A Wind Blew Through Me Pt. 02

She appeared to reach a conclusion, resolve washing over her as she directed her gaze back toward me.

"Sometimes, life is crazy, and you just have to go with it..." I had no idea what she was talking about. She continued after a few seconds, "I've been planning a trip with a client, for a while now. 2 weeks in New Zealand. He was going to take me, wine me and dine me, perform all manner of unspeakable acts upon me, I have no doubt..." she trailed off, blushing slightly. It must be one of the ones she did enjoy. "We were supposed to leave tomorrow morning, but just before you called me this afternoon, he told me he couldn't go. Some bullshit with his family..."

I could see where this was going, and I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

"But, being the savvy business woman I am," she smiled at herself and took a mild, self-congratulatory bow, "I had him pay in advance for the whole thing. Flights, hotels, transport, plus half of my fee and a pretty ridiculous per diem." She really was a force of nature. "I threw in the per diem just to see if I could get him to do it."

"He did, of course, and now I find myself sitting on 2 tickets to a romantic vacation on a beautiful island, and nobody to take me." She feigned a pout and waited for me to say something.

"Something tells me you will have no trouble finding someone to fill that seat." Part of me didn't want to presume she was inviting me, and the other part of me thought going with her would be the craziest thing I had ever done.

"Oh, for fucks' sakes Greg, I'm inviting you!" She looked at me, exasperated. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"What, you're busy?" She shot back at my non-response; eyebrows raised. "Nice try."

"What's that? You have something better to do? Ha!." She wasn't being mean, just assertive.

"You called me this afternoon, on the verge of tears, and you said to me, 'I don't have anyone else I want to call.' So I came here, drank your wine, cried more than I intended, and listened to your story. You're at a crossroads in your life. You want to do something new, something creative, something beautiful. You want to leave behind the old you that was mean and resentful and petty. You jumped off a cliff, hoping you could figure out how to fly before smashing into the ground."

She slid in next to me, face awash with kindness, put her right hand on my leg, cupped my cheek in her left hand, and continued softly, "So let me be your wings for a while." She brushed a tear rolling down my face off with her thumb. "At least until you find your own."

I shook my head gently in assent, finding words would not come to my lips. She smiled in relief and brushed another tear from my cheek. I locked eyes with her, the intensity of the moment overwhelming my inhibitions, I closed the inches between our lips into a desperate kiss. She let out a gentle moan and returned the kiss, her own budding intensity now mingling with my tears now coating our intertwined faces.

This time, there were no words exchanged. No instructions rendered. I felt her passion bleed through her lips and tongue, and before I knew what was happening, the beautiful moment of generosity and intimacy she shared with me had grown into an insatiable desire to strip away the remaining physical barriers between us. She ripped at my clothes, and I at hers with the irrational haste of two lovers lost in their desire.

Our clothes were scattered across the room, and this time I did not pause from kissing her to admire her skin or her lingerie. I wanted to feel her, physically, emotionally, spiritually, as deeply as I could, and my eyes were a mere distraction in the passion of the moment. She was ravenous in my embrace; kissing, biting, licking, grabbing, trembling for more.

There was no time for the bed, she felt how hard I was for her and groaned with desire. She swung her legs across my hips and grasped my dick, rubbing it against her clit for a moment and trembling with unfiltered lust. She looked down at me through the wild tangles of her hair. In her amber eyes I could see nothing but wild and ferocious desire, and in that moment, she plunged me into herself.

The world disappeared. I disappeared. There was only Amy fucking me with unbridled passion. Our cries and moans seemed distant from the union we shared. She pressed her whole body against me and danced her magnificent dance with her hips. I grasped her hips and pulled her harder into me as she thrust. It could have been minutes or hours we writhed like that together, but eventually I felt her lose control and cry out in release, arching her back and holding onto my shoulders.

She came back to herself enough to speak softly in my ear, "Cum in me." As she continued to dance against my hips. She reached back and began to lightly stroke my balls as she fucked me. I had neither the will nor the desire to disobey her command. I quickly built toward orgasm, and pulled her hard into me as I came, crying out beneath her.

It was another transcendent moment, this time feeling even more special because of the emotional intimacy that precipitated it, and the lack of barrier between us.

She sat up a bit and smiled at me. "Now that... was making love." She seemed pleased to have found a distinction between our various expressions of sex. "But... that was a little too Nicholas Sparks for me, I think. I need to do something nasty to redeem myself."

She pulled out gently and surveyed the mess we had made. She smiled at me wickedly and dropped to her knees. First, she took me into her mouth, cleaning the cum from my receding cock. Then, she looked down at herself, wiped my cum from her pussy with her index finger, and looked up at me as she licked it from her finger with the enthusiasm one might lend to licking cake batter from a spatula.

She really was something else. She could make love like a fairy tale romance and slide effortlessly into performative smut. It was both endearing and sexy as hell. But she wasn't done. She smiled mischievously and leaned down to French kiss me. It was an excellent kiss, and tasting our sex together like that seemed like the right way to end it.

She grasped my face with her hand once again as she broke the kiss and looked down at me. "Trust me, we are going to have a fabulous time, and who knows, maybe you'll find what you need to take control of your life."

She stood up and we surveyed the damage for the first time. We looked at each other and laughed hard. It really was a comical scene.

My underwear was draped over the lamp. Somehow, her bra ended up hanging on the coat tree by the door. Her blouse was draped over my TV like someone had intentionally covered the screen. When we recovered enough to start picking up, she gathered her undergarments and started walking toward the bathroom. She looked back at me and said, "Why don't you get yourself some more wine, I'll be right back."

I obliged and worked on polishing off my glass before she returned. Somehow, every time I see this girl, my life seems to change dramatically. The moment we just shared was... powerful. I've never felt like that with anyone before. Her words from the other night echoed in my ears as I considered our future. 'Take what happened for what it is and cherish it, but don't start thinking about proposing marriage...'

I certainly cherished it. The memories of being with her had already penetrated to the deepest levels of my soul. She was as wonderful a person as she was an improbably beautiful human.

And with that thought, as if on queue, she strutted back out toward me in her underwear. She began gathering up the rest of her clothes, very much aware of, and reveling in, the gravity she exerted over my eyes. She exaggerated her movements, testing to see what kind of reaction she could get out of me.

It was clear she had an appetite for this sort of voyeuristic attention, and now that she was comfortable with me, she wasn't going to miss an opportunity to sate her appetite. It became a sort of improvised reverse-striptease with her dancing to an unheard tune as sexually as she could, and slowly replacing her clothes as she picked them up. It worked for me, as long as she was enjoying herself. As she already knew, I could stare at her intently with no inhibitions.

"For all the shit you give me about staring at you, it really gets you off, doesn't it?" I asked her as her dance was winding down.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to realize..." She said by way of response. She resumed her seat on the couch next to me and poured herself a third glass of my three-quarter decent Zinfandel, polishing off the bottle.

"Just because it gets me wet to catch a stranger staring at me doesn't mean I'm not going to give them a hard time for doing it." She continued, "Safety over indulgence, always, unless you want to find yourself the victim of something horrible."

She really did inhabit a different universe. I'm certain she would be gawked at by every straight man she walks past and thought they could get away with it, and this reality arouses her, but she must repudiate such attention for fear of her safety.

"Plus, leering at a woman is not generally a solid indicator of decency in a man, so such attention is best avoided entirely, regardless of my personal... inclinations."

I suppose a harmless interlude with a lover is a much safer outlet for that particular kink, and I was happy to be her audience. "Well, I'm a captive audience, if you ever feel the need to scratch that itch."

She smiled at me in response, resuming her wont of mysterious silence.

Presently, her eyes drifted, appearing to consider something else intently. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just sat there, enjoying her presence on my couch, beginning to think about all I was going to need to pack if we were leaving in the morning. It occurred to me she likely had a similar thought, and the complexities of her packing routine were alien to me.

We finished our wine in content silence, lost in our own thoughts together.

She pulled me back to the room with a gentle clear of her throat. She set down her wine glass and said, "So, tomorrow. I'll send a car for you at 8..." she trailed off, appearing to giggle at herself. She looked back up to me, "Sorry.. I've always wanted to say that. I'll be in the car, your place is on the way to the airport. We're on a private jet, wheels up at 8:30. Like I said, 2 weeks, so bring what you need. I'll have... plenty. Don't worry about money. Half my rate for 2 weeks, plus the per diem, is a modest fortune."

She paused and smiled for a moment. "I think we will make better use of it than the chump who paid for it, anyway." She was clearly proud of herself for pulling this off, and rightfully so.

She looked a bit sad as she stood up to go, not at all in a hurry to leave, but resigned to the substantial task of packing that awaited her at home.

"You make me feel like a sap, Greg. You give me a couple of quality fucks and before I know it it's hard to say goodbye, even just for the night." It was Amy encapsulated. Unflinchingly raunchy, unexpectedly sweet.

"You make me feel lucky to be your friend, Amy. Thank you for your kindness. I will count down the hours until we meet again." I said the last bit with an exaggerated flourish that earned a giggle from her and invited her into a last embrace. I soaked in the healing warmth of that incredible body as long as I could, and when at last we parted, I watched her drive away from my window until she could be seen no more.

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