I’m a woman who acts on impulse, probably more than is good for her. I become restless. The tension in my hands says, “Do something, make your life interesting, if just for a night.” I ease it by wrapping my fingers around a martini glass, the handrail on a train, a warm cock.
But this is one of the most impulsive things I’ve done in years. I look out of the window of a train onto an unfamiliar landscape as I speed toward a city I’ve never visited, never even thought about visiting until a few days ago.
I’m nervous. So nervous that I can’t tell if the vibrations I feel deep inside myself are from the train or the adrenaline driving me forward. But this adrenaline feeds me, makes me electric.
In this new city, I can be anyone, show him any part of me I want, or even a part I haven’t yet shown myself.
I suppose that’s an important part of the story.
My first real crush, back in high school, when I was so self-conscious I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, speak to him, let alone do what I really wanted to do to him—get on my knees with his cock suspended, hard, above my waiting mouth, feel his rough, big fingers thrust into my pussy, feel the weight of his body on mine as he works himself into me. Had I had the confidence, he would have been my first everything.
That was years ago, and he was none of my firsts, and now I’m more experienced than my younger self could have imagined. Now I’m the one that reaches out for a man’s arm, the one that smiles easily and is quick to undress. Now I’m not afraid to get what I want.
Which is really how I got into this situation in the first place. I made the first move for my young, shy self, and because there was no more fear; nothing to lose and everything to gain. I slid into his DM’s after he liked a few of my more thirsty pictures on Instagram.
So when are you gonna take me out?
Back and forth, he lives in a different city, minor details, easily remedied.
Then his message that really set me off.
I’ve always found you overwhelmingly sexy.
A modern love story if there ever was one.
He asked me to come and visit him for a three day weekend on a night when my urge to shake up my life was particularly high, and now I’m getting off this train, looking through the station for him, or who I imagine him to be.
I get a text.
Subway got stalled, I’ll be there in 15.
It’s for the best. I need a moment to breathe. I find a secluded bench along the white marble wall of the station and pull out my book, as if I’m going to be able to focus, as if I can ignore my damp palms and bouncing knees.
My phone buzzes with another text.
I can’t wait to see you.
That makes me blush.
I genuinely don’t know what to expect with this man. I’m not even sure what he’ll look like. I have pieces of what I remember from school, encounters that I tucked away in my mind to take out and treasure later. His deep voice rising above those of his friends, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges before he smiled.
He was all man before I even realized that’s what I wanted—a fucking man. A football player, a hunter. It took me a while before I figured out that my Texas roots influenced me more than I’d like to admit.
Of course, I have my trepidations. What if he’s boring or rude? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if he’s a fucking Trump supporter? What if we simply have no chemistry?
But the pull of what could happen is too strong. The best-case scenario would be too fun. What if we can’t take our hands off of each other? What if this is going to be four days of hot fucking and takeout? What if we don’t even bother to put on clothes?
That’s why I had to say yes, and why I’m sitting in this train station staring at a book and fantasizing about a man that I’ve continued to come back to for nearly a decade.
My reflections are cut short by a deep voice and a warm body next to me.
“What book are you reading?”
My breath catches in my chest when I turn and see him sitting there. His face is inches from mine and I’m so taken aback that I just manage to squeeze out a little, “Hi.”
He laughs and stands up, towering over me. I take his outstretched hand and he pulls me into a hug. I am acutely aware of the past few months of sexy texts sitting imposingly between us, but I relax a little when I smell his cologne, feel his warmth underneath my hands. We pull apart and he looks me over, his light blue eyes flicking across my face.
“It’s really good to see you,” he says, and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you ready for our weekend?” He slings my bag over his shoulder and guides me through the station and out onto the busy street.
“I am! But where are we going?” I ask, giggling at the grin on his face when I realize it matches mine. I’m glad we both realize how crazy this is.
“I thought we might have a few drinks and get to know each other. Trust me. I think you’ll like this place.” He looks down at me, his eyebrow cocked, and after a pause, takes my hand in his.
I reluctantly tear my eyes away from him to navigate the crowded street, but he’s as beautiful as I remember. Broad shoulders fill out a soft leather jacket, and I glance down his long legs to see some beat-up cowboy boots which make me smile.
You can take the boy out of Texas…
We stop suddenly in front of a nondescript metal door, which he holds open for me.
I step inside and push past a heavy black curtain. I’m standing on an iron walkway that looks down on a huge mahogany bar built into the floor below, where carved creatures stand guard over a mirror splotched with age. Two enormous chandeliers are hanging at eye level, their warm light glowing beneath a layer of soft dust.
“Stairs are this way, darling.” He laughs, watching my face as I gawk at the scene.
“What the fuck,” I mouth at him, following carefully down a spindly staircase. A tall hostess waits at the bottom with a clipboard.
“Name?” she asks brusquely.
She turns on her heel and leads us through a crowd of plush chairs and beautiful people lazily swirling their drinks. She waves her hand at the only free pair of seats at the bar and stomps away.
He pulls out a stool for me and sits on one himself, opening the small menu. “What do you usually drink?” he says, flipping through the pages.
“Anything,” I say, “But tonight I’m thinking a negroni.”
“Perfect.” He flags over the bartender and orders us two, then turns to me. He takes my stool and drags it so that it’s almost touching his and I lean toward him.
“Where do we start?” I ask, as the bartender sets our drinks down.
We cover the usual subjects in the first drink. We chat about high school, college, what we do now, what our friends are doing. Our voices rise over the sounds of the bar so that it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.
As a second drink surges through me, I can tell he’s feeling looser too. His smile comes more easily, and his thumb traces circles on my thigh. Emboldened by the proximity of his citrus-scented mouth to mine, I say softly, “I have to tell you something.”
My gaze lingers on his lips. I tense up at how delicious they look and imagine for the hundredth time what they would feel like on my skin.
“What is it?” His voice is even lower than mine.
“I always wanted you to be my first. But I’m glad you weren’t.”
He tilts back a little, his big hand covering up a smile. “Why is that?”
“I think we’ll have a lot more fun now.” My hand grips his upper thigh and I lean closer so that my breath brushes his ear. “Is it okay if I’m a little submissive, daddy?”
His eyes grow wide and I can tell by the growing bulge in his pants that it’s more than okay. He tosses some cash on the bar and leads me outside and into the night.
We crash into his apartment, breathless from the climb up the stairs. He pushes me against the closed door, his mouth on mine, parting my lips as his tongue licks into me. His hands pull my dress roughly over my head, then I feel my bra pop away from my ribs and fingers hooking around the band of my thong, letting it fall to the floor. I kick off my shoes and he takes a step back. His teeth dig into his lower lip as his eyes move over me, hovering over my taut nipples.
“Kneel,” he says, pointing to the thick rug in front of a cushy couch.
I obey, and he follows, sitting in front of me. He presses his first two fingers between my lips. I suck them and moan as he grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of my neck, firmly tilting my head back so that I look up at him.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
I do it, weaving my fingers together. I whine at how my pussy tingles when I see his cock pulsing through his pants. He’s fighting back a smile, the lines around his eyes that I loved back in high school deeper now.
He pulls his fingers out of my mouth with a pop, but keeps his other hand knotted in my hair. His free hand glides over my throat gently, between my breasts, over my quivering stomach, and pauses above my pussy.
“What do you want?” he asks me.
I have too many answers.
I want your fingers in both my holes at once, your mouth working my clit. I want to ride your cock while I rub my pussy. I want you to fuck me from behind, spank my ass, pull my hair, make me come. I want you in every possible way we can jam in to these three days.
I look in his eyes and say, “I want everything.”
He chuckles, releases my hair, and sits back thoughtfully. I take in the sight of him, his thick auburn beard, cut close to his sharp jawline, his strong hands folded and steady on his lap. Everything about this man screams, Fuck me, daddy.
“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees so that his face is inches from mine. “Don’t move.”
He stands up, towering above me, and slowly starts to take off his clothes, teasing me as I quietly watch. He shrugs off his jacket and peels up the thin sweater underneath, revealing thick hair that spreads across his chest and trails down beneath his pants. The veins in his forearms are bulging and awake, and I can see his tendons moving as he works on his jeans. There’s a crack that breaks the tense silence as his belt with its silver buckle falls to the ground. Then his pants are off, and his cock is released, pulsing above my face. It’s absolutely gorgeous, thick, and curves up toward the ceiling.
He takes a step towards me so that I can feel the heat of his skin.
“We gotta start somewhere,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers along my parted lips.
But it’s my turn to tease. I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer. I smile, running my nails up his thighs, watching the goosebumps ripple across his skin. My breath traces along his shaft and I let my lips touch him lightly. My tongue meets the crease of skin where his thigh meets his hip and I move my hands over his ass, his hips, digging into his strong muscles.
He moans through clenched teeth, and I look up to see his neck straining, his head arched back in frustration. He opens his eyes when he realizes I’ve stopped moving and looks down at me. I lick my thumb and rub the head of his cock lazily, holding eye contact with him, challenging him to make a move.
Groaning, he reaches for me and pulls me up by my hair. “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?”
Our lips crash roughly into each other, fighting for dominance, but we both know I want him to win out. His mouth commands mine, and I finally let myself melt into him.
He picks me up by the waist, wrapping my thighs around him, and I whimper when I feel the heat of him so close to my swollen pussy. He walks into his dark bedroom and tosses me on the bed.
“Wait a second,” he says.
There’s a hiss and the smell of smoke fills the air as he lights candles all around the room. “I want it to be a nice moment,” he says almost bashfully.
“Come here.” He lays down next to me and I climb on top of him, bowing my head so that my lips brush his collarbone. “That’s fucking adorable.” I smile into the crook of his neck.
He laughs and pulls me close to him. We lose ourselves in each other, kissing slowly at first. I breathe in the smell of him and run my fingers through his hair, tracing his jaw, and his fingers press into my skin, down my back, reaching into my pussy from behind. I sigh and lift my hips to give him a better angle.
“I want you to ride my face,” he says, cupping my ass and bringing me up. I take hold of the iron-wrought headboard and oblige, grinding my sopping pussy into his open mouth. The candlelight dances over my hands and my arms, and I look down at his closed eyes as he drinks my juices.
I can’t take anymore. I need him to fuck me.
“Please fill me up, daddy,” I beg.
He flips me onto my back and slips on a condom, then pulls my arms above my head, pinning me by my wrists. His other hand strokes my face.
“Scream as loud as you fucking can,” he growls, and covers my mouth. At the same time, he pushes into me and I cry out into his hand. With every thrust, his curved cock hits my most sensitive spot over and over. I lose track of how long we’ve been going until a white-hot fire rips through my torso and I squeeze my eyes shut so hard that I feel tears seeping out of the corners.
Right as I release my grip on him, I feel him pump into me. He groans, freeing my mouth and my hands and pulls me on top of him. I lay there until I hear his heart rate slow down to a steady beat.
I look up at him and say, “I hope you don’t regret my visit.”
“Why in God’s name would I do that?” He lifts his head to look at me, the concern showing in his eyes.
“We still have three days to kill and I don’t plan on leaving this bed. I’m not sure if you have it in you.”
“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs, rolling on top of me. I laugh when I feel his fingers dip inside of me.
More by Bridget:
Bridget Bellecerise keeps herself busy by conquering the mountains and men of Colorado. While she doesn’t like being told what to do when her clothes are on, it’s a different story in the bedroom. She draws her inspiration from her adventures in dating and the hot fantasies that occupy her mind.