The Seventh Floor

But I was still there, and I would always be there, inside you. It was her that took you at that moment in the elevator, that took you from me, even though I was still deep inside you ready to flood you with my come. But I was still there, and I still loved you.

And then it hit you. And it hit me, and her, and the people down the street, and the whole fucking world, living or dead. I grabbed you now, not to keep you from her, but to keep you from escaping, to keep you from flying through the ceiling and running away from us, to keep you still as I came inside you and she sucked at you until there was no sweetness left in your lifeless body.

You struggled, you struggled as you came, as your insides tried to strangle me, as she gradually slowed her sucking down to a smile. But I kept you there. We kept you there, until you gave up, until your body became tired, useless and limp. There was nothing left but you and me and her, and breathing, and sweetness, and the smell of fulfilled sex in a small room.

There was only one moment left, as I held you, as I kept my mouth breathing quietly next to your ear so I could whisper that I was still there, and that I loved you. The woman, the tall, beautiful woman in the suit, who lost her sunglasses and her briefcase, and the part of her desire that this moment was about to fulfill, moved for the last time.

In one gesture, one moment to end all things, she went to that place, my place. She didn't come to visit it or invade it, or discover that I was there when she made you come. She came to sleep. But there was only one way she could get there. So she lifted herself away from you, away from your sex, the sex she just devoured to leave you sleeping. She moved her lips to that place and kissed you.

And as she did, as she kissed you, so that she would never have to leave, I could feel something released inside you, something sweet, and tender, and secure, something that quietly slipped into the abyss and made this moment complete.