Left Drowning

I dim the lights, take the first of my dishes, fettuccine Alfredo, to the big armchair and stare out at Madison while I pick at my food. Now that I have three extraordinarily fattening entrees in the room, I’m not hungry. What I am is worked up and cranky and sexually frustrated. I sigh at the picturesque view out the window. The downtown city lights shine brightly, particularly the capitol building, which is encased in a luminescent white glow.

After a few more bites, and a good gulp of the room-temperature gin and tonic that I mixed for myself, I roll the cart into the hallway, catching someone from room service as he leaves another room. I take a silver bucket from the table and head for the ice machine near the elevator. Might as well continue raiding the minibar.

Just as I turn the corner back to my room, I see him coming out of a room at the far end of the hall.

Chris is walking toward me, strolling casually down the hall with his hands in his jeans pockets. I’m unable to move until he finally looks up and sees me.

“Well, hey, you,” he says with a smile. He is ta

My chest is probably visibly heaving. I drop the bucket and walk quickly toward him. He’s got to see how I am looking at him, how I am essentially in heat. Chris meets me halfway, and I grab a fistful of his T-shirt in my hand and pull him in tight. I lift my mouth up close to his. “I need you,” I say, each word deliberate and loaded. I’m not sure, but I may have actually growled.

I keep him close as I back up and lead him to my door.

“Blythe, what are you doing? I thought we agreed that we weren’t …” But his hands are on my waist, then under the top of my leggings, and he is following my steps without any protest.

I smile. “Shut up.” I reach behind me and wave my key card. The second I hear the door unlock, I slam down on the handle and take us into my room.

Now it’s his turn up against a wall.

His mouth tastes like orange soda, which I find spectacularly adorable, and I kiss him long and hard. And not because I like orange soda. My hands are practically clawing through his hair and over his chest.

I can tell that Chris is surprised by how aggressive I am, but I don’t really care. And he gets over it quickly, because as I continue to kiss him, his hands move over me. He’s digging his fingers under my ass and lifting me up and against him. Already we are moving together in a way that we haven’t before, even that night in my room. Despite our height difference, we fit perfectly, and feeling him press his hips into me makes my ache for him climb. Even through his jeans, I can feel how hard he is.

As I continue to kiss him, I find his waistband and yank his shirt out until I can touch his abs, and stroke his lower back and ass. Then I come back to the front of his jeans, stroking him with one hand and undoing his belt with the other. He gasps and leans his head against the wall. “Blythe,” he whispers into my mouth.

I breathe in my name from his lips. “Yeah?” I say back, unable to hold back a smile.

“I don’t know if this is smart,” he says, yet his hands are now over my breasts, getting my nipples hard.

“I think it’s brilliantly smart,” I manage.

“But we can’t … get involved. I told you, I’m not boyfriend material.“

“I know.” I rub my hand against the front of his jeans a little harder.

“We’re friends. I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Me neither. We won’t.”

“You’re just saying that now, but later it could feel different.”

“I’m a big girl, and I know what I want.” And I do. I don’t know where my confidence with him has come from, but I’ve got it.

“You know how much I care about you, it’s just more than I—”

“Christopher.” I interrupt him and pull back until I am looking him directly in the eyes. While I appreciate his checking to make sure that I’m cognizant of what I’m doing, I also know that he is as ready for this as I am. “I don’t want you to be my boyfriend.” I unzip his pants. “I want you to fuck me.”

He is breathing hard, and it takes him a moment to speak. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He looks at me with heat in his eyes now. “I can do that.”

“Good.”

He moves fluidly to help me get him out of his unzipped jeans, and I place my hand over the front of his blue boxer briefs. He groans and touches his hands lightly to the side of my head as I kneel in front of him and graze my lips against the fabric. I slide a hand between his legs and move it far back until I have his ass in my hand. I pull him against my mouth. I always thought maybe I’d feel tentative during my first blow job because it would be new to me, but instead, I want him and everything about him immediately. I know that he can feel the heat from my breath. With the other hand, I pull down the front of his boxers and immediately touch my tongue to him. My need for him is powerful, urgent, and I feel delirious that I am finally getting to touch Chris in the way that I want. I lick his entire length.

Chris lets out a sound. “God, Blythe… .”

I have a moment of wondering if I’m doing it right, and then I let the worry fall away. It’s a blow job, not rocket science. I could care less about rocket science. What I do care about is that the noises Chris is making are pure pleasure.

I pull his briefs all the way down and start to sweep my tongue slowly over him. Fuck, he feels so good on my lips. Every taste of him makes me want more. When I move up a bit and then wrap my lips around him, Chris groans loudly. Now I know why he wanted to hear me, to know what I sound like, because listening to him is incredible. I take him deeper into my mouth and then pull back again. Slowly I find a rhythm that seems to work for both of us. I have no idea if I’m doing what he likes, but I don’t appear to be doing anything wrong either. I circle my hand around the base of his cock and slide up and down with my mouth. The way he sounds and the soft touch of his fingers in my hair makes me crazy. As much as I’m dying to make him come like this, it’s not what I want most right now, so I stop as soon as I feel like he might be too close.

I pull down his pants and briefs all the way and stand back up while he steps out of them. Chris wraps his arms around me and draws me in. Our kissing is heated and rushed now, our roaming hands not able to get enough of each other. He barely gets me out of my leggings and underwear before he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He walks us a matter of feet away, and I swipe the box of condoms that I’d conveniently tossed on the bed after my failed masturbation attempt.

“Thank God,” Chris says as he takes the box from me and then sets me on top of the dresser.

He puts his hands over my breasts—just roughly enough that I can feel how much he wants me—and I lean back on my hands. He looks fucking amazing right now, still half dressed in his navy T-shirt and pinching my nipples through my tank. I have to shut my eyes for a second when he runs the shaft of his cock up and down between my legs.

Yeah, we’re not going to need the lube from the vanity. I’m definitely wet.

I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’ve been waiting an eternity for this. “You have to fuck me,” I pant. “You have to. I have to feel you inside me.”

Chris kisses me again, then says, “And I have to be inside you.”

The sound of the foil tearing turns out to be incredibly hot because it means that I’m about to get what I want. And watching him put on the condom and prepare to fuck me is even hotter.

He pulls me to the edge of the dresser, and I have the brief thought that this dresser was clearly designed for the two of us because he is perfectly positioned to enter me. His mouth is on my neck, kissing me hard, and his hands run up and down the outside of my thighs. Our pace is manic, we’re unable to slow down, and I don’t want to.