“You won’t let me go?” I question, sounding like a child learning to ride a bicycle without training-wheels.
“No, Hayden. I promise I will not let you go.”
Offering a weak nod, I mutter, “Okay,” and release my death grip off the border.
“Glide, two, three. Glide, two, three,” Samantha croons as she alternates from left foot, to her right. I take her lead and before, too long I pick up the rhythm. I’m ecstatic. She glances down at my feet. “That’s it, honey. You got it, keep going.”
Completing halfway around the rink, I let go of my teacher’s hand, while containing my overexcited air-punch that I want to free in triumph. Samantha on the other hand, releases it for me.
I observe Samantha intently as she skates ahead, as graceful as a swan and doubly as beautiful. With a perfect posture, she glides across the ice then, forcefully twisting her body, she begins pirouetting at high velocity. She looks like a screw, twisting and burrowing its way into the ice. I’m powerless to move, mesmerized by the adeptness of her movements as she spins ferociously on the spot. White shavings materialize as she grinds her blade across the surface and comes to her jaw-dropping finale.
Amazed at the spectacle, I shake my head and give a round of applause. She gazes back at me, an exhilarated smile plastered on her profile; her sculpted cheekbones defining as they rise, her eyes glimmer and enlivened. She then curtsies with such elegance you would think the Queen of England was stood before her.
Pushing myself forward, I pick up speed quicker than anticipated. The cold breeze freezes the moisture of my eyes, making them sting and water. With the blades bumping over the array of freshly cut grooves that attempt to steer me in different directions, I finally reach the middle of the rink.
“Hey, Sam,” I call and she grinds the blade against the polar white surface, bringing herself to a stop before facing me.
My intention was to circle her perimeter, but, whilst I rotate myself halfway around her still form, I begin silently chiding myself for not practising other methods of stopping, apart from crashing into the barriers. Losing my balance, my arms sketch large circular motions, my legs perform the ‘Running Man’ in reverse, as I fight against gravity.
But it is of no use.
My teeth clamp together as I accept defeat. With the impact my behind makes as I crash onto the solid surface, I am sure to have an instant bruise. Through the pain, I become conscious of the temperature, my God, it’s cold. I feel the ice melting and the liquid seeping through my jeans, and I idly consider that I am filling two needs with one deed.
“Ouch!”
In the periphery of my vision, I notice Samantha––oh, how caring she is––when she isn’t doubled over squealing with laughter, tears streaming down her face as she endeavors to suck in a deep breath.
“Oh, honey––” she glides smoothly to meet me in the center and during her hysterical laughter, asks, “are you okay?”
Legs outstretched and my hands on my thighs, I stare up at her deadpan. She stoops with her hands on her knees, laughing unremittingly. When the laughter ceases, she holds her hand out. I grip her forearm and pull her down, allowing her to fall into my lap.
Wrapping her arm around my neck, I cradle her while sat in the middle of the ice rink, uncaring about the cold or dampness of the melting ice seeping through my pants. She pushes her hand back through my hair, while her left hand twirls the locks that flick over my turtleneck.
“Are you okay?” she asks concerned, her voice satin-soft.
“I am now.”
I pull her lips down to meet mine. Her mouth is cold but her tongue and breath are warm, a conflicting yet heady contrast that have me wanting to devour her all the more. With my hand at the nape of her neck, I pull her closer, deepening our tongues caress. And just as we had done on the ice, our tongues glide, and twirl around each other, working together with heartiness and gusto.
My lips linger over hers for a beat before I withdraw completely. I hate pulling away; I wish we could remain like this for eternity, with our lips sealed, sharing each other’s tastes and breath. She is the air I need to breathe, she is the reason for my raging heartbeat, the adrenaline and fiery passion that burns within me whenever I feast my eyes upon her, hear her voice or absorb her touch. I cannot get enough.
I am the starved, and she is my sustenance.
“You’ll end up with frostbite if we don’t get you up,” she whispers, resting her forehead against me, she continues to twirl my hair.
“Hmm, get me up, you say? Maybe later, the cold has affected my member.” I offer a shy-smile.
“Well, we’ll have to get you back, and warm you both up…” her eyebrow arches suggestively. I feel the warmth of her exhale on my neck and her lips graze my ear. “I hear friction helps.”
Even though I am numb from the waist down, I swear I feel my cock twitch at her words. I swallow hard. “Oh, Miss Kennedy…you’re killing me,” I hum and she flashes her salacious grin before trailing her tongue across her top teeth, “Hotel…
now
.”
We’re a fusion of wondering hands and franticly overworking mouths as our lips work haphazardly against each other. Our strokes and holds deviate from each other’s upper body, to take their journeys to a more southern site.
I feel the bed at the back of my legs, as Samantha divests me of my leather jacket, casting it on the loveseat behind her. Turning her attention to the additional clothing which acts as a barrier between us, she seizes the hem of my black turtleneck, lifting it up my body and over my head, but my arms remain held in their sleeves. I attempt to release them from their restraints.
With a wicked grin and devilish eyes, Samantha shakes her head at me. “I don’t think so, Mr. Wentworth,” she purrs seductively, lowering my arms to my sides.
The limitation of the sweater makes it impossible for me to rid Samantha of her clothing, not to mention my inability to caress and fondle her body. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch, the depravity of such desired intentions is beyond maddening.
Her hands trace down the pleat of my sternum, and along the crevasses of my abdomen, as she works her way over each muscle. “Samantha,” I plead, but my words are halted as she places her index finger upon my lips. I search her eyes, bright, caring eyes that are now filled with boundless, dark determinations.
The air is knocked from my lungs, as she haughtily pushes me down onto the freshly, made bedding. With the limitations she set in place, I am just about able to prop myself up onto my elbows. I gape as she towers over me, her eyes smouldering, her stance strong, and imperious. For a moment, I feel we are no longer on the same level playing field. We are not equal. With my arms caged, I relinquish my rights to explore her figure, to make her squirm and manipulate her body in a manner that I live for and long for, every second of my waking day.
As she continues with her prolonged, all-consuming stare, I study her hands lingering over the flesh of her stomach as she removes her sweater. She parts my legs and props her foot on the mattress between them, her breasts spilling out of the cups of her white and sapphire laced bra as she leans down to unzip her boots. Undoing her jeans button, my breathing catches as the irresistible sound of her zipper lowering follows. She hooks her thumbs beneath the waistband, and alternating her hips, shimmies out of the slim-fit material.
The torture that she is wreaking is maddening. Being subdued, with my want and my needs being disallowed and overruled––even with my cock as hard as fucking nails, pressing heavily against my stomach in its confinement as I observe her tactful strip-tease––I feel impotent.
My hips gyrate with uncontrollable purpose, as Samantha stands before me in only her underwear. With her hair piled high, I can appreciate her long supple neck, the curve as it meets her shoulder, her collarbone. I would sell my soul to The Devil himself to have my lips and tongue trace and dip into the hollows of her body.
Curling her arms behind her, she unhooks her bra then drops it to the floor. A loud gasp escapes her throat as she generously cups her breasts and tweaks her nipples between her thumb and forefinger.
The poise she displays is mesmerizing. I place her under my scrutiny, riveted by her brazenness. Her divergence is phenomenal as I consider that it wasn’t too long ago that she had reservations about me appraising the beauty of her female form. This woman stood before me is audacious and assured as she bares and strokes her near, naked body.
I sink my teeth into my lip. My cock flexes painfully against the zipper of my denim-pants when she tips her head back. Letting her hand fall from her breasts, she grasps her pussy through her panties. My breathing hitches and my heart near enough ceases in my chest as I watch the diminutive writhing of her body, instigated by her own hand while she trails a single finger up the valley of her slit.
The thrumming of my heart and raging blood flow through my ears is deafening. My vision pulsates as I dash my tongue across my lips and then swallow hard. I tried to restrain myself and play it her way, but her teasing will soon have me climaxing, unaided in my shorts.
“Fuck this,” I hiss, pushing myself up from my elbows.
Fumbling, I quickly release my constraint and toss the sweater to the floor. Reaching out to her body, I dip my thumbs under her panties, peel them down her legs then pull her on top of me. With Samantha straddling my hips and my hands splayed upon the silky, alabaster flesh of her back, I pull her mouth to mine, and allow my frustration to be renounced as I flick my tongue across hers, massaging the muscle with desiring force.
She supports her foot on the mattress, rises and leans to the side. With expert fingers she unbuckles my belt, the leather whipping as she hastily pulls it free, and unfastens my button and zipper. I succour by raising my hips granting her access to pull the denim and my shorts from my hips.
She positions herself over my steadied erection. Relaxing her thighs, she lowers herself onto me. I’m steeped in her velvet, slick coating, feeling the warmth of her encasing me as she slides down my shaft and I reach the peak inside of her body. Feeling her walls clasp and constrict around my girth, I tip my head back and thrust my pelvis upward to meet her descent.
Hands on both my shoulders, she embeds her nails into my flesh and muscle with every rock of her hips that she enforces. It fills me with both pleasure and pain, the burning radiating from each indentation drives me, drives my need to alleviate the ache, to lessen my craving, even if only for a moment.
As the rays of natural light streams into the bedroom, I watch the pleasure gleam in her eyes and the expressions alter on her face as she sinks to my base, satisfying her. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip but it doesn’t suppress the soft whimper from escaping as she circles her hips slowly, and grazes her clit along my pelvis bone.
I set my hands on her hips, holding her in place while she raises and drops back onto my length. With a devilish grin, she removes them, hovers over me and retains them above my head.
“No touching,” she whispers.
What? No touching? Who is she fooling? She knows that is unviable task when it comes to her.
“You’re kidding, right?”
She slithers down me slowly and halts. I groan a combination of both pleasure and exasperation. “No,” she shakes her head, “I’m not kidding.”
Her tempo increases as she bounces her hips up and down my cock. Her breasts hang delectably above my face, while she locks her fingers into mine which remain restrained overhead. I lift my head, and tease a nipple with my tongue, before taking it into the warmth of my mouth.
She moans loudly as I suck and nip on the erect flesh.
I feel myself building, my balls tightening with every thrust she issues. “Oh, Sam,” I rasp, “Oh, fuck! Harder, baby.” My pleas are conformed as she intensifies her already punishing rhythm.
Throwing her head back, she cries out whilst relenting to the demands of her stimulated body and quivers powerfully above me. Feeling her muscles spasm deep within her depths and squeezing around me, I tip my head back, roll my lip from the clamp of my teeth and call her name as I pour my generous volume inside her.
She lowers herself onto me once more, and presses her head against my chest.
With my arms finally set free of her death grip, I entertain my fingertips by calmly brushing them up and down her back. She giggles and rapidly taps her index finger against my pectoral.
“Your heart is beating ten to the dozen,” she giggles, continuing to mimic my raging heartbeat with her index finger.
“It only beats for you, beautiful. It knows when you’re close, it knows your love, your kindness…it knows your soul.”
My hands fall away from her body as she straightens her posture. She seizes my hand and places it over her heart, while her hand fills the space where her head had just rested. With our breathing synched, our heartbeats ease under each other’s palm. We stare into one another’s eyes, Mediterranean Sea blue, into rich, Belgium chocolate. After a few beats, our heartbeats begin to sync.
We have always been intimate, but losing yourself in the eyes of your lover while you feel their heart beating in time with your own…that is the strongest form of intimacy you could ever possibly experience.
“Two hearts, beating as one, I don’t think two people, could ever possibly get closer than this.”
Rolling my head across the mattress, I grin in wonder and amazement. I’m rewarded with a brief shy-smile before she captures her lower lip in the clamp of her teeth and lowers her head back to my chest.
I rearrange my jeans and recover my turtleneck sweater from the floor. “We best hurry up, or we will be late.” A tinge of apprehension seeps through my veins. It is never a good idea to do anything after 1:00 a.m. The most imperceptive of notions can disguise themselves as the humblest of gestures.
“Late for what?” she probes.
“Or shall I say;
you
will be late?” I step into her, snaking my arms around her middle as she pulls the tip of her ponytail from out of her sweater.