Waiting

She snaps the shot and then quickly attaches the word "waiting" to the text.  It feels like she's been waiting forever.  It took them a month to find one night when they could be together.  Being a single mom doesn't afford her many opportunities for a romantic getaway.  Neither does his being married.  Vicky is quick to justify that they've already discussed divorce and she is not the reason, thankfully.  She couldn't deal with the guilt.  But now, like this, she can't stay away.  He's just wicked enough to make her feel more like a woman and less like Mom.  She throws her phone on the bed and looks at the clock.  Another hour.

Still wet hair falls in waves around her shoulders.  She examines herself in the mirror. Some spots too lean, some spots too soft.  She smiles, knowing he'd say she was perfect.  Him... he is perfect.  Broad shoulders.  Trim waist.  A little gray at the temples and dimples to boot.  And that dick!  He works miracles with that thing.  Heat rushes over her as she remembers their last time.  His lunchbreak.  Her minivan.  Perfection.

Her hand dips down and brushes her thigh as she thinks about him.  The heat spreads.  She thinks of that soft growl in her ear.  The way he pulls her hair.  His hard cock nestled against her ass.  The sweet burn when he begins to push himself inside her.  She makes her way to the bed and the towel drops to the floor.  Another glance at the clock before a wicked grin flashes across her face.  A myriad of images flutter through her mind.  Their first kiss.  The first time she said no.  The first time she said yes.  The way his mouth sets her on fire.

Her hands brush across her breasts, her nipples hardening to tight peaks.  A hand strays down her belly, seeking her own wet warmth.  She sits on the edge of the bed where she can still see the mirror.  She likes the way she looks when she thinks of him, so wild and free.  And this... this is what he sees when she is beneath him.  Her fingers swirl around her swollen clit.  She gasps, unable to tear her eyes from her reflection.  Cheeks flushed.  Lips parted.  Fingers moving faster, harder, as she imagines they're his.  His are like lightning.  like magic.

The build is fast, desire peaking, though nothing she can do is enough.  Pinch her nipples.  Slide her fingers deep inside her hungry sex.  Think more of his sweat dripping over her as he thrusts deep and hard.  She whimpers and get phone rings.  A smile flickers as she sees his face on the screen.  One hand continues to play as she picks up the phone, gasping his name.

"Started without me I hear."

Sure replies with a frustrated moan.  "But I can't... I need you."

She hears the amusement in his voice.

"You started.  You'll finish right now with me on the phone.  And you'll damn sure be ready for more when I get there.  Now move your fingers in a tight circle over your clit.  You know how good that feels, don't you?"

She moans.

"Answer me."

"Yes... yes, it feels so.... oh, God, yes... yes...oh, fuck..."

He laughs as she cums, loving that all she needed was him.  She tries to talk, but nothing comes out.

"That's my girl.  Now open this door.  It's time for round two."

She lays the phone down with a smile and goes to the door, relieved that, at least for tonight, her wait is over.

Welcome Home

She was waiting.  She'd been waiting.  It'd been months since he'd touched her, since she felt his lips on her skin.  Sure, he kissed her goodnight or goodbye.  He greeted her with a brusque brush of his lips when he got home from work.  But had he really kissed her?  Not in what felt like ages.  She'd dropped hints.  She told him she missed him, which he dismissed as silliness since he saw her everyday.  But she missed him.  The fire of his touch.  The rough scrape of his calloused hands.  Being stretched tight around him as he filled her body and soul.

She heard the car door.  His steady gait on the walkway.  His key in the lock.  He came in and she saw the shadows from a long day play in his eyes.  She watched him toss his keys and wallet in the bowl on the table and set his satchel on the floor.  Her eyes softened, knowing that next he'd loosen his tie and unbutton his top button.  He'd look in the kitchen for her then cross to the stairs.  He'd sigh as he climbed them, his day escaping his lungs in a slow exhale.  She knew he'd do it all as she knew him.  But today was different.  Her stomach flutters and danced with insecurity.  Today she was waiting.  Today she hoped he'd understand.

He was nearly to the top of the stairs when he saw her.  His eyes registered his shock, then lit with pleasure.  He loosened his tie, slid it from his collar and dropped it on the top step.  He crossed to her with words on his lips.

"You look lovely," he said.

He reached for her, a warm smile touching his lips.  She sighed her relief.

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it to the floor.  Shoes.  Socks.  Belt.  Pants.  boxers.  She watched in amusement, certain he would have led her to the bedroom instead of kneeling on the landing, his erection straining to reach for her.  He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead before fitting them to her mouth.  His kiss.  His taste, uniquely him on her tongue.  She moaned into him as they found each other both foreign and familiar.  His lips left hers and found the shell of her ear.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered.

She smiled against his shoulder.

He understood.

The Visit

I was surrounded by their past, love letters strewn around me in a whirlwind.  It was a condition of my mother's will.  I had to spend a night in their lighthouse.  I had to read his letters.  I had to learn.  I didn't need the inheritance; I was perfectly fine without the money.  I was also fine without a lighthouse that I'd never known existed.  But there I was, caught up in a torrid romance that wasn't mine, mourning a woman I barely knew.

More light than I'd expected streaked through the windows, though now it was tinged with dusk.  I'd been reading for hours.  She was the good girl from a prominent family.  He was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, her Anthony.  He wrote with such passion.  It was almost a comfort to know someone loved her once, before she married my bastard of a father.  I blushed when he wrote of her flawless skin.  The lure of her ruby mouth.  The innocence of her untouched flesh.  It wasn't untouched by him.  She came to him here at the lighthouse.  He was it's keeper.  Though I blushed as I read of his memories of their first night as lovers, it stirred me in a way I couldn't deny.  I had never been viewed with such desire or touched with such passion.  I desperately longed to be.

The sun had long since set.  I'd fixed a modest meal in the tiny, utilitarian kitchen and settled in with my pile of letters.  This one.  This last one brought color to my cheeks.  I had to forget that it was my mother he kissed.  Held.  Fucked.  It was just a woman he compared to white silk, that brought him more passion than he could contain.  My mind drifted and I wondered what it would be like, what his hands would feel like on my skin.  His mouth.  His dick.  His body planked over mine as he filled me.  The letters drifted from my hands.  My hands drifted over my body.

I felt him here in his long ago home, his presence fresh like pine needles beneath my feet.  I felt his big hands cradle mine as they slid over my stomach and dipped beneath my silky blue pajamas.  With my eyes closed I felt his lips press to mine, his tounge sweeping between them like a memory.  I closed my eyes tighter, shutting out the wrongness.  I let our hands wander over my breasts, teasing my nipples to stiff peaks, bringing a moan from my lips only to be captured by his.  Trembling fingertips trailed over my smooth flesh, doing into my own moisture.  I heard him.  I heard him moan.  I felt his breath against my shoulder.  His weightless touch.  I opened my eyes to his shadow, to my mother's memory.  My breath caught, but he stole it.  My fingers were no longer mine.  My hips bucked when he touched me.  Feather light, imaginary strokes made me shudder.  Whispers I couldn't understand left me straining to hear him in the darkness.  I want bare enough.  Blue fabric spilled to the floor as my naked body called him, thighs spread to the chilled air.  I wanted him, his phantom touch.  His passion.  My fingers worked, two sliding inside me as I bucked and screamed his name.  Lips brushed my cheek.  The air grew warmer.  I was left gasping, alone.

The morning brought the sounds of waves crashing.  I lay naked beneath a sheet, my pajamas in a heap on the floor amongst my mother's sacred past.  Nothing had changed.  Everything had changed.   I knew her now.

I smiled and melted into my new home.

There Were Two

She slipped from our makeshift bed the moment the door closed behind him.  I licked my lips, still savoring her exquisite taste, but she was already miles away from me, watching him stroll down the path to his car.   He had what he wanted. He'd had me.  He had Michelle.  He had everything he'd wanted.  But she... she wanted him.  I only wanted her.

It had been my idea.  We'd been together for years.  Happily, I might add.  After a couple drinks we fell into our comfortable haze of one another's skin.  She looked away.  I'd noticed it lately, the faraway gaze.  I only wanted her.  She wanted something else.  

I'd heard his name a few times.  A casual work lunch here.  A happy hour drink there.  Finally, dinner at our place.  Drinks.  I watched the subtle smiles, the flirtation.  I'd always known she was bisexual, but I guess I'd assumed we were enough.  Finally, she told me we weren't.  I pulled her close, her perfect curves molding to my more angular body, and asked her if she wanted him.  She closed her eyes and said she did.

Another dinner.  More drinks.  Boundaries were set and I thought we'd be safe.  Neutral location.  Evenly divided attention.  And, God the moment I watched him sink his cock in her open mouth I thought I'd cum.  I was so jealous, but it was so hot.  I've watched her suck me off a dozen times, but I could never feel it.  With me she sucked silicone.  He was flesh and blood.  I listened to her moan around him.  I watched his jaw go slack as he thrust his hips forward, forcing her to take him deeper.  His hands nested in her hair.  His eyes rolled back.  My heart seized in my chest.  I tried.  I reached out and touched her face, traced her cheek.  She wasn't there.

I watched.  I watched their bodies.  Watched her give him what she hadn't given me.  He watched us the way he wanted to, but she came for him.  Beneath my fingers, beneath my tongue, but for him.  I was hollow.

She slipped from our makeshift bed the moment the door closed behind him.  I licked my lips, still savoring her exquisite taste, but she was already miles away from me, watching him stroll down the path to his car.  I suggested it.  I wanted her happy.  I wanted her whole, the way she made me.  I watched her watch him leave.

I'd never be whole again.

___________________________________________________

So this is incredibly late, like by a week.  I hope that my lovely writing friend doesn't kick me to the curb.  I can't wait to read his when he has the chance.  Thanks for being with me on the sexy sad thing.  This one actually touched a little close to home.

First Kiss

The air felt different.  The dust danced in the air.  The world itself had tilted at a different angle.  Joan cried herself to sleep in her best friend's arms and  when she woke everything changed.  

They spent the day as they intended, painting side by side in Kristen's studio.  Joan wasn't looking at the juxtaposition of light and shadow.  She was looking at the full slope of her bottom lip.  The swell of her breast.  Her sultry gaze.  A hundred things she hadn't noticed before.  She shook her head.  It wasn't like anything had happened the night before.  There was no kiss.  There was no touch, no guilty confession.  All there was was vulnerability and connection.  It was enough.  Today the world was different.

Shadows deepened as their natural light be3gan to fade.  They were winding down.  Joan chuckled as Kristen scratched her cheek and spread yet another streak of acrylic across her face.  Kristen smiled at the rare laughter and rubbed her nose.  Joan looked at her own hands, finding them covered with more paint than her canvas.  She suddenly wondered what it would be like to see her handprint on Kristen's stomach.  A blush rose to her face.  Kristen put down her brush and walked across the wooden floor, nearing her nervous friend.

"It's OK," she said.  "It's different for me too."

With a self-assured fingertip, Kristen brushed Joan's golden hair from her face.  Each breathed the other's breath and the two felt everything change again. Align. One second.  Two seconds.  Three seconds stretched between their parted lips.

It wasn't a jolt of electricity.  It wasn't a shock.  Kristen's lips brushed over hers with the delicacy of a feather.  It was a flow, a rush, a warmth over her mouth.  It was clarity.  It was the answer to questions she'd never dared ask aloud.

A hand brushed a smooth cheek.  Arms entangled.  A tongue flickered along the swell of a lip.  It sought out it's partner.  Paint smudged on pale skin and Joan wondered of handprints again, .  A smile tugged at the corners of Kristen's mouth.

"I feel it," she said.  "All of it."

And everything changed for the better.

-------------------------

Thank you, Advizor, for the encouragement this week. I truly needed it.  

Echo

I remember

when everything I bared to you

was precious:

          my want, 

          my pussy; 

          my soul

You were the salvation in my darkness,

the one who finally gave...

But now take is all you have

and I have nothing left to give

but a pair of red heels

and a broken string of

tomorrows.

----------------------------

I really loved this picture and wanted to write something sexy and hot.  I'm sorry to say that when I began writing, this is what I found instead.

Just Once

She waited in the hallway, her old battered raincoat skirting the tops of her knees.  She checked her watch.  If this didn't take long, she might be able to fit in a second "date" tonight.  She rapped on the door again.  It opened before the third knock.  Water dripped on his open collar.

"Sorry," he said with a grin. "I didn't expect you to be so prompt.  I was in the shower."

She brushed aside her irritation.  Just because she was a prostitute didn't make her rude.  She was still a good girl.  She raised an eyebrow, but swallowed any comment.  Frankly, she was surprised.  This wasn't the kid of guy that usually called for a date.  Tall.  Dark.  Incredibly handsome.  Bare feet peeked out beneath we'll-tailored slacks.  An open dress shirt gave her a glimpse at an excellent physique.  She found herself curious about why this guy was paying for it.  His smile broadened as though he read her mind.  She walked through the door into an immaculate apartment.

"What should I call you," he asked.

"Rebecca," she answered, immediately taken aback.  She never gave her real name.

"Rebecca."  He tried it out, as if he didn't doubt her at all.  The way he said it poured over her like honey.  Her body responded in a way she didn't think possible anymore.  "I'm Jim, Rebecca.  May I take your coat?"

He had specified what she was to wear.  There was no illusion, yet, she was unashamed.

"Yes, please.  Thank you, Jim."

He slipped it from her bare shoulders and watched it slide past her slender waist.  His eyes traced the curve of her full hips and caressed her lush, bare ass.  She stood in his entryway in nothing but her garters, stockings, and heels and he devoured every inch of her perfect alabaster skin.  She heard his bare feet pad over to hang her coat by the door.

"Follow me, Rebecca."

Her name poured over her again.  She rarely heard it anymore, except for a few close friends at the agency.  Certainly not from a man's lips.  He led her to the doorway of a bedroom, then stopped.

"Crawl.  I want to watch you crawl to the bed."

She tossed her hair indignantly over her shoulder.

"I won't crawl for anyone."

A single finger traced the sweep of her spine.  The full curve of her ass.  He popped her sharply, getting her attention with a quick rush of moisture between her thighs.

"You'll crawl for me and you'll like it."

Something about his voice made her want to obey.  She rationalized.  He was paying her.  It wasn't the strangest request she'd had.  She looked back over her shoulder at him and then sank to her knees.

He watched.  See didn't crawl so much as prowl.  He watched the sway of her perfect ass.  The glint of moisture on her bare pussy lips.  Her full breasts hanging between her sculpted arms.  She reached the bed and raised herself up, dragging her body over the edge.

"Did that please you... Jim?"

He heard it in his head.  The inflection.  The reverence.  The eagerness.

"Say what you wanted to say," he whispered.

She drew a shaky breath and spoke again.

"Did that please you...Sir?"

She heard a sharp exhalation behind her.

"Very much, Rebecca.  Very much."

She listened to him shed his clothes.  She stared forward, afraid to watch as his shirt dropped to the floor.  His slacks followed.

"Take off your watch, Rebecca.  You have nowhere else to be tonight, do you?"

The words "Nowhere but with you" left her lips before she could stop them.  He took her watch and laid it on the nightstand, returning to run his hand through her luscious curls.  She moaned and rested her head in his palm.  A fingertip beneath her chin turned her to face him, his hard cock brushing her lips.  She peered up beneath dark lashes, taking his tip on her tongue.  Now it was him that moaned.

"Good girl, Rebecca.  Good girl."

She smiled at his praise, remembering how much she liked this game.  The give.  The take. The surrender.  It has been so long.  and now this, with him...

He slid deep into her mouth and she moaned around him, trembling on her knees.  This isn't what she was used to anymore, but he gave her everything.  The love and devotion she'd forgotten.  The reverence and respect she'd sacrificed.  A perfect moment of need and fulfilled desire.

He pulled from her lips and bent her over the bed.  She heard a rustle and tear of a foil packet and wondered, if he was hers, what it would feel like to fuck him flesh to flesh. He slid into her with another whisper of her name and for one strange, perfect moment, she remembered the word home.