I lead her to the coffee table in the middle of the gilded-flickering ambiance of the living room. Samantha carefully sets the flower down on the table’s surface. Handing her a crystal champagne flute, I remove the bottle of Crystal from the polished ice bucket, and carefully fill our glasses, before nestling the bottle back amongst the ice.
“To us and to second-chances,” I breathe and we raise our glasses.
With an arch of her brow, Samantha regards me a quizzical expression.
I nod cautiously.
Taking a step toward me, she gazes up at me keenly and spontaneously raises her arm. I can’t help but grin as I follow her motion and mutually entwine our arms, and––with a degree of awkwardness––sip at the bubbling liquid that resides in our own flute. I study her
‘come-to-bed’
eyes glimmer in a fashion that whispers of temptation from beyond the crystal rims. I’m internally warring with myself, striving to contain the aching hunger that is manifesting in my body like that of a captive lion, waiting for the precise moment to break free and pounce on his delectable target.
But tonight is not about carnality and lust. Tonight is…more.
Freeing our arms, I retract Samantha’s half empty glass from her supple fingers and place both of out drinks on the coffee table. She shrieks as I swiftly scoop her up into my arms and walk towards the hallway behind me.
“You do a fine job of sweeping a woman off her feet, Mr. Wentworth.”
“You’re the only woman I plan to sweep off her feet, Miss Kennedy.”
With delicate strokes, Samantha traces diminutive circles on my chest while I carry her along the trail of rose petals down the corridor, to the privacy of the bedroom.
I set her down on her feet. “Hayden, this is so…” she trails off whilst perusing the room. An array of white and black candles scattered along the unit surfaces, their flames dancing as they flicker and sway. I notice her unswerving focus on the black satin sheets and another deep red, velvet rose that lay peaceful and undisturbed at the heart of the bed.
She shakes her head. Her voice is barely audible as she lifts her head to face me and whispers, “What are you doing to me?”
“Treating you the way you deserve to be treated…like a Queen…” I cock my head, the corners of my mouth lifting as I brush my thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “…My Queen,” I whisper with boundless candour.
With a demonstrative touch, I begin sweeping her hair away from her shoulders, allowing the rich, brown and burnish-red tresses to tumble down to the middle of her spine. I hear the intake of breath pass her lips and teeth and feel the raise of her skin as goose bumps trail across her flesh, when my fingertips softly graze at curve of her neck.
Samantha pushes herself onto her toes, her left hand resting on my cheek, the other slowly working down the length of my torso. My abdominals tense as she continues her excursion over my body. When she makes contact with the band of my pants, I silently will her to dip lower, to take me in her hand, consenting to forfeit my self-control. I close my eyes, striving to maintain my poise.
Tonight is not about me…it is about her.
An entanglement of lips and hands, taste and touch, our mouths seal and fervent tongues dip into one another, sensuously caressing and licking like our lives depended on it. Although after four weeks I should consider her mouth familiar territory, to me, its fireworks and the unchanged form of relief I felt when we melded together the first time––each time our lips touch, is a gift, to relive the moment where our lives changed.
With roving hands studying each delectable inch of her upper body, she groans wildly and I feel the vibrations of her desire traveling into my mouth and caressing the deepest part of my throat––the part which her frantic, skilful tongue is unable to reach. The naked, heated satin flesh of her lower back is my body’s defeat.
My cock strains painfully against the confines of my pants, urging for release…in both senses of the word.
“Samantha, you’re killing me,” I breathe against her lips. Seizing one of the maroon spaghetti straps that lay tied and pressing against the halfway point of her spine, I pull the cord free, allowing the thin pieces of fabric to unravel like a snake releasing its constricting grip from its prey. They soon fall to her sides and the front of the top loosens as it drapes over her breasts. Grasping the hem, I lift it up and off her body.
She stands before me completely naked from the hips up. It takes all of my strength not to throw her down on the bed and bury myself inside her this very instant.
“No bra again, Miss Kennedy, I approve.” I cup and knead her breasts. Her back arches, filling my hand all the more as she presses her chest against me. “You fit perfectly, beautiful.”
Working down the surface of tempting tissue, I tweak the deepening pink hue of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, before forming circles around the peaking flesh with my tongue and drawing them into the warmth of my mouth.
Traitorous, gratifying groans are carried upon panting breaths. I feel her grip tighten in my hair as she presses me to her body, while the other clings for life at the collar of my shirt as I continue my assault on her nipple. I release the straining peak from the wet heat of my mouth and kiss, nip and lick my way up the side of her neck. She twists her hips, permitting enough room for her hand to clench around my constrained erection. I shudder as she cups and handles me with the precise pressure, and I release a pleasurable groan from low in my throat as I thrust against her willing hand.
Stow yourself, Hayden.
I fall to my knees in front of her. My arms reach up, lying outstretched vertically against her body. I mould her shoulders and then let my hands fall, gliding over her breasts, into the curve of her waist and hips. Peeking up at her from my position, I dip my thumbs in-between the stretchy material of her maroon, asymmetric skirt and her hips, appraising each inch of flesh that is revealed as the fabric is lowered.
Gaping at Samantha, she looks down upon me, smiling proud and carefree before sinking her teeth into the side of her bottom lip. She shrugs innocently. “What is the point of wearing panties, if I can’t wear the bra?” Her eyes widen mischievously.
“That is a valid point, Miss Kennedy.”
Sitting back on my ankles, I inspect her naked body, repressing my desire to feast upon her with my ravenous urges. Perfect, pert breasts with a single tan-colored beauty spot along the outside, the shadow of their under curve in the dimly-lit room and her alabaster skin––she looks like a Goddess towering over me, watching me as I worship her body. I take a profound breath through my nostrils, my senses welcoming the sweetness of her body and the scent of her pooling desire.
I’m eye-level with the smooth tempting flesh of her sex. Wanting to feel the smoothness of her pubic area against my mouth as I worship her anatomy, I inch forward slightly and lick my lips. But my intentions are halted as she clutches me by the collar with both hands, hoisting me up to my feet. Feeling bereft, I grimace like a child that has had candy taken away, as she denies me a taste of her arousal. Yet she chuckles at my petulant expression, and nips her lip again.
“I stand here, presenting myself to you, Hayden, in just my heels. You on the other hand are slightly overdressed,” she smirks coquettishly.
With deft fingers, she unfastens the remaining buttons of my shirt, parts the material. She feels her way from the waistband of my pants, up the length of my naked body to my shoulders. My breathing hitches and my flesh is set ablaze as she ravishes me with her erotic, fiery strokes. Forcing myself to swallow, I part my lips and dash my tongue across them.
“Do you have any idea how hot you look right now?” she mutters, chasing her hands with her eyes while continuing to finely fondle my body. “Your flesh, so smooth, so soft, so defined, the way your muscles tense when I––” she circles around my navel and down my lower abdomen, my stomach instantly strains. Her voice is so low, so breathy…I could come just listening to that tone alone. Tipping her head back, she studies my eyes. “I could undress you every day for the rest of my life, and I would never tire of seeing what lays waiting for me beneath your clothing; for my eyes and my hands only.”
My body is ignited by her touch, and my mind and heart are ignited by her words, by her verbal claim on me,
for my eyes and my hands only
. I am filled with a form of…acceptance? Confidence? To know that your body can stir such a reaction in your partner just by them looking at you, touching you…it makes me feel…valued, treasured.
She hooks her thumbs under the collar of my shirt, pushes it over my shoulders, down my arms and lets it fall weightlessly to the flooring, before brushing her tongue over my nipple. My body stiffens and trembles, my hips want to instinctively thrust into something. Sparks and shocks radiate from my chest, making a beeline down to my crotch, constricting every muscle in its path when she sinks her teeth into the supple flesh surrounding the rigid peak. I’m shocked by the unexpected assault, yet I lean my head back, relishing the pleasurable tingles it summons.
“Do you trust me, Samantha?” I ask as she pulls her lips away from my body.
“I trust you with my life, Hayden,” she answers unwavering.
Stepping around her, I reach to the heart of the bed and recover the blossoming rose. Her mouth curls in admiration, her eyes tighten as her cheekbones mount in the result of her broadening grin.
“Smell…” I whisper, holding it under her nose. She takes a deep inhalation and sighs in delight of the sweetness that travels from each petal to the neurons of her being. “Feel…” I trace the flower lightly over her check, jaw, neck and throat. She shudders, her nipples harden, and each hair follicle stands to attention before I withdraw the bud from her body and take a step back to my dresser. I lay the flower on the surface and recover a red satin blindfold. I conceal it behind my back.
“Close your eyes,” I demand in a soft voice, and she instantaneously complies.
She flinches as I place the material over her eyes. Halted by her reaction, I remove it from her face.
“Do you trust me?” I ask again. She nods with assured zeal and readiness while sucking in a breath. And I once again raise the material to cover her eyes. This time, she stands stock-still and allows me to tie it at the back of her head.
Holding her hands in aid, I lead her a few steps back until the edge of the mattress meets the back of her legs. “Lay back.”
Shaking out of nervousness or anticipation I have no idea, but through her hesitancy, she does as instructed and lowers her quaking body onto the center of the bedding.
I recover the flower from my dresser and brush the petals over my left palm. It tickles. “Once again, beautiful, do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“I will never hurt you, whether it is emotionally, or physically. Do you understand that?” I silently stride towards the bed.
She nods.
“Good girl.”
TWELVE
---------------------
SAMANTHA
I do as Hayden instructed and lie back onto the bed, but prop myself onto my elbows. The satin sheets are cold beneath the increasing heat of my body.
I glide my right hand over the material, stroking it meditative as one would stroke a sacred animal, while I raise my left hand to my eyes to feel the cold, slick material that deprives me of my sight. Anticipation and adrenaline hijacks my body, commanding me to tremble incessantly. Conscious of the upwelling dampness which coats my thighs, I separate my legs and release a needy groan while writhing tirelessly, as the wispy chill merges with the sensitivity of my sex.
My sense of hearing is more attuned. I recognize that he has Songbird on repeat, reverberating through his apartment as the song begins its cycle anew. I turn my head somewhat to the right, straining to concentrate on the sounds around me, when I discern padding between the faint, rhythmic backing of the deep, captivating notes of the saxophone, rolling notes in a manner that screams sensuality.
I am startled by the connection of Hayden’s soft, plump lips brushing against mine. The mattress dips as he positions himself on the satin sheets. “Trust me.”
I tense momentarily at the unexpected sensation of him taking my nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around and over the straining flesh, the warmth of his breath on my skin. I gasp and throw my head back in synchronicity, and arch into my shoulder blades as my weight remains upheld on my elbows.
Conscious of a delicate movement working its way excruciatingly slow from my right foot up to my calf, I recoil and pull away abruptly, ephemerally unnerved by the crawling, itchy sensation.
“Shush…” he assures me, and my tensing ceases, allowing me to almost immediately relax again.
The tickly sensation inches its way higher up my right leg, up to grace the pinnacle of my thigh. I push my pelvis up in a welcome attempt to have the delicate object smoothed along my responsive folds. As I absorb the combination of sensations bestowed upon my body, I forfeit my strength, causing my arms to slacken to concentrate profusely on the sensitivity that spikes as Hayden glides over my erogenous zones. I flop down into the mattress.
Finally, he skims it over the most sensitive and exposed part of my body. It’s indefinable, yet soft and delicate.
I search blindly for Hayden’s body, to pull him down to me and have him sink inside my body, filling me deeply, and allow me to find my release, but I’m unable to locate him at either side, and I don’t want the teasing strokes of the elusive object that is gliding over my clit to cease.
“Absorb it, Samantha,” I hear him murmur between my whimpers and heavy breaths.
I fist the satin bedding that accommodates our bodies while I slowly begin to fall apart at the seams, unraveling shamelessly. Alas, I am denied the single intention that my body craves as he tracks a new course, tracing up the length of my torso and rounding my nipples before trailing up to my throat.