A Short Contemporary Scene...
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 the last ten years of life choices.
He sent her a message saying he was flying into her town for a convention. They agreed to meet. Maggie decided to risk everything, pick him up at the airport. This was Eric. Her Eric. Even if there was no in-person chemistry, she didn’t want to miss a moment with him. He had fascinated her from the beginning, and if nothing else, they had months and months of good conversation and friendship between them. After all of that, he wouldn’t reject her when he saw her in person, would he?
It was after work. She was sweaty and gross. Orlando was always hot. Eric knew who she really was. He’d seen her on video chat at her worst. She didn’t have time to care about make-up—it would melt off her face—or what she wore. As for him, he’d traveled across the ocean. She expected tired, hungry, and a strong desire for a shower.
She steadied herself by keeping her expectations at just getting a chance to hug him in person, to say thank you for being there. First, they meet. Then, she would take him to his hotel. If he had the energy—dinner. If not, they’d catch up after the convention because he’d said the schedule was packed to keep him busy, with little time for play. His company was run by monsters.
Their just-friends-status was firmly entrenched. Even if they were both single at the moment. No reason to hope for different. She would be fine.
Fluffing her humid-limp dark hair, Maggie whispered the word to herself again. “Friends.”
Eric walked into the public area of the airport, half a head taller than everyone else, looking just like she knew he would. Scanning the crowd, he searched for her. Oh God help her, what was he going to say about her twenty-pounds-heavier-in-person body.
He turned his head, his lips kicked up at the corner and redirected toward her. Her heart rate increased with every step he took. Butterflies blew up in her belly like they’d been caught in a windstorm; her hands fluttered to catch them all and put them back into calm, steady, “just-friends,” pockets where they belonged.
Out of nowhere his graphic Boxing Day pictures—nude, glorious, proud, hungry—flashed before her eyes. Rich, filthy words flashed in her mind. He’d fed her words that day like a man feeding his lover expensive chocolates. Bite by bite.
Her face felt hot. Red.
Maggie held steady. No looking at her feet. Keeping her eyes on Eric. No checking out his package. He wasn’t hers. That day after Christmas was a drunk, lonely, one-off. He was here, and that was all that mattered.
And then he was in front of her. She could smell him.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
Her lips parted, and good lord she almost moaned. She could barely speak. Forcing something out, she muttered some kind of lame greeting, a nonsensical question about his flight, an offer to carry something.
He gave her one of her sexy, indulgent cooked smiles.
Her face got redder.
Finally, she gave up and said, “No hug?”
He opened his arms.
She stepped into them. Didn’t know how bad she needed this embrace until the world shifted under her feet and bells rang in her head. His heat, his smell—coffee, airplane, and the ocean waves plus humid heat with something fresh and mossy—engulfed her. 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 her in towards his shoulder. His arms tightened. She felt his ribcage move and expand against her breasts when he took a huge breath.
“Fuck. I knew it would be like this.”
“What?” She couldn’t let go. Tried to step away. He wouldn’t let her; instead he started walking, pulling her along with him.
People at the airport moved around them like transparent mirages of humanity. Colors and shapes. The airport sounds dimmed to a white noise, and all she heard was the sound of Eric’s breath, his heartbeat, his voice. 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, my Maggie girl? You’re not going to overthink this and stop me? Are you?”
His carry-on and crossbody laptop bag were dropped to the floor with one hand while he locked the door with the other.
“Are you?”
“Tell you no?” Maggie asked.
Warm energy poured off him in waves, he practically sparked it, like some kind of old-world mage come to life. All of it lashed at her. Aimed at her.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited. Kept quiet. Held back. I brought a stack of letters for you. Fucking years of messages I couldn’t send while you played with others, while you locked yourself in relationships you knew were not good for you. You’re going to read every damn word of them to me.”
“You wrote me letters?” The dumb question squeaked out of her as overwhelmed emotion welled in her eyes.
They had talked of letters during covid. She’d sent him two and he said he got them, loved them, but never sent anything back. For her, the handwritten words across a page were treasures, evidence of existence, passion, and life. She’d peppered their conversations during the pandemic with distracted tangents about the lost art of love letter writing, supplying quotes from her favorites.
He’d written her letters.
“Yes. Letters. Fucking haikus, love sonnets,” he said through clenched teeth as he pushed her against the wall across from the sink.
“Sonnets?” The sweetness of it welled inside of her, making her eyes glassy in the mirror over Eric’s shoulder.
Her expression, her feelings, and all her realities shone back at her in glass and metal revelation. Her poor choices added lines at her eyes and sagged her chin. Age, time, anxiety, lack of sleep and lazy eating.
In comparison to the younger Eric, she was out of her normal retired-beer-belly league. An age group she understood and loved like her favorite teddy bears. Her mind insisted that Eric was all wrong for her, too young, too vital, too intelligent, too good looking.
Holding her neck with a wide palm, he nudged her brown eyes to his green and poured over her features, making her feel like she was the map he needed to find his way.
In answer, the butterflies flittered and floated eagerly in the cradle of her hips and dancing into her bloodstream, sending ripples and tingles everywhere. What was this?
She couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze. She was seen. Completely. He looked at her, through every mask and into where fluttering, tremulous color burst open at his touch.
“What are we doing?” she whispered. Afraid of answers.
“Maggie Girl.” His sensuous mouth went firm. The hand on her throat squeezed, his other skimmed the exposed skin at the neckline of her tank top. Shoulder to shoulder, across her décolletage.
Once. Twice. Again, this time stopping in the middle, following the line of her cleavage with a barely-there caress that set her on fire. A moan built in her throat.
“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. Now that I’ve seen you, touched you, I need to inhale you. You understand? Your no is final. I can’t spend time with you and not be buried inside one of your sweet little holes.”
“Not be inside of me?” She was stunned. But no, not really, not when she had badly wanted this to happen.
“Answer,” he demanded.
There was only one answer. One daring, this-couldn’t-be-happening, and I-want-whatever-we-can-share answer. Seeing him in the flesh was like being within touching distance of the perfect halcyon moment. She couldn’t see it and not step into it. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”
“Yes. Whatever I want?”
She was nodding.
“Out loud.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her consent escaped like a squeak, half choked.
“That’s right. That’s what I want to hear. Good fucking girl.”
She knew him. Thought she knew him well. They had chatted about everything, hadn’t they? But this was terrifying.
His energy poured over her skin. She soaked it up, matched him, met him until the dark fermented honey of it pooled in her mouth, waterfall’d down her torso where it swelled in the cradle of her pelvis in a thick, strange syrup of powerful arousal. He made her wet enough that she could feel it.
She wanted to say something, but he stopped that with his mouth, leaning down, the hand at her throat tilting her head up to meet his kiss.
His lips were soft. The heat in her middle boiled.
Someone tried the handle of the bathroom door. Her startled body jerked with surprise. Were they coming in?
“Lesson one, don’t fucking look away from me for any reason. I don’t care if it sounds like the world is falling to pieces and Jesus Himself has arrived, you keep your eyes on me, Maggie Girl.” He blocked her in tighter, the pressure of his hand just at the edge of cutting off her air.
“What are you saying? Is this really happening?” She took a shallow breath through her nose and sighed into his body, resting a hand on his waist and wishing his shirt wasn’t tucked in under his belt.
“You know me. Either you mean yes, or you don’t. Stay here or go away forever.”
“Don’t go.” The very idea shook her to her core. He couldn’t leave now.
“Then tell me what I want to hear. Yes or no?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Say it right.”
“Yes Sir,” the address felt thick and heavy, prophecy on her tongue.
“That’s right, my girl. That’s fucking right.” He growled the agreement into her ear, a profane vow.
“But.” She started her list, all the buts and ifs. He was across an ocean. His life. His job. She was from here; her grown kids were here. Her future grandchildren—here. It was never going to work.
“Maggie.” He stopped her continuing with his fingers slipping two into her open mouth as she tried to tell him all her reasons, trapping her tongue.
Heartbeat going wild, the butterflies shivered through her system as if their delicate wings caught fire. She clenched her legs together, trying to hold back the liquid gold from the ash of their burned frenzy.
“Yes, Sir. 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—nipped at her lobe as his fingers went deeper toward the back of her throat, making her cough.
“Now that’s a pretty sound. I want to hear that a lot. Maybe every day. What do you say?”
She tried to say his name, but her mouth was filled, her libido turned up past the high mark on its imaginary dial. She lost her ability to hold on to all her reasons why a romantic relationship with this man wasn’t possible.
“I’ve waited too long for this. Pull up that shirt. Unclasp that ugly bra. I want them hard nipples out.”
She made a noise. Was that a whimper? Was she showing Eric her breasts in an airport bathroom five minutes after meeting him?
“Do it. Now,” he barked. He took his fingers out of her mouth, shoved them into his own, licking at the taste of her.
“Yes. Yes, Eric.” Managing her bra, she unclasped it, felt it go loose around her chest. Then she gripped her shirt at the bottom, pulled it over her head, dropping it to the bathroom floor. Freed, her breasts dropped, felt heavy. Exposed to the air, her clammy skin stunk like the sun-heated street, smoggy humidity, and her over-taxed deodorant.
“Fuck yes,” Eric breathed the words just above her head.
The whiff of reality dissipated in the sensation of his hands cupping her, a thumb playing over her nipple. His touch made her young. Beautiful.
“Fuck yes. Yes. That’s right, woman. Perfect damn tits. I’m going to bite them. You’re going to let me. Right? Leave pretty marks, you know that? Brought some special things just for you. You’ll feel very used and slutty by tomorrow. Do you think you can take it?”
“Tomorrow?” Had he said tomorrow?
She couldn’t hold on to that, words that didn’t come with a command fell apart in her head as the pleasure of his real-life presence took her over. Eric had her pinned against a wall. Eric was touching her body. Eric wanted her.
She moaned, arching her back. Every inch of skin on her body 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 unbuckled his belt, opening his slacks.
Lowering her eyes, she saw his hard cock bounce free towards his belly, knocking into his shirt, the tip already damp.
“Stay or leave!” His demand hung in the air as he stepped out of clothing.
“Stay.” She followed his example, pushed her skirt and underwear down with a wiggle. Grabbed his nearest hand and drew it down to the apex of her thighs in surrender.
“Good fucking girl.” His praise rumbled against her ear as his fingers slipped through her slit, the obvious slick sounds filling the small, locked space.
She gasped at his touch. Perfection. It was perfection.
He found her clit, gently rubbed over it, back and forth, back and forth. She was so wound up that her legs started to shake and the moan that escaped ricocheted, loud, off the bathroom walls.
“Shhhh, you don’t want anyone to know you are fucking in the bathroom do you?”
“Nnnnn,” she shaped the correct sound in her mouth, but it followed his touch instead of her will.
Back and forth, back and forth. So good. Her hips chased him, but he refused to deepen the pressure or increase the speed.
“You are going to stay right here with me, aren’t you, because you like this. Like my fingers petting this pussy, don’t you? Maybe I’ll make you drive us to the hotel, my fingers right here, between your legs, edging you, naked the entire way?”
“Couldn’t drive…” Her head fell back against the wall as her hips followed the pace, creating a dance.
“More excuses? Really? Is that what you are going to do?”
She wanted to say his name, but only sounds came out. He replaced the hand on her throat and gently squeezed.
“What’s that? What are you trying to say? Do you want me to stop? You want to go?”
“Nnnnnn.” Not now. Not now that he’d started. He couldn’t just stop. She needed more.
Before she could beg for it, he crowded closer and slipped his fingers inside of her body.
Maggie widened her stance to welcome the invasion. She wanted this. Badly.
Stroking a deep spot inside her, he reached a spot she’d only ever reached with her toys. Her knees buckled as a hot electric pulse zinged through her system and his hand at her throat became her anchor.
“Look at you,” he growled, eyes locked on her face in the unforgiving fluorescent light.
Maggie groaned in answer.
“All those texts, polite messages and proper goodnights, and now you’re letting me finger-fuck you in the airport like my very own greedy little whore. You love it, don’t you?”
What to say to that? She clenched her teeth and hissed as the pressure and pleasure built between her legs. Not gentle, not sweet, not butterflies, but molten fire and sparks rising high, her vision filling with red and gold lights. Fireflies. He gave her fireflies.
Her hips rolled shamelessly, chasing the connection, carnal need coiling tighter and hotter than anything she’d ever felt with anyone else. He leaned in, mouth brushing her temple.
“I’ve jerked off to the thought of this pretty cunt so many times I’ve lost count. Those Boxing Day pictures? You have no idea how many nights I came with your name on my lips, imagining you exactly like this—wet, shaking, begging without words.”
“Eric,” she whispered his name as if it was a wish she was afraid to speak too loud.
His teeth sank into the soft skin below her ear, sharp enough to mark, and she cried out. He soothed the bite with his tongue, then nosed a trail down her neck to her breast, latching onto her nipple. She moaned. He sucked until it hurt, his teeth scraping her skin.
Instead of pushing him away, her hands flew to his hair, she brought him closer, deeper into her being.
He grunted against her skin in answer, as if agreeing that he wanted to be inside of her, or wanted her inside of him, wanted the pleasure-pain closeness that transcended the physical.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, Sir.” She felt wild, unmoored—nothing like the careful, always-in-a-relationship woman she’d been her whole life. This was reckless, raw, and so fucking right.
He added a third finger to the ones inside her wet pussy, stretching her, pumping faster. The heel of his hand ground against her clit with every thrust.
“Come on my fingers, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this. Let me feel that pretty cunt squeeze me.”
It was too much—his words, his scent, the thick cock with a wet tip kissing her bare skin, sensation snapped through her like a live wire, butterflies reborn, fireflies ablaze, electricity released.
She came hard, pulsing around his fingers, biting down on his shoulder to muffle her scream. Her legs shook; wetness coated his hand, dripping down her thighs. She heard the sound of it drip to the floor. He didn’t stop. Fingers moved faster, his hand slamming against her pubic bone.
“Give it all to me Maggie girl. Everything. Let go. Release. Accept me.” He demanded ferociously.
“Eric, Eric. Yes. Please. Please. Stay. Stay. Oh, please. Yes.” She didn’t know what she was saying, only that she meant it; she wanted him, she needed this the way poets need words.
She came twice more or else she just didn’t stop coming, waves cresting, breaking, her entire body a live wire, only able to slow its burn when he slowed his hand, only able to come down when he allowed it.
“Beautiful, fucking, sexy amazing. Listen how you whine.” His praise rewrote all her good intentions to not cling to him, to stay happy, free friends.
How could she know him like this and not want to keep him?
He removed his fingers and brought them to her mouth. “Clean them.”
She obeyed instantly, opening her mouth to him, tongue swirling, tasting herself on his skin while he watched with dark, possessive eyes.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmured in a voice rough with restraint. “Now turn around. Hands on the wall. I’m going to fuck you until you forget every man who ever touched you before me.”
She’d laughed with him once about possessive men who made such claims. Not that she had this high body count, but she’d told him she thought men were just like women, they all wanted to be the special one, the unforgettable one. He’d laughed too.
But when he said those words of possession, they took her back to all the relationship conversations they’d had. She discovered new meanings there, in the pages of their shared histories. She never thought to hear him speak such things to her and definitely never thought she’d want to erase all others before him.
She turned without hesitation, panties tangled at her knees, and opened her hands on the cold wall. He kicked her feet wider, lined himself up, and drove into her in one long, merciless thrust.
“Oh, yes.” Maggie cried, tears threatening.
It was so good. So impossible. She felt the first thrust as if he reshaped her. He was over her, around her and in her. They both groaned.
He took her hard and deep, one hand fisted in her hair, the other clamped over her mouth as if she might dare say something to stop him.
“Whose pussy is this? Whose body is this?” he asked, a new question with every thrust.
Every answer was his name, trapped at her lips behind his palm.
He thrust in, pulled almost all the way out, then in, relentless, as if squeezing himself into her with his cock. Bigger, younger, thicker, his claim stretched her. She had to bear down, push back, meet his hungry demand with her own willing violence, their bodies slapping noisily together. He wasn’t even touching her clit, but every thrust pushed her higher, the angle rubbing just right.
“Gonna come in you, Maggie. Fucking breed you.”
“Yes. Please, please.” She didn’t know what he was asking or what she was saying. Did it matter? Everything was yes right now. Had to be enthusiastic, don’t-look-back yes.
His groaning became a shout of triumph she was sure people could hear, and instead of being embarrassed, she wanted to dare the world to witness his glorious act of claiming. Her body tightened up around him as she joined him with her own climax.
“Fuck, woman, I can feel you. Fuck. How do you do that?” he asked.
She gave him a groan in answer.
They stumbled out of the family bathroom like two people who’d just survived a small explosion. Cheeks flushed, clothes slightly askew, the air around them thick with sex and satisfaction. He grabbed her hand as they walked toward baggage claim, fingers laced tight, like letting go might unravel everything.
In the car, the Orlando humidity pressed against the windows. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh because he’d put it there and she didn’t dare move it. He watched her the whole way—his thumb stroking slow circles on her bare skin just under the hem of her skirt.
“You okay, Maggie girl?” he asked finally, voice low.
She nodded, then shook her head, then laughed—a shaky, disbelieving sound. “I just got fucked in an airport bathroom. No. I’m not okay. I’m… ruined. In the best way.”
He grinned, that same little quirk at the corner of his mouth, but darker now. Pleased with himself. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done.”
At the hotel, he checked in while she waited in the lobby, trying not to look like someone who still had cum drying between her thighs. When he came back with the key card, he didn’t speak. Taking her hand, he led her to the elevator.
The door to his room had barely clicked shut before he had her pressed against it, mouth on hers, hands everywhere. Slower this time. Deliberate.
“Shower. I want you clean before I make you filthy again,” he said against her neck.
They stripped each other in the bathroom, clothes hitting the tile in a careless pile. Under the hot water, he washed her slowly—hair, shoulders, breasts, between her legs—his touch gentle but proprietorial. When his fingers slid over her pussy again, she jolted, still sensitive, swollen.
“Sore?” he asked, not stopping.
“A little. That was quite a pounding you gave me.” A giggle escaped when she said it.
“Good.” He kissed her under the spray.
After helping her out of the shower, he dried her with a towel like she was something precious, then carried her to bed. Laid her down and looked at her—really looked—his green eyes moving over every inch of her body in the soft hotel light.
“You’re more beautiful in person than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.”
“You are just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.” She reached for him, pulling him down on top of her.
This time there was no rush. Just skin on skin, mouths and hands and whispered confessions. He kissed every mark he’d left in the bathroom, then made new ones.
“This is mine.” He sucked a bruise onto her collarbone, her inner thigh, the curve where her waist met her hip.
When he finally slid inside her again, it was slow, sweet fucking with eye contact that felt profoundly intimate. She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his back, and he moved like he wanted to live inside her forever.
“Yes Sir,” she said, agreeing to everything. Agreeing to him. This. Whatever. No matter how impossible.
After, they lay tangled, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
“I have to go to this convention tomorrow,” he said, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. “Panels. Dinners. Networking bullshit.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not going.”
She lifted her head. “You have to.”
“No, I’m staying right here. With you. I’ll tell them I’m sick. Or I quit. I don’t care.”
“You can’t quit your job because you finally got laid.”
“I’m not quitting because I got laid,” he said, rolling her beneath him again, settling between her thighs.
“No?” She laughed with the action, feeling buoyant. Those damn butterflies again. That’s what he’d meant by breeding. There were twice as many now, fluttering, tickling, alive inside of her, lighting her up with the fireflies, illuminating her nerve endings.
“I’m quitting because I finally got you. And three days isn’t enough. A week isn’t enough.”
He kissed her before she could argue, deep and claiming. “Tell me you don’t want more,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me this was just a one-time thing and I’ll go to my stupid convention tomorrow like a good boy.”
She couldn’t say it. Because it wasn’t true. Instead, she pulled him closer.
“Stay,” she said.
He smiled against her mouth. “Good fucking girl.”