Strangers

Ashlynn Rivers
10 mins read
Published over 1 year ago

The man I am meeting is at the bar when I walk in. Facing the door, he sits with one long leg hooked through the legs of the stool. A deep blue button down, the top three buttons open, accentuates his tanned skin. He is striving for casual, but there is a tension to the way he sits, a restlessness I can sense somewhere in my gut rather than see. As if he would prefer to pace and prowl the room while he waits. One broad palm cradles a tumbler of amber liquor. He swirls the drink close the rim, allows it to settle then raises it to his lips.

I pause in the doorway for a moment, my fingers tight around the cold brass of the handles, drinking him in. Then, drawing a deep breath, I stride across the dim-lit room. His eyes snap up, finding mine as surely as if he has caught my scent. Our gazes hold for a moment before he lowers his to drag it along the curves my clinging red dress does little to conceal. The pounding in my chest echos down through my stomach and legs, before settling as a warm throb between my thighs.

The smouldering heat in his eyes causes my nipples to tingle and pucker. They push against the thin fabric, eager to show off for him, already seeking his touch. He doesn't miss them. The tip of his tongue emerges to dance along his bottom lip.  I wonder if he is imagining peeling the silk away from my skin inch by inch. We have waited for this for so long. 

After so many nights of teasing and eluding, of pictures that showed all too little and promised so much more. We are finally here together.

"Erik." I stop close enough for the spicy aroma of his aftershave to tickle at my nose. "The pictures you sent don't do you justice." 

I allow my eyes to roam over the width of his shoulders, down his chest, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He shifts in his seat, and a smile tugs my mouth. I have yet to touch him, and he is already growing hard — the soft fabric of his tailored pants strains over the bulge between his legs.

"Selene.” His voice is rich as smoke on cold water. “Words can't express how happy I am to meet you tonight."

Smiling wider, I drop a meaningful look at his crotch. "You don't need words."

He growls low in his throat, like an animal, and my blood fizzes and rushes in response. My fingers twitch with the need to wrap themselves in his dark hair and pull until he cries out. Instead, I reach out and toy with the cuff of his sleeve. 

"Can I get you anything to drink?" the bartender asks. 

He has been watching us, a spark in his eager young eyes. He can smell the musk of desire in the air. For a second, I toy with the idea of asking when his shift ends, of inviting him to join us. There is such energetic youthfulness about him I experience a flash of nostalgia. But then, Erik's hand brushes along my hemline, just above the backs of my knees and I have to concentrate on keeping them from buckling. The thought of the bartender’s young, supple flesh drifts away, and I shiver on a tide of goosebumps as calloused fingers creep upwards to find the sensitive skin below my ass cheek. 

"A shot of Avion Silver and a lime."

The young man blinks at me, thick lashes fluttering and with a nod he turns to fetch my order. While his back is to me, I lean forward, tipping my hips back while Erik's sneaking fingers slip over the damp fabric of my panties. He traces along the lace edges, letting out a shaky breath. The sound spurs a rush of liquid heat straight through me. I choke back an answering moan as the bartender turns, setting a glass before me. I take the shot, relishing the burn as the alcohol moves through my chest and stomach.

"Finish your drink and pay the man," I tell Erik. Trailing my tongue over my lips, I suck the last drops of tart lime juice off them and enjoy the way Erik's pupils dilate. He slams the rest of the whiskey in a single swallow and sets a fifty on the shining wood of the bar.

"Keep it," he says to the bartender, who is still watching us with poorly concealed interest. Erik's hands are already on my hips guiding me forward, pushing me toward the door. As if I need to be rushed. I'm desire incarnate: fierce blood and pooling, liquid need.

We make it into the elevator and as the doors shut, we crash into one and other. Erik's lips bruise mine, sucking and biting, his tongue dips into my mouth with wild strokes that coax a moan from deep within me. The rough, well-worked skin on his hands catches and snags in my hair as he forces his fingers through the thick, loose strands. Erik tips my head back, holding me there, exposing my neck to the scrape of his teeth and the sucking, sublime torture of his lips. 

Neither of us notices the elevator has stopped until a throat clears and we jump apart like guilty teens caught under the bleachers.

"Erik," I rasp, "this is our floor." The woman standing outside the elevator does not attempt to meet our eyes, and we barely acknowledge her as we rush down the hallway.

I notice nothing about this hotel room we have rented for the night. Erik flicks on the lamps, and as the door slams behind us, and he is already seizing the hem of my dress and tugging it up and over my head. The world is Erik and his hands and the magic they are working on my body. There is no bra beneath the silk sheath, and Erik moans deep in his throat at the discovery. I am tingling all over, slick with the need of him. He pauses only a moment in his onslaught to drink me in with desire-weighted eyes. 

His hand circles my wrist, and he raises my arm, spinning me around on the spot, once, twice, before stopping me in front of the full-length mirror that sits beside the dresser. He studies me in the glass, his face creased with raw hunger.

My breasts are swollen, aching for his touch. He drags a fingertip over one puckered nipple, then the next before cupping them both in his palms. His chest hair tickles my back. Nothing hides my pussy from his hungry eyes but a black high cut thong that frames my bum like a picture. The delicate material rips as Erik slips his fingers into the waist and yanks sideways. 

Our eyes hold in the mirror and a whimper escapes me as both his hands settle on my ass cheeks, rubbing in small circles. Erik pushes me forward, and I brace my hands against the cold glass, waiting. He slaps his palms against me, then squeezes hard enough to leave a mark. My skin sings out in delectable pain. A cry falls off my lips, and I push my body back, seeking, needing the hard press of his desire against me. 

He obliges. A clatter of metal echoes in the room as his belt hits the floor. I move back from the mirror and try to turn to him but Erik shoves me forward, holding me down against the bed with a big hand on the back of my neck. The other hand spreads my folds wide, exposing my wet, hidden parts to the air.

I whimper into the cotton of the duvet. I need him so badly. As Erik's body settles against me, the hair on his muscled legs rasps the overheated skin of my thighs. The thickness of his erection is poised against me, taunting, pulsing at the entrance to my body as he waits with infuriating patience to enter me.

"Do you want it?" he murmurs, his voice a rumble from deep in his chest. The hand on the back my neck massages a moment, fingertips caressing tense muscles before his grip tightens. "Are you ready for me to fuck you, baby?"

"Yes. Yes please," I plead, my hips arching, seeking to fill the aching void.

“I want to hear you beg for it. Dirty, beautiful girl. Tell me you want my cock inside you.”

I'm shaking with a need so fierce, it’s dripping from my body and down my legs. “Please, ” I sob. “Please, Erik. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I want you to fill me with your cock.”

My breath comes in high-pitched whimpering gasps. Finally, Erik thrusts with a pained moan, sinking himself inside my body to the base of his shaft. 

"Oh yes, oh yes,” I chant as he slides out, only to plunge back into me again and again. The pounding of our bodies drives the headboard into the wall — a visceral, age-old rhythm. 

The room pulses in the corners of my vision. My toes dig into the plush carpet, clinging as I struggle to stay upright enough to accommodate the pounding thrusts. Erik seizes my arms, pulling them both behind my back, pinning me down by my wrists with one hand. The other he uses to gather my hair and wraps it around his fist like a rope, holding my head back exposing my throat. I am helpless beneath him. Delectable trapped, entirely his. Heat floods my limbs. I clench around his cock as the first spasms of orgasm brim and spread through my womb and outwards. The muscles of my pussy squeeze around him. He shudders and moans.

"Harder," I cry the word like a mantra, “harder, harder.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as he complies.  

He is about to come, I can hear it in the gasping sobs he emits. In the desperate hammering, the slap of his thighs against mine, his fingers digging into my wrists as he holds me captive, I give myself over to my climax, to his, squeezing and shaking and crying out as he fills me up. 


"I love you."

I snuggle deeper against him, breathing in the familiar scents and wiggling my nose against the tickle of chest hair. "I love you too, baby. "

He stretches, groaning as his body pops and creaks. "I cannot wait to have a lay in tomorrow. This is the best anniversary ever."

I nod, slipping toward unconsciousness, yet I am unwilling to allow it to seize me, not ready to let these precious moments alone with him get away just yet. "It's going to be glorious. I am so happy you're home." A full month of speaking only via video chat had been more than my heart could handle. I need my husband. My best friend.

"Are we picking up the kids, or is your mother dropping them off," he asks against my hair.

"We will pick them up before dinner," I answer, pressing a kiss against his neck. “She was adamant we take our time.”

“I've always loved your mother.”

One hand traces lazy circles around the bare skin of my shoulder, raising goosebumps. 

"I am going to fuck you again in the morning," he says matter of factly.

"No." I hide my smile in the blankets as he goes still. 

"No?" 

I tip my head up, searching for his mouth. "I am going to fuck you. I am going to ride you slowly until you are begging me to let you cum," I whisper against his lips before I kiss them. "Goodnight, Tony."

He kisses me back in the soft, sweet way he has since we first fell in love, but even as he says, "Goodnight, Jane," in return, his cock is growing hard against my stomach.

Neither of us would be going to sleep quite yet. Grinning, my sleepiness easing, I roll on top of my husband and pin him to the bed.

AR
Written by
Ashlynn Rivers

Ashlynn Rivers has a passion for bringing words to life, the sexier the better! She's an avid bibliophile, caffeine connoisseur, and is living her own sexy fairytale with the love of her life.