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“Woah. You never say that.”
“Only when it applies. You thrive on being in control even when you’re trying to submit.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“No.”
“Well, then, just be at the house Friday night. Seven sharp.”
“Any particular kind of attire?”
“I think nude and leather will do. I’m sure I can find something suitable hanging around the house. You can change when you get there.”
I smile. “See, you’ve already told me a bundle.”
“Then too, I might just want to hang you on the wall as trinket for the party I’m having.”
“You’re having a party?”
“You’ll find out when you get there. Oh, and come in through the back entrance. You get to the alley from 28th Street.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because groveling slaves don’t deserve the front door.”
He gently covers my hand while he speaks, one black, one white, lying on the table next to our dirty dessert plates. This eye contact mesmerizes me. I don’t want our lunch to end and I have the feeling he feels the same.
As we leave the restaurant, I’m surprised to find Bernard taking my hand as we jostle our way through the crowded street. We walk two blocks farther then I’d need to go, but then it becomes clear he’s on a mission of some importance. When we dart into the entrance of a well-worn hotel, my heart begins to dream fire, my loins burn.
We check into a small room on the third floor, walking silently up the three flights, out of breath at the top. He begins kissing me as we reach the landing. I’m kissing back. He’s taking off my clothes while I explore the buttons of his shirt, frantically trying to get inside. We’re half undressed by the time we get to room #311, and stand with the door ajar as he finishes removing my sweater and undoing my bra. His eyes take in my breasts as though he’s never seen them before, and I worry that he’ll judge them too pale, too small, too tenuous. I watch his hands on me, the firmness with which he moves that gentle darkness on the white of my skin.
When he pushes me inside the room, the rest of our clothes fall away as though they disappear with no effort.
Moving on the pink chenille bedspread, the clench is anxious, the force torrential like a downpour in spring that soaks us to the skin. My hands can’t get enough of his cinnamon flesh. The scent of his sweat and perfume make me hunger for him the way I’d hunger for elegant food, mouth watering once I catch its aroma. I go down on his meat, taking it all in my mouth and drawing it back out see his erection grow. The head looks dark and brutal. He slaps my ass much more playfully than he ever has before. It burns, but in a way I love, I want it more. As his mouth moves on my cunt, his tongue pokes into the center and his lips suck the clit till it swells anxiously. Then he pulls my labia with his teeth.
“Oh, more, more, more, more, yesssss.” I breathe in.
Bernard groans when I twist away and his erection breaches me. I’m sitting on his dick dancing, swaying, wishing I had long hair like Makaila to drift like an ocean wave over his skin. Is that why he loves her so?
I squeeze down with my cunt as I buck on his crotch. His hands reach for my breasts and he squashes them with his fingers so I think he’ll tear them off.
When I drop to his chest, the velocity increases. Our lips meet again, tongues diving inside so deeply we seem to be exchanging places. We are fused together, no space between us, no room for compromise, no getting around the truth of this lust. It’s wholly an animal thing, and love and light and darkness blending into one being.
As his climax nears, mine starts to burst in me around his cock. It brings him off, and the pulse and beat of him jar me deep in my belly. We’re inseparable thereafter. And I can’t move. I lay with him, wondering if these minutes will turn into hours, into days, into forever. But it all suddenly ends when Bernard pries himself loose from my arms.
I lay beside him on my back, out of breath.
“I’ve never fucked that hard.”
“See why we’d never make a good match?” he replies.
“That’s no proof at all,” I retort. “Why not this? What’s wrong with what we have?”
“It wouldn’t work for me, Anna” he says kindly. “I love Makaila with all my heart. I could only give you half of what you want.” That’s all he has to say and the truth makes me sad.
“So, what will Makaila say when you tell her about this afternoon?”
