Niamh's Reunion

The butter-sweet aroma of the caramel filled the mug, at every sip, she sensed the syrup yielding to the burnt, hot rush of the coffee below. It thrilled her with its richness, exhilarated her with the newness of sensuality. Of course, he had known that it would. How did he know she never tried new coffees? The simple message, after three years, and with no warning:

"Luca's. Friday at five. Try the caramel macchiato."

Whenever Akmal entered her life, it was like revisiting some half-forgotten town from childhood; colours deepened, scenes took on more meaning, she seemed aware of more than she ever had been. It was like being reborn.

So now she sat, looking out over the streets, seeing the people more clearly than she had since that summer in her sixteenth year. There was a sense of haste outside, commuters rushing home bustled between the first of the Christmas shoppers, cold as the streets darkened. The glow of the streetlights was polarised by the fog, shone as orange clouds in vapour, and trailed behind pedestrians and vehicles alike. The condensation on the window shone orange, too.

Her heart quickened when she saw him. She had embraced her excitement at this meeting, but had not realised that she was nervous until this moment, as he glanced quickly to his right, before dodging across the street, a flash of his gloved hand to the driver who waited at the crossing, and a hop onto the pavement. He moved confidently, like a man half his age, like a man of her age.

As he entered the café, he walked straight towards her. He had seen her long before she saw him. He had pulled his gloves off, and now he took her cool hands, holding them together, palm to palm, his large warm hands surrounding them as he leant to kiss her on both cheeks. Niamh still sat, dumbstruck by his very presence, as he took off his coat and handed it to the waiter standing beside him, and ordered a black tea, with lemon. Nobody but Akmal could expect a waiter in a coffee shop to take his coat.

"Niamh. You grow ever more beautiful. The cold weather makes your eyes sparkle like sapphires." His voice was soft and deep, the same voice that had charmed her with its gentleness, with the hint of old Arabia in his faint accent. She smiled, and tried to ignore the slight blush that she knew he must see.

"You look wonderful too. Its so good to see you again."

"It must be nearly four years. I can't believe it's been so long. I hear about you, of course, from your father, but I daren't ask too much. These days, we talk only of Roddy."

"Well, Roddy is the man with all the stories these days. The youngest jockey to win the Oaks, think of that. And me just a poor student. Oh, Akmal, I am pleased to see you again."

"I know. You just told me that." He smiled warmly as he said that, teasing her and enjoying her obvious embarrassment at being caught nervously repeating herself. She had gone to the meeting determined to be an adult, and not the scared, bumbling teenager he remembered, not long out of school. It had not taken long for him to realise the power he still held over her.

As she watched him enter the room, Niamh had almost swooned, an old-fashioned action that he would probably have appreciated. His dark eyes smiled at her, and he gazed appreciatively at her legs, encased in sheer black stockings against the cold, but worn with an uncharacteristically short skirt. After ten years in business, he still had the erect back and athletic bearing of a former soldier, and had not lost the ability to command. His olive skin and full lips still entranced her.

Niamh bent her head to take another sip of the delicious sweet-bitter-sweet drink, buying time to recover her emotions. As she looked up Akmal was standing, his broad back to her. She had a moment to take in the strength of him, his shoulders tight against his charcoal grey cashmere sweater before he straightened and turned to her, holding a shopping bag.

"Here. A small token of my affection." Niamh took the bag, smiling again in excitement.

"Can I open it?"

"Of course. It's no use leaving it in the bag." They both laughed,

"No. I mean, can I open it here? I don't want to embarrass us in public." She cast her mind back over the gifts he had bought her in the past -- expensive lingerie so intricate she could barely understand how to wear it, toys which would have remained untouched but for his charming and patient tuition.

"I assure you, this present is very decorous."

'Decorous?' Niamh thought, as she took a package wrapped in cream and turquoise tissue paper from the bag. 'Even if I used the word, I would never have applied it to your presents.'

As she pulled the wrappings away, rose petals fell across her fingers, landing on the table and sticking to the fabric at the sleeve of her jacket. She raised her wrist to her face and sniffed the pale pink petal, still holding a memory of its scent. Nestling in the paper was a long silver chain holding a delicate pendant, a stylised cross in silver. Niamh's hands were shaking as she lifted the chain to examine it fully. She smiled as he took the necklace from her, deftly unclasped it, and stepped behind her to place it, his fingers brushing her long dark hair from her neck. She felt herself shiver at his touch.

"It's perfect, Akmal. Thank you. And you're right, it is very decorous."

Akmal smiled, and reached to the table. He brushed a few remaining petals across the paper, and revealed a small bottle of frosted glass, handed it to Niamh. She blushed again, realising that she had missed part of the present. He smiled, and proffered the bottle. She unscrewed the heavy lid -- could it be real gold? -- and revealed an atomiser. She turned her wrists to face him as he spritzed her. Once more, she raised her wrist to sniff.

"Mmm, I can smell blossom, and sandalwood," she murmured, inhaling deeply.

"You will smell like an Almira today, a princess," he responded. He was just sitting down when Niamh reached forward to kiss him in thanks. Clumsily, she bumped her chin against the crown of his head. She apologised to him as he stood, a head taller than her, and bent to kiss her gently on her forehead. She pressed herself against him, her cheek against the softness of his sweater, her hands feeling the strength of his chest. She could hear his heart beat. It had been a soothing sound for her, years ago, when he had comforted her, and made a woman of her. When she saw him again, she had felt nervous. Now that she touched him again, she was astounded at the speed and intensity of her arousal.

She forced herself to sit down, to smile, to make conversation. Though Akmal was as witty and charming as he always had been, it was almost impossible to concentrate. Niamh could not force herself to think of anything but his touch. She had learnt the contours of his body, memorised his scent, the sound of his breath. She needed those sensations again. Akmal might be the same man, but Niamh had grown these past years. She had learnt to use her sexuality as a weapon. And she knew exactly how to turn Akmal on.

He was talking about one of his horses that he had just sent to her father, a promising black yearling sired by the young stud Rock of Gibraltar out of a Pivotal mare, when she slipped her stockinged foot from her shoe and rubbed it against his shin. She leaned forwards,

"Akmal, I remember the way that you used to make me feel. God, I loved the taste of you, the feel of you inside me. You used to fill me, with your black eyes smiling down on me. I need you to take me again, Akmal. Ravish me."

Niamh said all of this in the sexiest voice she could manage, her eyes heavy-lidded as she looked up into his shocked face. She gave an impish smile at his hesitation, and then suddenly he strode across the café, picked up his coat, and dropped a folded bank note into the apron pocket of a startled waiter. He took Niamh by the hand and had bustled her into the street before she had finished struggling into her coat. As she took his arm and followed him across the street and into the business centre of the town, she was giggling at his impetuousness, yet proudly aroused by his need for her.

Within a very few moments they had arrived at his hotel. As they stepped into the lift, they fell into each other's arms. His hand ran up the back of her skirt, his expensive leather gloves soft against her bare skin. He grasped her buttocks firmly, lifted her and pushed her back into the corner of the lift. She bit at his neck, his shoulder, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. The sight aroused her yet further and she reached down, pawing at his hard cock through his coat. The soft bell that announced their arrival at the penthouse level was an almost unbearable interruption. Akmal smoothed his coat, and led the way into the corridor. Niamh felt weak at the knees as she followed him. It was only a few steps to Akmal's door. Niamh gasped at the sheer size and opulence of his suite, before he picked her up, carried her to the bedroom and almost threw her onto the enormous bed.

She was not, however, about to be dominated. Not this time. Not yet. She grabbed his shirt at the neck and pulled him onto the bed, at the same time throwing a long leg over him and rolling on top of him. Immediately, she kissed him, regretting the years since she had last tasted the cigars, spice and coffee of his kiss. She nipped gently at the tip of his tongue, then danced her tongue deep into his mouth. He moaned and writhed beneath her, surprised by her dominance, her change from complicity to control.

Breaking the kiss, she knelt above him, ran her hands over her own body. She unbuttoned her cardingan, revealing an ivory camisole that, in a different lifetime, he had bought for her. She knew he'd remember. There was a revealing red flush across her exposed cleavage as she squeezed her breasts, toyed with them, enjoying the sensations and watching his reaction closely. Her nipples, always large, stood proud against the sliky material. She leant forwards, her breasts falling towards him, and he stared up at her like the undergraduates she had used, trying to catch a glimpse of a little more. She loved to know she had power over him. As she leant back, she lowered herself, beginning to grind and rub herself against him. She could feel his cock through both sets of winter clothes. She squeezed her thighs together, riding him like the horsewoman she was.

Though Akmal had been caught behaving like a schoolboy, it wasn't his way to behave like that for long. He reached for her hands. Smiling, she dodged his reach, lifting her hands above her head, and continuing to grind away, her supple legs, encased in stockings, pinning him in place. Giving up on her hands for the moment, he ran his fingers tenderly over the bare skin of her stomach. He encircled her body, scratching a line up and down the depression of her spine, making her shiver with pleasure. He placed his hands on her hips now, moving them up her body, exposing her as he carried the camisole further and further up her body. His eyes had been locked on hers, but he looked down now to admire her breasts, fuller now than when he had known them. His eyes returned to hers as he pulled her top over her head. She lowered her hands to help him, and he grabbed her wrists.

Giggling, she struggled against him, knowing that it was useless. He was strong, and he was dominant. That was what she adored about him. It was seemingly effortless for him to lift himself from the bed, roll her onto her back, and place his weight upon her. His hands still gripped her wrists, though she had stopped struggling, and lay below him breathing heavily, smiling at his show of force. She'd made her point, established her maturity, and was ready to be taken. He placed her hands to either side of her head, kissed her upturned palms, her wrists. He trailed his tongue along her leg, kissing her elbow, making her squirm as he ran his lips through her armpit.

Niamh still lay, pinned to the bed, as he began to kiss her breasts, his tongue tracing lazy circles. One by one, he took her nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them, sucking gently, making them stand even prouder from her breasts. He touched the tip of his tongue to the freckles on her breast, and she smiled through her arousal, remembering the day they lay beside the farm brook in the sun, and he counted and kissed every freckle on her young body. Today, though, he wasn't waiting, and he kissed his way further and further down her body, nuzzling the soft hair below her navel, running his tongue along the waistline of her skirt.

He didn't release her hands, using his mouth to pull apart the bow at her hip, to pull the skirt down her legs. His stubbled chin brought goosebumps to her thighs, smooth and milky white as he exposed them. Once again, he stared hungrily at her body, her stockinged legs topped by a simple white thong, a tiny patch of moisture turning the fabric between her legs almost transparent and betraying her arousal still further.

Akmal now placed his cheek on her thigh, and watched her reactions as he ran his fingers up her other leg. Her hands were now held together, just above her head, by one of his hands. She gave a soft cry as he brushed his hand across her swollen pussy, pulling her legs together as she tried to hold his hand in place. Though she loved being controlled, she didn't want to be teased.

Akmal was finding it impossble to tease her. He was shocked by the force of his own arousal, a man used to controlling his emotions as he controlled the many women he attracted. He needed her as much as she needed him. He didn't move his hand from between her legs, tickling her pussy and slowly moving the scrap of fabric away. He heard another gasp of pleasure as he exposed her lips for the first time, felt her wetness as he slipped his finger between them. He began to kiss his way up her thigh as his finger traced circles around her clit.

Hooking his finger around the inside of her thong, he pulled it down past her knees, and she lay naked below him her hands at last released. She reached up and pulled his sweater and shirt over his head in a single motion, throwing them aside and running her hands over his broad chest, moving quickly down his body, and unbuckling his belt. Her need for his body was overpowering; she needed to see him, to feel his bare skin against hers. His cock sprung forwards as she impatiently pulled his trousers and boxers down, and now it was her turn to gaze hungrily at him as he wriggled free of his clothes, his body as firm and strong as it had been in his young days in the military.

Naked now, he lowered himself to her again, kissing her navel and moving down her body with clear intent. Of all the many things she missed about Akmal, it was his tongue she missed the most. She'd never met another man who could take her to such peaks of ecstasy. Niamh gave a shuddering gasp as he slipped his tongue between her lips, softly probing, seeking out the most sensitive spots on her body. She moaned and writhed, her cries urging him on as he increased the speed and the pressure of his attack. As she began to arch her back, breathing more and more raggedly, he held his thumb to the mouth of her pussy, tracing a tiny circle just inside her. The combination of sensations was too much for her, and she shouted his name as she pushed her pussy towards him, lifting herself from the bed. With a second, inarticulate cry her body convulsed, and she fell back on to the bed, for a moment light-headed and completely spent.

Akmal kissed her softly on her hip, her stomach, the underside of her breast. His tongue circled her breast and the touch seemed to reawaken his beautiful Irish lover, who took his face in both hands and pulled him towards her. She kissed him gently as he positioned himself above her, his cock dripping with moisture as it probed between her legs. She was as wet as he remembered, and accepted his swollen cock with ease. They gasped in unison at the feeling, missing from their lives for so long since those infatuated days in the Kerry countryside. Akmal pushed himself deep inside her, and for a moment they both froze, his cock filling her entirely as she squeezed him powerfully. Slowly he pulled himself backwards, sinking back into her with a sigh of pleasure that she echoed.

He continued like this for as long as he could, thrusting slow and deep, his body shuddering with pleasure as she squeezed the tip of his cock between her lips before he forced himself deep into her again. Almost beyond his control, he began to speed his rhythm, the heat rising as he moved faster and faster. Niamh was gasping, crying, almost mewing with pleasure, as he pushed himself into her over and over again. Reaching back, he lifted her legs, pushing them high above her hips as he began to thrust again, now pushing even deeper into her.

She came before he did, as she always had. She stared up at him, saying his name, mouthing "yes", biting her lip, her hands involuntarily squeezing her breasts as she gave herself over to the waves of pleasure rushing through her body. Her pussy spasmed powerfully, holding him deep inside her as she came. It was this that pushed him to his climax, and her powerful contractions caused him, with an animal cry, to release his seed deep inside her, his hips bucking madly.

They collapsed onto the bed, kissing and nuzzling at each other's faces, flushed and spent from their pleasure, slowly recovering. They'd waited so long, and now they had only the remainder of today together. Niamh knew that he'd make their time together intensely memorable. He always did.