They had been chatting since covid. Just random conversations with a few too-much-wine flirtations. She was reticent, and he always stopped, except for that one Boxing Day, when his words got dirty, and he sent her a series of pictures that made her question her entire life.
She’d always been with someone.
When he flew into her town for a convention, they decided to meet. She’d pick him up at the airport.
It was after work. She was sweaty and gross. Orlando was always hot. He knew who she really was, and didn’t care how dressed she was or what she wore since he’d seen her best and worst. And he’d been on a plane from across the ocean. Tired. Needing food and a shower. The plan was to meet. She’d take him to his hotel. They’d have dinner. Then he’d be busy with the convention the rest of the time.
After three years of talking, their just-friends-status was firmly entrenched. Even if they were both single.
He walked out of the plane, looking just like she knew he would. A little quirk at the corner of his lips. She was suddenly, pointlessly, nervous. Butterflies in her belly, a blush heating her cheeks, flutters in her hands not knowing what to do with herself. It came out of nowhere.
Flashes of Boxing Day pictures and words in her mind. She would not look down. Would not check out his package.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
She could barely speak. Words tumbled out. She didn’t know what she uttered.
“No hug?” He opened his arms.
She stepped into them. His heat, his smell—coffee, airplane and the cliffs over an ocean with something fresh and mossy. She’d known he was taller than her, but she fit into his body perfectly, like his shape was the one she’d been missing all her life, and she’d only now just found it.
He wrapped his arms around her, his head over hers, tucking in towards her shoulder. His arms tightened. He took a huge breath. “Fuck. I knew it would be like this.”
“What?” She couldn’t let go. Tried to step away. He let her, but then started walking, pulling her along with him. People at the airport milled around them but she didn’t see anything, hear anything. Only him.
What was happening?
His long legs ate up the ground. He opened a door. Pushed her inside a family bathroom. “You are not going to fucking tell me no, are you, Sweetheart? You’re not going to overthink this and stop me? Are you?”
He pushed her against the wall. The harsh light did them no favors. It
was all there, stark and real. Age, time. All the imperfections wrapped up in the secrets they had shared. Everything. But his green eyes ate her up like she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, and like he couldn’t breathe if he didn’t get what he wanted.
He touched her with his eyes, while his hands stayed on her shoulder, skimming the skin exposed by her tank top.
“Yes or no, woman. Tell me now. But you fuckin’ tell me no, I have to walk out that door, get my luggage and go. You understand. Your no is final. I can’t spend time with you and not be inside of you.”
She was stunned. But not. Seeing him in the flesh was like being within touching distance of the perfect halcyon moment. She couldn’t see it and not touch it. Taste it. Bathe herself in its rarity.
“Yes. Okay. Yes.”
“Yes. Whatever I want?”
She was nodding.
“Out loud. Yes, Sir.”
It came out a squeak, half choked.
She knew him. Thought she knew him well. They had chatted about everything, hadn’t they? But this was terrifying. His energy went inside of her. Spilled out of her. It pooled in her mouth. Lower. Swelling up. Garish. Scented. She could feel the thick, strange syrup of a powerful arousal gathering just inside the lips of her pussy. And she’d never felt that before. With anyone. Other than him, the day after Christmas, on Boxing Day.
She wanted to question, but he stopped that with his mouth. Eating at her lips with a kiss, one hand on her face.
“You know me. You know me. And either you mean yes, or you don’t. Say it again.”
“Yes Sir.”
“That’s right. That’s what you are gonna say to me. Because you want to be my good girl, don’t you?” His lips slid across her cheek to her ear. He nipped at the lobe.
“I’ve waited too long for this. Pull up that shirt, your bra. I want them hard nipples out.”
She made a noise. Was that a whimper? Was she doing this?
“Do it. Now,” he barked.
Gripping the shirt at the bottom, she pulled, yanked it up, and exposed her breasts to him.
“Fuck yes. That’s right, woman. Perfect damn tits. I’m going to bite them. Leave pretty marks, you know that? Brought some special things just for you. You’ll feel very used and slutty tomorrow. Do you think you can take it?” He breathed the words over her skin, hot and silky.
She moaned, arching her back. He hadn’t touched her yet, not really. Everything burned with a need for his hands. As soon as he named a body part, it came alive. If he called out her pussy, she was done for.
“Stay or leave?” he asked and shoved his shorts down one handed.
Holding her throat in his hand, she couldn’t tip her head, only lower her eyes to see his hard cock bounce free towards his belly, knocking into his shirt, the tip already damp.
“Stay or leave!” The demand hung in the air as he stepped out of clothing.
She pushed her skirt and underwear down with a wiggle. Grabbed the hand from her cheek and drew it down to the apex of her thighs. “Stay.”
“Good fucking girl.”