim him by what he is feeling with me, right now.

His shoulders rise and drop heavily and he exhales, slowly pulling out and standing up. He wipes his forehead. He is sweating an awful lot.

He undoes my ties. I want nothing more than to pull him down to me, cradle him, sleep with him. I want to whisper how I love him and say it was wonderful, just wonderful, and I won't

ever

leave him.

But it's the wrong thing to do. He leans against the surface for a moment, catching his breath. And then he dresses, throws me my thong and jeans – it is a silent command. Dress.

I do, still shaking from the pleasure. My mind is rolling words and feelings; it feels wrong to be so wordless like this. But perhaps it is just his way. Maybe he will tell me how it was on the way home.

We dress and leave. He locks the door and walks to his car as if nothing has occurred. I slide in beside him. The engine is switched on. I am taken straight home.

I don't see him again for two weeks. Clearly what happened was enough to last him, either that or he is seeing other people. Deep down I know this to be true, but on the surface I would cry if I even let myself think he might do that with somebody else. In my world he belongs to me. These gaps between our meetings are simply there to make me want him more - I am almost convinced of it.

I think about that shop a lot. I wonder when it will be open. I fantasise about going down there, wherever it was, and walking inside. I would see people milling about, somebody stood behind that very counter, and I would smile smugly to myself. They have no idea we have fucked on that, I would say to myself, I want to tell them. But obviously I would never dream of doing that.

He occupies my thoughts permanently. I replay every detail in my head. Every look, every touch, every single word he says. Maybe there are hidden meanings. Maybe I can salvage from the past some new revelation – that in fact yes, he does love me...and yes, eventually he will admit it. I go through every possible reason why this might be true.

I decide he has commitment problems. Trust problems, too. But no matter; he will come round eventually.

This time it is at my house. I have a small red lamp lighting up the room. It's sexy. It makes me look better, and it makes me feel like a porn star. In a good way.

I am lying on top of him and he is stroking the curve of my ass. He keeps doing it over and over so he must like it. I look him in the face.

'What?'

He laughs. 'Nothing. I didn't say anything. I was waiting for you to make a move on me.'

'Me?' I am nearly speechless.

His fingers stray between my ass cheeks. I know what he wants. I sit up and straddle him across the tops of his thighs. His cock is standing up hard just in front of my stomach. I hold it and move my hand gently, slowly. He smiles bigger and groans.

'Don't tease me, babe.'

'Why not? You always tease me.'

'Please. Sit on me.

Please

.'

I can't refuse. He looks so adorable, as if he actually might get upset if I don't. I oblige and shift up, lowering my damp pussy onto his cock. It makes me gasp as it hits me deep inside, but he just makes a sort of satisfied grunt.

I move on him slowly. I am not so raw as last time. I still want it, but now it is more sensual and I hope that he is okay with that. But he wants it faster. He grips the flesh around my hips and rocks me.

It's building up now, down inside of me. His mouth is slightly agape; I know if he has it his way he will be done in about fifteen seconds. I slow it down. I stop completely, and just sit there, his cock nestled inside my pussy.

He opens one eye. 'Don't stop.'

'Too late. What's the rush?'

'You're making me so fucking horny, you're driving me crazy. I was about to come.'

I lean forward to kiss his lips. He doesn't seem interested in this, so I slide my tongue against his and then he responds. I delve into his mouth. His hands slide up my back.

'You know what I want?' he whispers, giving me that wicked smile again.

'What?'

He starts to get up so I move compliantly, shifting over to his left side. He tells me to get down on my hands and knees. I do this. Then he pushes my shoulders down so my face is pushed against the pillow, on its side, my ass sticking into the air.

'Doggy?' I say.

'Mmm...sort of.'

Then his tongue is pushed between my ass cheeks, licking circles. I squirm. I am not used to this. It feels dirty and I wonder why he wants to do it, but he holds me still and I feel his erection straining against my leg.

'Do you like anal?' he says in my ear, biting it softly.

'I don't know,' I reply, feeling myself tense up. I can imagine the pain. I don't know that I am horny enough for this. I don't know if I'm ready to give myself completely to him.

This seems to turn him on immensely. I feel his finger against my asshole, probing softly. It feels strange, but my clit begins throbbing again and desire shoots down my thighs. Suddenly I want him more.

He slides his finger in deeper and I moan. I forget everything else and balance on one hand, reaching back for my pussy. My fingers find it and I rub, frantically, willing myself to orgasm.

'I like seeing you do that,' he says, 'you must really want me now.'

I do. I do, I do, I say to myself. I am concentrating too hard on the pleasure to try and answer back.

And then he starts edging it in. And it hurts, a little, but I am so turned on I barely notice or care, and he slides it so slowly in and out. I cry out. I can't believe I am going to come and he hasn't even touched my pussy. He is gasping loudly. He loves this. He has never mentioned it. I will feel hurt later, but not now.