Matthew Fox: Alice in Wonderland

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Two strangers, a warm night and a red dress.
6.2k words
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Tahti
Tahti
1 Followers

Tahti's note: The story should be read as a fantasy, in no way did I mean to be disrespectful to Matthew Fox.

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The dress can be called anything from slutty to classy, depending on the intention of an onlooker.

Deep red satin hugs her hips and thighs snugly, the hem reaches her knees and the top is not particularly low-cut. But there is a high slit going almost to the underside of her buttocks and her back is completely bared, the outline plunging to the curve above her ass, delicate straps just barely curving around her shoulders.

She glances at her own reflection in one of the enormous mirrors in the hotel lobby. Almost not recognizing herself, almost ready to turn around and go change, aware of the looks she's attracting, aware of the nature of them.

Instead, she licks her lips and heads for the gallery, towards the gathering of the glitzy crowd.

There's one particular gaze she hopes will darken at the suggestion her dress entails.

The first time she saw him, adrenaline shot through her system like an electric impulse, but her body didn't betray her otherwise, not a muscle twitched. If anything, her posture became somewhat rigid, as she subconsciously straightened her back and concentrated on feigned indifference. It was at that exact moment that she stopped really paying attention to her colleague trying to get her engaged in some small talk, and she smiled politely. And kept throwing glances to behind her, across the room, at him.

It was too hard not to look, but she was careful not to get caught. Briefly, she thinks how pathetic it was to feel all engrossed in staring at the man, but he was not just another man and she couldn't fathom by what spin of events she found herself in the same room with him. Maybe that was not even him.

But then he looked up in her direction as if sensing her gaze and for a moment it was like he anchored her with his smoldering irises, for a couple of seconds she couldn't avert her eyes, like a deer blinded by headlights.

Feeling heat creeping up her cheeks, she ducked her head but was unable not to look up again after a while, to find his eyes directed at her.

"Hey, what's there?" her colleague, Julia, eventually caught up with her distraction and turned around to see what got her attention.

"Ah, him!" Julia smiled knowingly. "He's friends with the owner of the gallery," she offered.

"Kinda hard not to stare," she shrugged, hoping to brush it off.

"Careful there, girl," Julia said. "He's got quite a reputation."

"I'm not going there!"she hissed, the prudish part of her shocked that anyone could think otherwise. But she couldn't help the unwitting tingle in her lower belly at what it would mean, what it could mean. "I'm not like that!"

"No, of course. You're not." Julia mumbled apologetically.

The man took an unhurried sip of his whiskey and rested his shoulder on the wall, exchanging detached smiles with another guest. And she could tell, he knew; her eyes wandered to him as if drawn by a magnet, he saw it. But she kept her distance and did her best to pretend she wasn't looking, and that made him look.

This is why she's here now, this is why she came back tonight. Why she's wearing this dress.

Right from the entrance, several men ogle her, with openly sly smirks as if they already picture themselves between her legs. She looks around discreetly, scanning the surroundings for one familiar face.

The sense of both relief and panic washes over her when she encounters it, telling her she doesn't have a fucking idea what she expects to happen, or no, there's not much use convincing herself so anymore. She has a very clear idea of what she wants from him and it scares her, scares her like an urge to reach for a stimulant scares an addict. She doesn't want to want it but it's beyond her control, and she knows how wretched she'll feel if her plan backfires.

Heart thumping in her chest, she makes her way to the bar, having to go closely near him. Her eyes are firmly trained on the space ahead, even if not really seeing much, so his reaction is lost on her, she hopes he noticed her at all.

You're so stupid, Alice, she tells herself for a hundredth time, ordering a Margherita, ironically, and feeling the breeze from an open French window a little cool on her bare back.

The drink unfolds in warm fuzzy current inside her, and she works up the courage to turn around, and nearly gasps, because he's right behind her.

For a moment, he doesn't say anything and just holds her gaze with a shadow of a smile, his pupils dilated in the dim light. He's quick, she's got to give him that, having faultlessly sensed a willing prey. She knows, she stands out among the conservatively dressed snobbish women here, she knows no one's outfit screams 'do me' like hers, and she knew -- she sees that now -- that he'd pick on it, acting territorial if nothing else.

"You were here last night," she hears him speak, his tone somewhat mellow, calm.

She nods, returning the little smile and cocking her head. "I was."

He studies her wordlessly for a while longer and she chooses to remain silent, her thoughts racing, if she should acknowledge him somehow or not.

"You'd like to dance?" he asks abruptly, making her want to grin madly, but she just nods again and then a warm spasm jolts through her insides when his hand lands on the small of her back, just below the rim of her immodest dress. It's a brief touch, to motion her towards the dance floor, where several couples sway to the rhythm of a slow piano melody, but the spark ignites an avalanche of desires for it being multiplied and intensified.

He leads her to a faintly lit spot by the window where she can't make out the exact expression on his face, but it doesn't matter, because his hand comes back to the still tingling spot, and the other one takes hold of hers in a sure clasp.

It feels even better than she could have imagined. His sturdy form somehow engulfs her, but it's not intimidating or patronizing. She feels alert and warm.

Steadily, he pulls her closer, until their bodies touch in the middle, her stomach pressed to his, his thigh maneuvering itself in between hers impudently. She doesn't trust herself to look up to his face as he leads the slow dance. What it would be like to have him lead her into oblivion while he pushed himself inside her?

Alice's grasp on his hand tightens and her reason gives up on reminding her how ridiculous the thoughts are.

"So what did you say your name was?" he asks, the words tickling her ear.

"I didn't," she mutters into his chest. "And it's Kathy," she lies. The fake identity making it that bit easier to follow through with the game she has set. "Yours?"

She looks up to him in time to see him chuckle.

"You can pick any that you like," he says, playing along, even though she tells herself there's no way he knows her real name.

"Your own is fine," she tells him, meeting his gaze defiantly, feeling his hand creep up a bit on her back, so his thumb is brushing against her bare skin there.

"Oh, so you know who I am?"

"I know who you are," she answers, not breaking their gaze, and wondering what the hell possessed her to act like this. Like she knows what she's doing.

"What are you doing here, Kathy?" he continues, his thumb stroking her spine gently and it's right then it hits her what is inevitable. Fully aware of her actions, Alice moves her hand over his strong shoulder testing the feel of it. Solid and flexing underneath the confines of his dress jacket. She can only imagine what a man with such a classically testosterone figure could do to her.

"Just... enjoying a gallery opening."

"You're not from here, right?" he continues lazily. "Europe?"

"Yeah," she agrees, but doesn't offer any more. "Europe."

"You're different than the women here. What do you do?"

"You sure wanna know a lot. For what it matters, I could be a plain prostitute."

"You're not a prostitute," he laughs sharply.

"How do you know?"

"Trust me, I know," he breathes into her temple, a warm gust of air nearly burning the delicate skin. She can smell the whiskey on his breath, and cigarettes. He'd taste bitter and smoky, the flavor of a man who doesn't deny himself the worldly pleasures.

"I like the dress though," he says, running his finger along the rim of it, deliberately keeping it off her flesh. "So? You gonna tell me who you are?"

"What does it matter? To you?"

"Consider it a personal quirk," he looks directly into her eyes, provocatively. Pulling her closer into himself, he bents his head and murmurs the rest into her ear, but without touching it.

"I like to know who I fuck."

It's her turn to huff out a laugh, partly nervous and partly aroused. A short, throaty laugh. Even though her knees waver underneath her and goose bumps form on the back of her neck.

"What makes you think that you're... fucking me?" she dares, the expletive rolling off her mouth like she's tasting it.

He stills and smiles easily at her, his dark eyes narrowing a notch.

"Thanks for the dance," he says with a subtle bow, then brings her hand to his lips brushing them against the back of it.

With an impeccable gentlemanly manner, he escorts her back to where they picked up from, and with a nod and this infuriatingly challenging smirk, he leaves her be.

"It was a pleasure, Kathy," and she watches him walk off, his distinctive tall silhouette moving gracefully among the crowd, and he's all she can see, other men suddenly looking small and docile when he passes them by.

She takes a sip of her drink as her mind undresses him involuntarily, and she wonders briefly if he fucks his wife the same way his whole presence implies about fucking other women, dominantly and confidently. If she knows all about it. Does it turn her on? Him?

The thought arouses her somehow and for one bold moment she lets it in, lets herself bask in a fantasy of being pinned down by him while the other woman watches. How wrong and how exciting it would be.

It takes another man's tentative advances for her to shake off the reverie and excuse herself to the lantern-lit terrace, fishing out a cigarette from her purse. It reaches her lips when a hand holding a lighter appears before her -- his hand, again.

Sucking on her cigarette, she nods her thank you and eyes him curiously.

"You're always this... audacious?" she asks after a beat, when he doesn't look at the slightest uncomfortable standing there silently with her.

He lets out an amused laugh, looking sideways to some people passing by.

"When I think it's worth it, yeah."

"Is it worth it?" she teases back, feeling bolder.

"You tell me," he replies in a husky voice that makes her yearn for his breath on her ear when he speaks like that.

His eyes are like magnets to her and she becomes aware of the power he has over her, how much she longs for what he offers.

"C'mon Kathy, let me show you something," he says, his hand returning to the small of her back, now blatantly smoothing over her skin. Like a burning imprint, she thinks.

She ditches her cigarette and his arm curls around her waist and Alice leans into the strength of it as he guides her through the hotel garden, past thick sweet-smelling bushes, to a viewing bay which overlooks the entire downtown landscape, shimmering with city lights like sequined fabric.

It's secluded and almost completely dark, bathed in the afterglow of the colorful lanterns and a thought crosses her mind, a shadow of caution that she doesn't know him at all, that maybe she should be wary, but his arm around her feels strangely reassuring and the thrill of being so close to him intoxicates her brain, not without her permission.

They reach a railing where her hands take a rest, his own slithering idly beside them as he moves to stand behind her, but not touching her. Trapping her on the spot with his body.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he says quietly somewhere dangerously close to the nape of her neck.

She shivers and a low yeah is all she can utter when his hands move surprisingly gently to cover hers as his thumbs draw light circles over the sensitive insides of her wrists.

"You know what now" he states more than asks and lowers his head so his lips finally brush her earlobe as he speaks.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Kathy." Her body responds on his own, in contort of her inner muscles and in pooling warmth between her legs.

"Hard, Kathy. So hard, that you can't walk," he whispers, pressing himself lightly to her from behind, just enough for her to feel his hard-on. "But you'll come back crawling to me, you'll beg me for more," he promises lustily.

This is insane, she thinks, but can't control her eyes shutting tight, her body arching back and the little sigh which escapes her mouth.

Shifting his weight, he rubs against her ass, teasing her, knowing oh so very well what he's doing.

"This is what you came here for," he scrapes her shoulder with his stubbly chin. "I know that look you gave me last night. I know it."

Just how many women he has taken this way, she wonders and figures that it doesn't matter at all, that she doesn't care. It's her turn now, she's going to experience what it's like, what he's like.

"I really like your dress, you know," he mutters, fingering the rim along her ribs, making her chuckle lightly.

"You just want to fuck the dress."

"May be some truth to it," he retorts, mirroring her smile, which she feels against her shoulder as his lips wander lazily up her neck, with no trace of hurry but with unmistakable purpose.

Suddenly, when she's just let herself relax and succumb to the unhurried pace, he thrusts against her hard, pinning her to the railing and making her moan. He's more than ready and in no mood to conceal it.

When his hands clasp over hers tightly, they are nowhere near gentle this time, and he repeats the forceful movement, driving her into the steel bars until they dig into her belly.

"You like that? You like it like this?" his whisper is dark and dripping with lust. She has never been an object of such unadulterated primal lust.

"Yes..." she breathes out, her vision already blurred and the anticipation becoming impossible to take.

"When I saw you tonight, when I saw you walk in wearing this, I knew what I wanted," speaks, moving his head to the other side of hers, his teeth grazing her neck. "Did you know what you wanted, Kathy?"

"Ye-es...! Oh god!" her admission dissolves into a moan when he anchors her in place with his hips and his large hands connect with her bare back to slide swiftly underneath the outer edges of the dress and over her breasts, cupping them, kneading them with just the right amount of pressure.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna give you the ride of your life, baby."

For a little longer, he plays with her nipples, rubbing them, pinching between his fingers and all she can do is wriggle helplessly and whimper, her head falling back to his shoulder and her buttocks seeking more contact with his erection.

"Fuck, Kathy, I really want a look at your tits, but I'm liking this little slutty attire way too much."

The brink of her mind is still aware they're in a public place where anyone can walk in on them, but this is her last concern, she can't even think of embarrassment and she's sure she'll die if she doesn't feel more of him, all over her body, if he doesn't soothe the aching need between her legs.

She feels the hot moisture literally dripping out of her, coming out in waves synchronized with his actions and when he shifts one of his hands out of her dress and down to her center where he presses through the fabric, she's sure it'll soak through, and it does.

Feeling it, he lets out a groan into her ear and it goes straight to where his skilled fingers work her.

"That's it, girl. Get ready for me."

"I am," she moans breathlessly, moving one arm behind an around his neck, pulling his mouth to her pulse point where he sucks roughly, while she's smoothing her fingers over the ticklish texture of his short hair. "Do it. Do me already."

His breath quickens a little, and he grabs handfuls of the satin and pulls it up harshly, high enough for the slit at the back to allow him access where he needs it. He moves the flaps open and then she realizes she has dumbly put tights on.

"Fuck," he bites out an annoyed groan. "You better not be attached to these much."

What he does next should shock her but instead amplifies her arousal; he tears the delicate layer open and out of the way, and the sound of it ripping sends another jolt of desire through her body. He's growing impatient to have her.

All Alice can do, is brace herself on her outstretched arms and trembling legs, which she instinctively opens wider when one of his hands returns to the front of her dress to press against her and the other slides down over her scantily clad buttocks, down in between them and underneath her thong, until his fingers ease into her wet folds, parting them, teasing her opening, before eventually slipping inside her.

She's trying so hard to keep quiet, but what he's doing to her, the way he has clipped her between his hands is making her need to make all sorts of obscene noises, the ones she has never thought she had the nerve to make. Now, it's not a choice, it's an agonizing, excruciating need.

As if sensing it, he presses tighter, rubs harder, finally bringing out the shriek out of her, and then he stops.

"Quiet," he says imperiously. "Keep quiet, or I'll stop."

"Don't stop," she practically begs, nodding furiously and biting her lip when he starts all over again, hitting all the right spots without a miss, with an expertise of someone who has either taken anatomy classes or has a lot of experience.

He pumps her with a perfectly measured rhythm and she feels herself nearing the brink, amazed that it's even possible, but right then both of his hands are suddenly gone, making her let out a surprised and disappointed oh. She looks over her shoulder and sees him opening his belt buckle with a soft click and it's the most erotic thing she has ever seen.

"I decide when you come," he says simply, his face barely visible in the shadow, but she can make out the set shadowed jaw and the dark shape of his eyes and he looks almost inhuman to her, like a creature of wilderness that's gonna devour her with no twinge of conscience.

It makes her want him that much more.

She watches, as he pulls the zipper down undoing his dress pants and quickly pulling himself out. Her lips water at the sight of his commanding cock, huge and hard and flushed; she's has never been with a man of this size and she wants to touch him, feel it in her hands. Reaching around she tries, but he stops her.

"Not now. Hand back where it was."

And she obliges, like with everything he demands of her.

Slowly, he steps back into position, but not quite there, just teasing her with his tip and she takes quick shallow breaths at how hot it is, how slick.

Her whole body arches instinctively, waiting for him to enter, but he once again retrieves, chuckling under his breath.

"You want it, huh."

"God, yes!"

"You're like a cat in heat," he tells her lustfully, grabbing her hip and stilling her, and she looks around again, to see him open a foil wrapper and sliding a condom onto his impressive manhood.

"Always prepared?" she arches her eyebrow.

But he doesn't answer her, only moves her thong to the side and slides himself into her folds, rubbing for a moment to cover his cock with her juices and then pushes up into her, slowly, in little strokes up and up, stretching her, until he's fully embedded in her body.

With a low grunt, he rests his face in the crook of her neck and breaths into it, burning her skin. He's completely still those first few seconds when her body adjusts to the size of him; she has never thought it possible to accommodate so much of a man inside her, but the way he does it, and how wet she is...!

Tahti
Tahti
1 Followers
12