Red

bythatbluecat©

It was the 1940's or the 1930's. Everything in the world was some kind of gray; colors were washed out, but there was still a kind of city beauty, a steampunk elegance. The stars in the sky were unnaturally bright. As we walked down the sidewalk towards the tiny restaurant, all I could hear was the sound of your boots and my heels tapping against the pavement. You're wearing a white shirt with a black vest, holding your jacket in your right arm. Though it's not cool yet, we expect it to be chilly by the time we finish our late dinner. Your left hand is clasped in my right. I'm wearing a very red sequined evening gown. It makes my skin look pale and milky in the moonlight. My shoes are a strappy kind of sandal with a high heel, but you're still just a little taller than me. My nails and my toenails are painted in the same blood red as my dress. When I glance over to you, I can see the color reflected in your eyes beneath the brim of your fedora.

We go into the restaurant like we've done it a thousand times. My hand slides up to rest in the crook of your arm as you tell the hostess we'd like a table for two by the window. I'm your lady tonight, I'm thinking, but I still have to smile nervously as you pull the chair out for me. We sit. I'm sure there's conversation, but all I can remember is the color red dancing in your eyes and the flash of your easy smile. We leave your jacket and your hat at the table to dance. We dance close, it's very movie-like, kind of fuzzy. I don't know the song but you do, the words are foreign, and you whisper them in my ear as we sway.

When we leave the restaurant, I am light-headed and giddy. I remember dancing around you on the sidewalk as we make our way back towards the train station. The world is dark except for the sparse street lamps, but I can see you clearly and you never look away from me. I realize it's gotten colder and without a word you drape your jacket over my shoulders. I sigh and snuggle against you, my arm wrapped around your waist, my fingers beneath your leather vest to feel you more clearly through the cloth of your shirt. Feeling the sway of your body against mine as we walk makes me hungry to have you closer.

The train station is huge. Chandeliers the size of small homes dangle sparkling crystals and flickering yellow lights above our heads. Our shoes echo off the vaulted ceiling. Tall gothic windows arch up the domed roof and the stars shine through. The moon is fat and round, so much bigger than it should be, it seems, peeking in through the glass. My fingers curve around your hip, pulling you closer against me. There's time before our train comes and I am soaking up your warmth next to me. Did we have wine at dinner? Maybe brandy or bourbon?

I know we're in public, but I want to kiss you anyway. It doesn't look like anyone is watching us, so I turn towards you. As if you were reading my mind your lips meet mine. Behind your cool facade I can taste your hunger, all worry of voyeurs evaporates as you tell me how much you want me through your kiss. When we part, I lick my lips so I can still taste you. Is your heart beating as quickly as mine? Suddenly we remember that we aren't alone, and with a furtive glance around the grand tunnel, we escape, hand in hand, to the ladies' room.

In here we are blissfully alone. You slide the lock of the door and it clicks into place, a sound that means we won't be interrupted. I'm suddenly shy, leaning on the porcelain sink that I've laid your coat across, watching you in the reflection of the mirror on the wall. My heart is racing. I'm reminded of a rabbit under the scrutiny of a large predator; basic instincts grinding just below the surface, to fight or to flee or to fuck. I want to be closer to you, but I have the feeling you could be dangerous. And strangely, I want you to be dangerous.

I don't remember moving, I don't remember you moving, but suddenly I'm pressed back against the cool tiled wall and you're kissing me again. I'm an addict for these sensations and it makes my head fuzzy. Your smell, your taste, your touch, I know without certainty that at this very moment I would die without them. I cling to you like you are my life, the air I breathe. I want you so much, my ears are ringing. I have no time no room for doubt or hesitation. Your hand finds the long slit in my dress and where your fingertips touch my skin I can feel the fire.

My thigh lifts so I can wrap my leg around you, pulling your hips towards mine. Your hand slides back, grabbing my rear and tugging me closer still. I wonder if you can feel the heat of my core as it's pressed hard against you, how starved my body is for you, how ready I am for you. I'm gasping when our lips part, but I need your kisses more than I need to breathe.

We don't need to speak; our bodies talk the talk. It's a rhythm familiar to both of us, we know each others needs, and without my asking you start to unbuckle your pants. I know you're packing, and already I'm imagining how warm the soft silicone will be from resting against your body all evening. At times making love to you is like poetry; this is more like O Fortuna. Our hearts beat the heavy bass and the tempo is ever increasing.

The slit in my dress is high enough so that it can be moved aside, your hand, your fingers probing me. I'm as wet as I am hot and the sensation of your fingertips running over my clit makes my jaw clench. I'm afraid to cry out, afraid that if I make too much noise, this will have to wait until we get home and I don't think I can wait. You're rubbing the tip of your cock between my lips and my hips unconsciously arch forward, my body begging.

You don't make me wait. I press my face into your neck as you slide into me, slowly, waiting for the little sigh I give when I feel filled. I give into you, nothing exists but us. My fingers twist into your hair and I pull you closer yet with my leg around your hip. I love your hands on my waist, steadying me, holding me as you pull back just the slightest bit before hilting again. I groan against your throat, licking, kissing, breathing you in. You fill me, ride with me, carry me, sustain me. I want you impossibly nearer as I rise and fall in the waves pulled by your gravity.

Even now in the fuzzy haze of my own passion I am thinking about yours. I know the harness rubs you but I also know I can rub you better. Bringing you to orgasm brings me right there to the edge, and thinking about it while you're pinning me to the wall with your rhythm nearly makes me peak. I lean my head back, eyes closed to better feel your body against mine. Your lips are like fire on my jaw, my throat. My back arches and I turn my head to the side, my fingers pressing you forward. I am rewarded. The delicious flash, then slow throb of dull pain and ferocious pleasure of your bite flies down my spine. I know at this point my hips are grinding against yours when they meet. The noises escaping my lips are probably too loud, more moan than sigh, sounds that pressing my lips together cannot muffle.

My legs start to tremble, my toes scrunching up in the strappy sandal shoes. As I grow less vocal, more concentrated on breathing, my body tenses up. The room is filled with the near-silence of wet sex until it is viciously broken by my cries. As soon as I start to come, you increase the pace, increase the pressure. I ride my ecstasy through yours, delirious, still clenching against your cock even as you pull away, panting, trembling, your eyes shining like stars. I can smell you and it makes me want more of you. I have flashes in my mind of the two of us in bed, amidst blankets, a tangle of flesh and sweat and heat.

I wake up with the taste of you still on my lips...

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