“How long are you here for?” she asked.
He interlaced his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me.”
She reached behind her, her fingers tracing a path from his chest down to his crotch. He responded before she even touched him. She laughed in that way that scared him but always got him a little harder. Her costume, spread out on the floor like a skin she’d molted out of, caught the last of the afternoon sun through the blinds and cast comet trails of blue-green light on her body, still pale from the water. A girl turning under the surface of a pond, a woman in the coarse sheets and ice-machine white noise of a desert motel.
PROOF OF DESIRE
Remittance Girl
The lobby at the Russell Hotel in Bloomsbury was a poem to Victorian monstrosities, but the room itself was simply chilly and beige. It smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke and carpet shampoo. Beyond the open curtains, the streetlamps were splayed in the cold, winter air. From her place in the nondescript beige armchair, Emma thought the man on the bed looked vulnerable. Lit by the gloom of the bedside lamps, Sean lay with his back propped against the padded headboard, lanky legs stretched out in front of him. His shoes and socks were off, and his jeans were unbuttoned, the fly open to his purpose. His fist stroked the pale column of his erect cock.
“Is this all you want?” His words were hesitant but heavy with breath.
A lie of a nod and a tight smile; of course it wasn’t all she wanted. What she wanted was to dispense with her panties, climb onto the bed and sink down onto his cock. But that wasn’t going to happen. That she wouldn’t allow herself and she had told him so.
“Are you sure?” Sean’s hand made slick sounds as it moved over his oiled erection.
Evening traffic noise from outside seeped through the closed windows. Somewhere in the distance someone was breaking glass. “Yes. I’m sure. Just what we agreed on. Okay?”
He stopped, fingers cupping the engorged head. His thumb brushed the blunted tip. “I thought maybe you’d change your mind. You know, when you got here. Once we actually met.”
She’d worried about the same thing. She’d watched many, many men do this, witnessed many couples fuck in settings just like this one, but never with a friend. Never someone she felt any affection for. Now, there in that purgatory of a room, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.
“Don’t be hurt, Sean. I told you it would be like this. I can’t help the way I am.”
“I know. I just thought…”
She smiled again—it took more of an effort this time—and shook her head. “Please, just…come for me. That’s all.”
His throat was dry as he swallowed. She heard the effort of it above the ambient noise of the room. He glanced down at his crotch and began to masturbate again, not with much enthusiasm.
“Talk to me, then. It feels sterile with you just sitting there.”
Her mouth crooked. This time it was effortless. “But you’re hard anyway, aren’t you?”
“My dick is stupid. But I’m not. Talk to me. Please.”
She knew what he wanted, the things that got him off. She’d typed them often enough. But saying it aloud—that was harder. Nonetheless, she owed him that much. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and then began.
“You’re such a slut, Sean. Such a filthy, dirty slut. Stroking your cock in some shabby, anonymous hotel room for a woman you’ve never met in your life.”
He let out a jagged whisper of a breath. It ended in a little whine. His hand began to move again, circled thumb and fingers tightening, pulling up and down on the skin of the shaft.
“You’re hard. So fucking hard,” she let her tone drop, “and you just can’t help yourself, can you? So filthy.”
A groan wormed up from somewhere deep in his throat, the slick sounds grew louder, faster.
“That’s it. Just like that. You love it, don’t you? Showing me just what a piece of cunt toy you are? All you want to do is come. But don’t you dare do it without my permission.” She injected a level of menace into the last of her words. “Don’t you dare.”
“Please…don’t,” he stammered. His eyes slid closed as his fist worked harder.
She felt better now that his eyes were shut. She pushed herself out of the chair. “Don’t? Don’t what?” Her voice descended to an almost whisper as she approached the bed. “Look at you. Degenerate. That’s what you are. And you can’t help yourself, can you?”
“No.” The word was strangled by arousal.
The imagery didn’t turn her on. She’d never been all that interested in dominating men. But his reaction to her words, the lust they invoked, tightened her chest, made her belly flutter.
“Fuck, I should tie you to the bed, pillows piled under your hips until your shameless ass is as high as I want it. And then fuck you till you scream.”
Sean let out a choked groan. He was pumping furiously now. Pearls of precome teared from the tip. The droplets landed, with each stroke, on his bare white stomach, catching and glistening in the darker hairs that ran up to his navel.
When she reached the bed, she bent over, leaning on her hands as she brought her mouth closer to his ear. “I’d use you like a hole,” she growled. “Like the slutty, wanton little cunt you are.”
“God. Fuck me. Please.”
There it was. Need, desire so strong it burst into the stillness of the room, tainting the air with an ache. It hurt. It hurt deliciously to stand so close, to see the beads of sweat that birthed and glinted along the line of his sternum. To smell the faded scent of morning soap rise off his skin, and the sweetness of the oil he’d used on his cock, and the richer musk of his crotch. The tip of her tongue prickled with want. Her cunt felt swollen, sticky. Afterward, alone, she’d take care of it.
“Fuck you? Are you mad? I wouldn’t fucking touch you. I wouldn’t sully my skin with you. I’d use a dildo.”
“No,” he whimpered. “No. Ride me. I want you on me, around me.”
“Never. I don’t fuck trash like you.”
His eyes flew open and he turned his head toward her. “Then kiss me. Kiss me.”
Something in his voice had changed. He’d broken the spell. He’d cheated. A scythe-like blade of ice pushed into her gut. She pulled back.
“ No. ”
“Yes! Please!”
His hand shot out, fingers surrounding one of her wrists. It was the hand he’d used to stroke his cock, slick with oil and hot with friction. She tugged against the grip that held, then slipped, then held again, suddenly terrified.
“Stop it. Let go, Sean.”
“Just a kiss. Just one.” He was on his knees, free hand curling around the back of her neck to pull her toward him, a desperate uncontrolled urgency in the embrace.
“No. Don’t…don’t spoil this,” she said more softly, making her voice gentle, tamping down her own panic. Her gaze held his and she furrowed her brow. “Don’t ruin everything.”
The hold on her neck eased and he freed her wrist, leaving the smear of oil and heat behind. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”
She knew better than to draw away just then. Instead she sat down on the side of the bed, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. “I’m sorry, too. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”
“No. I said I could do it. I said I wanted to. It’s my fault.”
The fingers, still resting lightly on her neck, moved. His thumb caressed the tendon there. The sensation, no matter how sweet, how well meaning, was too much. Too tender. Too intimate. It was breaking her heart.
She shook her head and smiled at the wall. Tears pricked at her eyes. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.” Carefully pulling his hand off her neck, she laid it on the bed and patted it. “I should go.”
“Don’t. I can do this. I said I could, and I can. Do you still want me to?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Please. We’ll start again.”
It had
already gone too far, too wrong. Part of her wanted to get out of that fucking hotel room as quick as she could and drink herself into enough of a stupor to fall asleep. But the other part—the better part, she thought—didn’t want to hurt him.
“All right.” She gave him a quick smile and got to her feet.
“Can’t you just sit here, a little closer? It helps.”
She thought for a moment, feeling blindly for her limitations, and then sat back down. “Okay, but don’t touch me. Can you do that?”
Sean cocked his head. “Yes. I guess. I don’t understand why not. I wouldn’t force you, you know. I’d never do that.”
“I know. Just…please don’t touch me. Touch yourself.”
He worried his lip. “Okay. But look at me. Talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to talk the way we do online?”
Shifting back on the bed, settling back against the headboard, he exhaled. “No, just…just tell me what you want.”
“I want to watch you feel pleasure.”
A smile bent the edge of his mouth; his hand returned to his cock. It was semierect and gave a little bob as he touched it. “What else?”
“I want to listen as the arousal begins to take you over.”
He began to stroke again, slowly and deliberately. It only took three or four to regain his erection. He glanced from her, down to his groin, then back again. “What else?” he repeated.
“I want to see you come.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s proof. Proof of pleasure.”
He was looking into her eyes now, fist moving faster. Little twitches tugged at the muscles of his jaw. “Know what I want?”
“Not really. Tell me.”
“I want to know what you taste like. Whether it’s like I imagined.”
She smiled. “What else?”
“I want…” His breath came quicker now, lips parted between his words. “To feel your lips around my cock. The heat, the pressure of them.”
“My mouth? Wet? Tight?”
“Yes. Sucking. With my fingers in your hair.”
Her nipples stung as they stiffened. She fought not to break eye contact with him, but his gaze was starving her of oxygen. “What else?”
“Then to kiss you. And taste my cock on your mouth.”
“Not come in it?”
“No,” he rasped. “No, against you. On your skin.”
The ache in her cunt turned to sharp needles as the muscles fluttered. A single hot surge of wetness soaked her panties. “Where?”
Sean squeezed his cock, pumping it steadily. “Your skin.” “But where?”
“Your breasts…belly…thighs…I’d paint you.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“I’m close. Very close.” His jaw trembled as he spoke. The sinews on his throat stood out against his skin.
“I know. Come for me.”
Sean took one enormous breath and held it. His eyes turned sightless as the orgasm overloaded his synapses. She glanced down. A pale stream of come spattered his stomach, and then another, and another.
The familiar surge of sharp-edged elation swept over her body, setting her skin aflame, making her heart pound against her rib cage. Then, after a few moments, she looked up and smiled.
“Well, that worked,” he muttered.
“Yes, it did. Thank you.”
“Oh, no. Thank you.” He gave a little chuckle. “So, would it kill you to kiss me now?”
She stood up. The chemicals made it impossible for her to stop smiling. They fizzled in her veins like soda, her pulse almost deafening in her ears. She picked up her purse, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes, it would.”
She left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
SOUNDPROOF
Emily Moreton
The thing with cheap hotels was that the sitcom couple next door getting it on too loudly had a tendency to become a reality. Even more so when the cheap hotel was really more of a converted house and the only room available was a single with the bed tucked up against the adjoining—and not well soundproofed—wall.
The first night hadn’t been too bad; Led Zeppelin wasn’t the easiest thing to fall asleep to, but Sam had managed it, focusing on the rhythm of the music instead of the rhythm of the bedsprings. Problem was, it turned out iPods weren’t as durable as he’d always been told, or at least they weren’t durable enough to survive an unexpected dunking when he’d lost his footing in the sand, soaking his jeans and the music player in his pocket.
Actually, the rhythmic creaking springs were sort of hypnotic if he focused on the sound and not the meaning behind it. Eyes closed, hands folded neatly over his bare stomach, cool summer breeze blowing in through the open window, he could almost—
The girl moaned, loud and high pitched, and Sam cursed, dragging the pillow from behind his head and pressing it over his ears, where it did approximately fuck-all to block out the sound.
At least someone was having a good time. So was he, during the day, climbing the 199 steps to Whitby Abbey, sketching on the beach with the sand between his toes and generally enjoying being alone and away from the office for a few days.
Or he would be, if he could get some sleep. He knew he should get up, knock and tell them to shut up, but he was comfortable, nestled just right on the slightly lumpy mattress, and if he got up, he’d have to put on some kind of clothes and the whole thing just felt like too much trouble.
How much longer could they really go on, anyway?
The rhythm of the bedsprings sped up, the girl’s voice, half muffled through the wall, half drifting in through the open window, went high and breathless, “Oh, oh, oh, yes, yes, oh, yes,” and even Sam wanted to shudder when she trailed off.
Instead, he smiled up at the dark ceiling and closed his eyes, anticipating pleasant dreams, followed by a day out in the bay fishing.
He was nearly asleep when the girl’s voice, sounding like she stood right by his bed, said, “Again?”
“No,” Sam said firmly, half hoping they’d hear him. “Not again. You need your beauty sleep, and these aren’t the newest beds in the world. Who even knows if they can stand up to this kind of strenuous use?”
Apparently they didn’t care, judging from the flurry of squeaking, followed by the guy’s low, pleased moan.
Sam didn’t even know what they looked like—unsurprisingly, they didn’t seem to be early risers—but he was hit suddenly by the image of a young man on his back, his partner climbing on top of him, swinging one tan, smooth leg over him and sinking down onto his cock. Sam’s mind helpfully added in the guy’s hand on his dick, holding it steady for the girl, and apparently the guy was dark-haired, the girl’s hair so pale blonde it was almost white, both of them slim and fit.
His own cock twitched with interest in the picture, or maybe in the soundtrack. The bedsprings were squeaking in a slower rhythm now. The man in Sam’s head was rolling his hips up, his hands on the girl’s waist as she rocked with his rhythm.
Sam’s cock twitched again. He pressed both hands firmly to his stomach, opening his eyes to look up at the dark ceiling. It wasn’t right—they didn’t know he was listening, wouldn’t know what he was doing. It was kind of creepy to be getting off on someone else having sex, especially sex that they probably wouldn’t consent to him listening in on.
On the other hand, it wasn’t like he’d consented to being invited into their sex life by having to listen to it, and if they couldn’t keep it down in a hotel, they had only themselves to blame.
Plus, it wasn’t like they’d ever know.
Sam ran one hand lightly down his stomach and over his cock, rocking his hips up to nudge the head against his cupped palm. It felt good, even though he was only halfway to hard.
The guy next door apparently thought the same thing, from the low groan he gave, his voice hoarse. “You feel so good,” Sam heard t
hrough the wall.
Sam would just bet she did—and clearly, it had been way too long since he’d had sex. He stroked himself more firmly, awkward and rough without anything to slick the way, but like hell was he getting up to ferret in his shaving kit for lube. He rubbed his thumb lightly over the head of his cock, swallowing his own groan at how good that felt. Never mind it being too long since he’d had sex; it had clearly been way too long since he’d even spent enough time getting himself off.
“…So hot like that,” the guy said, the first few words lost to the wall and a sudden swirl of breeze catching at the curtains. He could have meant anything; the version of him in Sam’s head meant the way his partner was cupping her right breast in her hand, working at the nipple with her thumb, flashes of hard, pink flesh as she moved her hand.
Sam stroked his hand up his stomach and over his chest, catching his thumb on his own nipple, caught between imagining someone else’s hand on him, and imagining it was his hand on someone else’s body, someone else’s nipple peaking against the pad of his thumb. The way his ragged nail caught on his chest hair, the lack of soft curves, it still worked for him—for all his lack of application lately, Sam was equal opportunity about his sex partners.
He kept his eyes closed, concentrating on how the bedsprings were getting another workout, the occasional thump of the headboard against the wall. Maybe the guy would like it if Sam crawled into the bed with them, got his mouth on the guy’s nipple. Sam pinched his own, not as good as the sharp nip of teeth, but close, as close as he was going to get like this. The thumb he was rubbing over the head of his cock was damp now, precome smearing slick and messy over hot skin. Sam slid his cupped palm over his cock, moaning a little at how good it felt, then stroked himself, and god, that was better, that was so much better. Slick and hot and wet, it felt so good.
Suite Encounters Page 4
