Night Time is the Right Time

He watched her, through half-lidded eyes, moving through the inebriated crowd with a (liquor-induced) confidence that she believed didn't come naturally. He knew otherwise. He sat back in the ergonomically-curved red chair, bringing his cigarette to his lips for a final deep draw before crushing it into the nearby tray, filled with his and others' stubs. Her white teeth appeared over and over as she believably smiled while speaking to her friends and acquaintances, over the loud but bearable music they both adored. In fact, it was music that first brought them together, here, in this place where they had gathered with their own crowds that eventually, inevitably, intermingled.

His lips curled into a gentle smile as a familiar old tune was piped through the speakers by the educated DJ, who danced alone in his booth far above the crowd. It broadened as he watched her pull one of her girlfriends onto the dance floor and was somehow able to find a space big enough for the two of them to dance together. He felt a familiar twitch between his crossed thighs as they started to dance, very close to each other yet not touching, not even a thread of their beautifully hung clothes that adorned their bodies brushing together. He didn't know her friend, unclear of their exact relationship but from the way they danced, he wanted to believe they knew each other intimately. They would, at a much later time, when he closed his eyes and worked his stiff manhood with his calloused hand, imagining it as hers before she pulled him into her full-lipped warm, wet, welcoming mouth.

He lifted his glass to his lips as he continued to watch, the song ending with a smattering of applause from an appreciative few. He drained the glass, wincing slightly at the light burn of the vodka draining down his throat, mixing with the other drinks he had already finished off. His eyes, though, did not leave her. He stood, slowly, not wanting to risk an embarrassing swoon in front of his friends by doing so too quickly in his own half-drunken state. He knew it was time, having watched her eyes shift to the clock covertly, and then began her farewells to her friends. One by one, she kissed their cheeks, squeezed their hands, and hugged them close, as was her usual manner. A couple of them smiled knowingly but did nothing to give her away; she broke a promise (she knew she would) and confided in the closest of her girls, as was typical of women her age. She had no distrust but just in case, she told them of her plans, her weekly rendezvous which started at a precise time but never ended at one. She would call them when it did, as always. She angled her way through the crowd to the large carpeted set of stairs that led to the upper tier and began her slow ascent.

He initiated his own escape from his group, his own closest, dearest friends clapping him on his shoulder, as he said his goodnights; his eyes were in constant motion as they moved back and forth between her and them. They grinned after him as he sauntered away, gossiping amongst themselves like friends do as to where he was headed, like they did every week. One day they would know for sure; he would tell them. They probably knew already but he wasn't in a hurry to verify their guesses. Not yet.

She was nearly at the top of the stairs as he started up them, his lips still maintaining the almost silly casual grin that had been there since the moment he spotted her arriving there that night. He growled deep in his throat as he watched her take the final step, her short black dress pulling up slightly to reveal the black thigh stockings, clipped to her garter. He knew she didn't like them but she wore them anyway, every time they met like this because he adored them. She turned the corner, then another to open a door that led to their meeting place. He took the stairs by two as she disappeared, his urgency growing to find her again, uneasy to lose her from his sight for even a few moments. He opened the door quickly and paused, catching his breath before proceeding.

She stood in the long dimly lit hallway, her upper back pressed firmly against the wall, her hips casually tilted forward as her right leg bent to ease her heeled-foot flatly against the wall, keeping herself steady as she realized her less-than-sober state. She was not drunk, not slovenly so at least, but knew that if she wasn't here, she'd be in a cab speeding home, leaving her car behind to be surely ticketed and picked up tomorrow when she was completely sober. She heard him approach but didn't look towards him, waiting until he stopped just in front of her to raise her eyes. Before a word left her lips, his own descended to press down firmly. His hands pressed forward against her wrists, his body following to nearly crush her against the unyielding plaster. She gasped and lightly struggled; he pulled back slightly to allow her air, and then kissed her again, harder, his hands tightening their grip. She relaxed and he drew her hands above her head; he pinned them there, his hand clamping to her wrists.

His other hand pushed down, grazing over her left breast, and the thick turgid nipple that he would consider later. It traveled down the length of her body, between them, down to her thigh to grasp onto the edge of the silky material. He eased it up, kissing her still, his head shifting back and forth. She bit as his lips, sinking her teeth into his lower one as his knowing fingers grazed across the damp center of her panties, rubbing at her plump soft bare lips before flicking across the hard nub protruding from between them. He loved how her hips jerked when he did that, so he did it again. The third pass made her curse at him, against his insistent kisses, made her struggle against his gripping hand and made her teeth drive into his lip. She knew it would do no good, and it didn't. He kicked her feet apart to widen her stance and his fingers assaulted her now drenched covered sex, rubbing and tugging at her lips, then switching to her clitoris to treat it in the same manner. Soon, she was frantic in her bodily motions, her head twisting away to pull his mouth off her so she could moan and beg openly to him. She was trembling, already, and they'd only been together for on a few minutes.

It didn't matter; every time they met it was the same. He brought her to a quick frenzy and kept her on that plateau until her sex throbbed almost painfully. He did it differently each time but she came to expect it and, eventually, to crave it. His fingers paused and he gazed at her, his tongue rubbing across the spot her teeth sunk into his lip. He growled softly as he tasted the blood smeared across his tongue. He resolved right then to bring her off right away, in semi-public, and then again, much later, after he had her begging for it. His hand closed over the entire length of her jutting mound and his palm became soaked, almost immediately. He gripped it hard and tugged on it, then released. He snarled down at her as she turned her eyes to his, then held her gaze as he drove his hand forward. Her body twisted as the stinging smack connected, nearly forcing him to lose her grip around her wrists. He tightened his grip and landed another, her thighs tightening as they attempted to instinctively close, but unable to as he kept her feet wide apart by his own.

She hissed her breath through her teeth and he grinned down at her, that damn smile which infuriated her. Before she could utter a word, his hand clamped between her damp thighs; the heel of his hand ground into her engorged nub, and rubbed in a hard insistent circle. His lips found hers again upon hearing that telltale whimper; he kissed her deeply as her orgasm erupted. She screamed into his mouth as the pleasure soared through her, deep into her core. His hand became soaked as her juices drenched the thin useless material of her panties, and that heady sweet fragrance wafted up between their bodies. It almost made him stop and pull away to undo his trousers and take her, right there, in the hallway: bend her over and ram into her trembling canal until his own release was achieved. He tilted his hips back to keep her body from rubbing against him, wanting, as always, to wait until the absolutely last moment.

His hands pulled away from her and she nearly collapsed to the floor, but she steadied herself by grasping onto his arms. He stood still as she swayed again him, her nails sinking into his flesh. He politely eased her dress down over her thighs and chuckled as she uttered a single word: "Bastard." She clung closely to him and smiled softly as he led her down the hallway to the door leading to the stairwell, his arm curled around her shoulders. They descended the stairs quickly and made their way outside to walk to his nearby flat, their night together just beginning.