1.97 – The Door

An erotic piece inspired by a dream.

If you can see it – I’ve done my job. 

She’d heard him before he’d come in, anxious to see his face and simultaneously terrified. There had been no hesitation in his voice when he’d told her the hotel address or the room number. The key had been at the desk just as he’d said. She knew he wouldnt be there when she arrived, his tone made that very clear.

There had never been a moment of fear and yet her heart pounded as the doorknob turned. Moving toward the edge of the bed, she couldnt take her eyes off the handle, twisting as if in slow motion. The lights were off on purpose. Buying just seconds, her eyes had already adjusted whereas he would still be used to the sun. This was to her advantage – to assess him without knowing though she was sure he’d figure it out.

The door opened and he stepped in; she gnawed at her lip. She’d spent the hour alone walking the length of the room, staring at the bed he’d slept in for many nights before her intrusion. Her fingers touched everything in sight, her mind racing, wondering if she was tracing anywhere his hands had been. The last thing she’d touched was the bed.

As he latched the door, the panic gathered in the pit of her stomach. Would he be able to tell that she’d layed under the sheets? Would he smell the sex in the air, knowing exactly what she’d done just moments ago? Mentally scolding herself, she watched him turn, brushing her feet against the ugliest carpet she’d ever seen.

He stood there, just a few steps into the room, light peaking in through the blinds showing just a hint of his face, his silhoutte made even more tempting by the sound of his breathing. She would swear she could see just the hint of a smile. Bruising her lip, she was frozen but felt parts starting to melt. He turned his back to her, removing the jacket he wore and hung it over the back of a chair. Her eyes travelled over him from head to toe, he paused, aimlessly smoothing the fabric of his shirt.

His voice broke the silence, sending shivers down her back, “Couldnt wait, could you?” Before she could stop herself, she heard the giggle and covered her face from the heat. Dropping her hands slowly, she looked toward the bathroom. The door was partially opened and she told herself she could hide in there until he grew tired of waiting, perhaps falling asleep. As if reading her thoughts, he turned around, crossing his arms, leaning to one side, he cocked his head and looked at the door then back at the girl. Their eyes met and the look he gave was unmistakable. It screamed three words, making her pulse quicken and her palms sweat; “I dare you.”

Without missing a beat, they both jetted for the door, her advantage being that she was use to the dark, she beat him and slammed it shut behind her. She could feel the thud of his body on the other side as she pressed her back against the wood. He didnt push, but she knew he was there. Something told her she didnt have to lock the door, he would wait until she was ready to turn the knob.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about why she’d come, only to put a barrier between them. Wanting that man and yet pleasing herself without him even being close. And yet he was, her hands have never been her own as long as she’d known him. A minute could have been thirty, thirty could have been a minute while she breathed in the dark. His breath was hushed as their lungs were perfectly in sync, every inhale and exhale in complete unison.

Listening closely, his hand moved over the door, as if he were trying to feel her, his voice came in raspy whispers, torturing her at his will. “I’m not going to ask you to open this door. I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing behind it. I’ll only ask of you one thing…”

And she wanted him to keep talking, to hear his voice move over her, through her until her hands wouldn’t  stay still. She tried to swallow but her mouth had run dry, hanging open in desperate attempts to catch air. She nodded, knowing he couldnt see this, her hand flicked at the door, her knuckles sending a soft knock to tell him she was still there.

“I want you to listen.”

And then he was quiet but she knew before she knew. Pressing her teeth into her lip, she turned until her forehead pressed against the wood, her hands dropped over her breasts, one planting itself on the door…the other hanging just above her skirt.

She was already a wicked mess, rubbing her thighs together, ever tempted to break down the barrier and devour him. But she knew she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. As much as every inch of her wanted to relieve the ache of wanting to feel this mans body pressed roughly to hers, every inch wanted the ache to last a lifetime, this painful torture he gifted her with by saying everything and nothing at all. She could hear him undo his belt, moving his hand over his groin, the digging of his other hand into the door. Piercing her lip, her fingers dipped between her legs, finding a soft slick honey.

Inhaling sharply, forgetting to stifle herself, pressing her head harder against the door, the palm of her other hand pressing fevereshly on the same. She could hear his smile as if he were screaming. His hands clawing down her back as they had so many nights before, his tongue circling over her nipples while his eyes stared up at her longingly. Those eyes, no matter how many times she tried to press her own shut, to lock them out, there they were, coaxing her to touch just a little deeper. Pushing her fingers further, she exhaled the softest moan and blushed at his reply.

His tongue rolling against the roof of his mouth, a pronounced purr eminated from his lips, his words hooking into her like one of her own fingers, delving deeper with each syllable; “I can taste you beautiful. All over my tongue and down my throat.” He spoke through clenched teeth, “I could watch those lips all day, could feel your tongue all night if you let me.” And she would because the thought alone of tasting him could make her earth shatter.

She’d memorized that pulsating twitch against the back of her throat until she could feel it simply on demand. He didnt speak and didnt have to. It is amazing, she thought, how hands can become tongues, mouths to be quenched through wooden doors.

How their hands could embody one another for a moment of delirious convulsions. His growls grew louder as she let herself moan and breathe freely. Streaked with sweat, they would go like this forever or until sleep deprivation or starvation prevailed. She held her breath, pushing her fingers deeply one last time before pulling them away and grabbing the door handle. His eyes met her instantly, his hands never skipping a beat, she stepped toward him, placing her wet hand in front of his lips.

Opening his mouth through a smirk, he lapped over her fingers. She brought her mouth to where her fingers had been, tasting herself with him for what felt like the first time, her hands replacing his with a cruelty only he could deserve. He spoke against her, his nails tearing her shirt away, “You didnt have to open the door.” 

She giggled, licking over his lips, his tongue and the roof of his mouth, where those purrs had lived momentarily. She continued pulling at him as her back slammed against the sink, his body pushing against hers. Replying would only endorse the obvious and so she said nothing. But his eyes said he understood.

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