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“Your pussy is mine,” I murmur as I lick her earlobe into my mouth and suck on it for the last stretch. “You can watch yourself come now for me, baby. See how wide open you are for my hand…” My fingers fuck hard and fast and I push her over the edge again. Her whole body begins to shake.
She watches—the window acting as a mirror and her sex reflected to us both. I pull my fingers out, focusing on just her clit in those final moments. She can't control it. Her hips buck, her thighs tense. Her body leans back, her hips push forward and her head falls back against my shoulder as she lets out a scream of pleasure. And then she explodes with my hands and mouth and body consuming her entirely.
Her squirt does indeed hit the glass and I smile to myself.
Our fucking is raw. Animalistic. Primitive.
As her orgasm subsides, grasping hands turn to tenderness, pinches turn to softness. I hold her as she falls back against me and I bury my face in her wild hair, our breathing synced as we bask in the endless city lights.
She is beautiful and delicate again as she folds into my arms and I kiss her neck so very softly.
As raw as our passion is, and whatever the future of us involves, I know in that moment, I’ll have infinite tenderness for her.
7
Our failed dinner turns into room service in her suite. The glass which earlier marked our stage is now our screen as we sit on the carpet and eat. I have never seen the city like this, from up so high, and been able to really appreciate it in a different way.
The lights of the traffic move in and out of the central area. A slow stream of yellows and reds. They all begin to blur so slow dots became fast lines of movement. But it isn’t the ground that catches my attention the most; it’s the buildings around us.
Years ago, I had taken a trip to Paris over the holiday season. It had been for some competition; I forget the details now, but I had decided to extend my stay to be there for New Year's Eve. The night itself had been unremarkable and I had learned a hard lesson at a young age—special nights are often only special because of the company you are with, and whilst there was something magical about watching the Eiffel Tower lit up at the stroke of midnight, it was certainly more magical for the people around me who were celebrating with someone else. I took the metro back to my cheap hotel out of the center of the city but the line was slow. What should have taken me twenty minutes turned into nearly an hour ride of stop-start traffic, people cramming to make it to a party or home.
The line I needed was the overground train and I remember that journey as if it were only yesterday. Staring out of the window with wide eyes as city lights glistened in the condensation that ran down the glass. I looked up at the balconies around me, Juliet doors flung open, and the sounds of laughter, cheers, music, and life echoed around. Glimpses of friends, couples, families, and children welcoming in the new year. I caught eyes with a beautiful brunette on a balcony, she was smoking, twirling the cigarette through her fingers as only the French can, her full lips slightly parted. Her gaze lingered, as did mine and I wondered her story. Why she was alone that night. Whether she was happy or sad.
And then my train moved on and she was gone. Nothing more than a glance.
Now as I look out of the 85th floor window, naked beneath the thick white robe, I wonder how I would look if someone caught my gaze. If for a moment they saw me sitting staring out of the glass. Would they think I was rich? Imagine I had a wealthy husband? Do I look happy? Do I have that just fucked look?
I’m not sure, but whatever someone could imagine, they could surely never guess the truth.
Dahlia Dante, the movie star, settles beside me in a matching hotel robe, her body naturally aligning with my own. She is smaller than me, more petite in every way. Her face is for the first time free of make up and her hair is tied up casually. She looks younger and if it is possible, even more beautiful. She giggles as she feeds me strawberries and I laugh as she drips cream down my chest. We chat and share a tenderness that I never imagined. So many barriers have dropped between us, it is like the wall that we didn’t know was there has been torn down and now all I can see is the other side, and it is beautiful. I wonder how often Dahlia lets her guard down, how much she has ever really known the freedom to be herself. She offers me a closeness and intimacy I haven’t expected- that I have never really had with anyone- and when she asks me about my family, I falter. Words stick in my throat and she sees this and chooses to fill the silence.
“My daddy was a real southern man. He had money, old American money if that even means anything to anyone really, but it sure meant something to him. But he squandered it. Had no talent, no eye for investment, no work ethic or purpose. Every year the pot went down and down. My mom, she didn’t marry a Dante to have to work. No, Ma’am, marrying a man like that was work enough. Then I was born and I became the meal ticket. I was talented. Do you know how many times I heard that as a kid? I was gifted. I was special. To everyone and anyone that would listen. You know Dahlia Dante… Yeah, Bob Dante’s girl. She is a gifted girl alright.”
A darkness passes over Dahlia’s face as she reaches for the wine. She doesn’t bother with a glass, instead taking a long deep drink straight from the bottle. “How talented is any girl at four, you know? But you say something enough and people believe it. Then before long, you believe it. Those kids club shows ruined so many children. You don’t need to look further than the group I was with to see how much it fucked them up, but for me, it saved me from the truth that I was not gifted. I wasn’t special. I was just a pretty enough southern girl with a pushy mom and a good bit of luck. But when that truth hit me, when I actually realized I wasn’t anything other than ordinary… The spiral came fast and hard. Except you can’t spiral if you’re a star because special people don’t spiral.” She laughs drily at the irony as she takes another deep drink.
“That is when I found my release. By accident. With a man. And if you haven’t already noticed, whatever the official line is, I am not actually that interested in men period. He was a pretty good guy; he caught my attention for longer than a minute and I was way, way, way back in my closet then. Mentally, not just publicly. Anyway, he told me that he liked to be dominant in the bedroom and I thought, well, that could work for me, maybe if I don’t need to do much, he will enjoy it more and it will last a little longer kind of thing. But something happened. The first time I felt the rope around my wrists, it was like my heart calmed. My head just stopped thinking. A feeling of peace descended and I could let go. It wasn’t about me, I had no control, I could not change anything, or fix anything or fuck anything up. I could finally accept the fact that for that moment I wasn’t special. I wasn’t talented. I was just Dahlia fucking Dante.”
She tips the bottle towards me in a mock cheers before she takes a final deep slug. I watch the last few drops drip and that’s when I realize that she has finished the whole thing. Not that I care. She can drink as much or as little as she likes and it doesn’t make a difference to me. I just don’t want her to regret opening up. I don’t want her to have any doubts tomorrow as to whether she is doing the right thing. So, I do the only thing I can think of to give her that reassurance and to show her that she can trust me and put her faith in me.
I take the bottle from her hand and I move to straddle her. My robe falls open as my knees rest on either side of her hips. My hands reach down and pull the tie around her waist until her own robe falls open to display her beautiful naked body. She lies back, her eyes wide, watching and waiting to see where I will guide her and take us. My gaze flicks from her hands to the chair.
“I want you to reach up and take the leg in your hands. I want you to grip it tightly. I am not going to tie you, but I don’t want you to let go, Dahlia. No matter what I do…” I pause and my hips start to rock, my clitoris pressing lightly against her pubic mound. “No matter how much you want to…” My palms drop to her breasts and I take them, her flesh filling up my hands, and I push them up and together. “No matter how desperate you are …” My fingers and thumbs clinch together and pinch her nipples. Starting first with a light circle, but I increase the pressure every few seconds. “You don’t let go. Do you understand me?”
Even if she hadn’t told me what being dominated did for her, I can see it right now in her eyes. I watch as her body calms, her mind switching off so she can forget all of her pressures and worries and just live and be in the moment. She gives me that trust, she offers me the total ability to control her, dominate her, own her body and cleanse her mind. And I take it. I want it. Fuck, I think I need it.
This time it’s about me, as the dominant one you have to make the decisions. You have to read the situation, and whilst a submissive person is under your control, they hold the power. If you go too hard, too far, too selfish, too giving—you lose their trust in you.
I had focused my entire efforts on Dahlia and in the process enjoyed myself over and over again, but right now, now, I need to take. To have.
I drop my hips and spread my knees. I find that perfect spot to grind myself against her. I’m not gentle. As my hands drop again to cling to her breasts, my legs move to tangle around her, adjusting until I can move as I need. I am so very wet that as I grind against her I slide so easily. My sex slides against her body. She calls out and I hear myself moan. Loud. I can feel her under me, the memory of her taste flooding my mouth, and I lose all control.
I feel my fingertips kneed into her flesh, my pelvis pressing hard against her, moving faster with a long deep drop of my hips. I feel every inch of that grind and it only makes me hungry for more. My eyes lock with hers, moans escaping her full, sexy lips. Her fingers are white as she grips the chair so tight and I watch her breasts shift back and forth as I rock against her.
She has turned me into an animal. Every inch of her is total perfection. My hunger is only growing and growing the more I feast on her.
My climax is hard, fast, and full of rawness. I collapse beside her, legs tangled with hers, as I breathlessly tremble on the floor.
8
