Freelove
I know I am a sucker for foreign accents, but tonight I have found out that British is foreign enough for me.
British girls pronounce their words in such a pointed yet smooth fashion that all I can do is nod stupidly and try not to drown in my beer. Lager. Whatever. When they start talking, words roll of their lips like thick, velvety chocolate and I just cease to exist.
Like this one standing right in front of me, discussing god knows what with Charlie. I had to log off to their conversation ages ago, desperately trying to hang on to myself somewhere in the depths of my glass. Charlie on the other hand nods and speaks, swallows his beer with grace, and I am fucking sure he has absolutely no trouble keeping from drowning. Charlie never ceases to exist.
I do. I am quite hopeless when it comes to women. No one ever believes it when I mention that sad fact about my life, but I feel sometimes as if I really lack in that department. Don't know why, so don't ask me why.
Yet it frustrates the fucking hell out of me, because I think women are fantastic! I mean, have you ever taken a really close look at them? The way they curve and flow and shine? Maybe that intimidates me. Could be.
All I know is that I really want this one. I know I sound like a child in a toy store, nagging for the latest whatever, but it's the truth. She walked in, searching for Charlie, kissed him on the cheek and stole his beer, and when Hunnam introduced us to each other, she did something that usually turns me off immediately: she fawned over me. I mean, not terribly loud or obvious and there was no actual drooling involved, but still she fawned, almost in the motherly way. It didn't bother me at all, however, and that is when I knew: I really want this one.
That said, I don't like to fuck around randomly. Not really. It's a hollow thing and I always feel like a cheap trick afterwards, but then again, I need some too every once in a while.
That's probably a lie.
I might need it more than once in a while. I guess I need it pretty often. But needing and getting are two fairly different things. Tonight, however, for some odd reason, I definitely need to get.
Because it has been way too long, and this shoot fucks me up royally at times. A drink or two usually helps, or, if all else fails, a good wank, but everything has been to surprisingly little avail these last few days. I am stressed out, snappy, tired and I smoke far too much, even to my own fucking standards. Add to that the fact I have been terribly horny almost all the fucking time this week and you will probably see my line of reasoning here: I really - really - need to get this one.
Besides, she's pretty. Older than me, definitely, but she flows and curves and shines so beautifully that I have trouble keeping my eyes off her. And she is soft. I know this, because her arms are bare. They are pale and milky and make me want to bite them. There is this flowery blue skirt fluttering around her knees. She has smooth, slender calves ending in narrow ankles I want to suck. Get my teeth to rip off the delicate chain she's wearing around one of them.
I really can't help looking at her legs, briefly imagining myself lying between them, pushing her skirt up without watching, just stroking the inside of her thighs, dragging my fingers through the wet.
I know they have both addressed me several times, not caring or realising I am no longer following their conversation. A nod or a grin or a goofy smile usually does the trick, and I can only hope they haven't actually noticed my mental absence. I light up once more and inhale deeply, hiding myself and my searching eyes behind a cloud of soothing smoke.
She is maybe just an inch or so shorter than I am and her eyes keep darting my way, stealing glances, all the while talking nonchalantly to Charlie. She winks at me playfully and I feel like I'm practically oozing with need. My mouth has suddenly gone really dry, so I just order another beer from the bar that I am leaning against.
Then Charlie is gone. It could well be he mentioned something like 'loo' but I'm not altogether sure. I told you, I logged off to their conversation ages ago. She turns and looks at me. Oh fuck.
I am really good at bright and sociable conversation, really I am. And I know I should try harder, make a real effort. But her eyes are shining too much, and her hair falls around her face in mesmerizing little whisps and I just can't seem to concentrate. Suddenly she is really close to me, one hand on the bar behind my back, the other casually pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Blatant flirt.
"Charlie here tells me you have been a pain to work with today," she says softly, so close to my ear that I swear I can feel the tip of her tongue flicking against it. She knows she can get away with it, with the looks I have been giving her. Mentally shaking myself, I manage a disgruntled stare and wonder what else Charlie has been telling her about me. She picks up her drink from the bar, and that movement, intended or not, has her body even closer to mine. I am sure she can hear my heartbeat by now.
"Don't believe everything Hunnam tells you," I manage a surprisingly snarky retort. "I am usually the sweetheart of any cast I work with." She snorts slightly and throws me a frown, trying to figure out whether I am serious or not. I can't help but smile.
"Don't believe everything I tell you either," I grin and give myself a mental pat on the shoulder. She giggles, face down, her hair falling from behind her ears. It flows. I inwardly wince at my own blatant flirting but cannot stop my hand from reaching out and brushing the hair from her face, touching her cheek and barely preventing a sigh to escape from my slightly open mouth.
Touch. I love touch.
I mean, I like sight, and smell, and I really like sound, but I love touch. Taste is very good too, but we're not there yet.
Not. Yet.
I am staring again, at her mouth this time. Thinking of taste usually gets me there. Fuck, she's also talking to me again. I really should pay some form of attention to her, or I am going to end up with Charlie tonight, and he'll only be pissed and incoherent. As a weak form of cover I stub out my cigarette and pretend I didn't hear her.
"Elijah," and hearing my full name roll off her lips like the velvety chocolate I just described, makes my cock twitch. She's standing next to me now and her hand has come to rest on my chest, palm flat, pinky achingly close to my left nipple. I am silently screaming at it to move that last little half-inch to the left but it stays where it is and I focus my eyes on hers instead.
They're green. Or blue. Or something in between. I like them. They are encompassed by tiny little laugh lines and filled with warmth. They shine.
"Lij," I say, too hoarse to my own liking so I clear my throat. "Just call me Lij - everyone does." She smiles, sliding her palm down to my stomach, picking invisible lint from my t-shirt, smoothing non-existent creases. "Well, Lij," she whispers. "You know you have been staring at me all evening?"
I nod. Of course I know. I am staring at her right now.
"You distract me," I manage to say, and I notice how her eyes focus on my mouth. The hand that hasn't stopped fondling my stomach suddenly dips deeper and caresses my leg, very subtly, very slowly creeping to the inside of my thigh, moving all the way up until she is so close to the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans that I can't think straight anymore.
"Stop it," I wheeze, and even my breathing is betraying me now. She only smiles and mouths the word 'no' at me.
Her fingers do an infuriating little dance around the edge of my jeans pocket, but they steer terribly clear of where I want them the most. She does distract me - she is mind-blowing - and I am practically helpless. It's a feeling I'm not very familiar with and the fact that this doesn't worry me at all makes me wonder when and where I misplaced my common sense this evening.
She removes her hand from my jeans and smiles softly. "I'm sorry I fawned over you..." she says suddenly, stroking my bare arm, tracing a vein. "I really should know better than to do that."
"I'm quite used to it," I say, entranced by the movement of her fingers on my skin, still amazed at what I allow this woman to do to me - in both senses of the word.
I know that Charlie trusts her, and although I stopped partaking in their earlier conversation, I did register how relaxed these two behave around each other. Like lovers, almost...
Something clicks in my brain, and my common sense returns briefly, winning from my lust by a noselength. "What about Charlie?" I say, and light up again, nervous all of a sudden to lose what is so lusciously in front of me.
She giggles, trailing the soft pads of her fingers over my lower lip. "He's a darling, really," she finally says. "And a good friend. But that's where it ends." I exhale, blowing the smoke over the top of her head.
Her hand has moved and she is stroking the side of my face now, her lips slightly parted. "As for you," and I feel how her inquisitive hand moves up even further to play with my messy hair. "You are as beautiful as you are nervous and I have soaked my underwear ever since we shook hands two hours ago." I take another drag off my cigarette and try to process that shameless bit of information without making a total fool of myself.
I decide that I really don't care anymore that I am in a public place, and pull her in between my legs, my back still up against the bar. We don't kiss, but she allows me to fractionally grind my erection against her body in small, lazy circles. It feels so good that I can't help but close my eyes and moan softly against her cheek. My hands ghost over her bare arms and her back, and when I cup her ass, I pull her body against my hips and grind the slightest bit harder.
Her breath is smooth on my skin as she rests her head on my shoulder. She has locked her arms around my waist and I can feel her fingers underneath my t-shirt, spiderwalking up my back.
"You want to go somewhere?" she whispers softly, close to my ear again and I am sure she can feel the goose bumps on my skin. This lady is pushing all my fucking buttons and it has left me so hard it actually hurts. She must be a mind reader, because one of her hands has left its comfortable spot on my back to travel to my front and then pulls out from under the shirt, sliding down to my crotch at last. She strokes experimentally across the denim, then presses the palm of her hand flat against my straining erection and I gasp.
"Stop that," I practically grunt. "Fucking tease." She looks at me with her bright smile and expectant eyes, and again, I find myself past caring too much for proper decorum. So I wrench some money from my pocket, drop the bills on the counter and grab her hand.
Getting a taxi, or 'cab', is so easy in this city. So unlike New York where there always seem to be too few around and their drivers have serious attitude problems. Here, or at least in this part of town, I quickly find myself in the back of one very black cab and I mention the address where I mean to take this. The cabby confirms the streetname and pulls up, checking his rearview mirror a little too often.
I can hardly let myself be distracted by the man's silent scrutiny because suddenly her warm back is pressed against my left side. She cranes her neck so her lips almost touch my jaw and she pleads for me to touch her in a barely audible whisper. Her tongue snakes out for a second and she wetly licks the stubble on my chin.
When I don't respond fast enough to her liking she grabs my right hand and places it in her lap, pressing her tongue insistently behind my ear, whispering her request once more. "Come on, honey," she urges softly and to my utter surprise I find my hand crawling to the hem of her skirt, lingering there playfully until she grumbles again.
More fondling in public places. What, for fuck's sake, am I doing tonight? I guess I am going with the warmth that has been pooling low in my stomach for the past few hours and I throw my usual caution to the wind. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers tease the soft flesh of her thighs, and murmur into her hair, folding my other arm around her shoulder, so that she is safely cradled in my embrace. She stretches her back slightly, her tongue still placing wet little licks on my jaw, and when my fingers find the crotch of her damp panties, she mewls happily.
When I register her wetness, the steady fire that has been burning within me for days now, suddenly flares up like a fucking bonfire and I messily crush my lips onto hers, groaning into her mouth, which is so fucking hot and inviting. Her lips are plump and moist and I can't help but wonder what she will taste like down there.
I close my eyes again and my tongue traces erratic, wet patterns across her teeth, swirling around her lips, softly biting her chin. I rub my fingers against her flesh in small circles and my other hand is cupping one of her breasts.
When I hear myself pant, I return to the reality of the cab I am sitting in and desperately try to cool down a little.
"Later," I grunt, nuzzling her hair, catching my breath and retracting my hand from underneath her skirt. She giggles softly and rests her cheek against my shoulder, exhaling warm breath into the crook of my neck.
Paying the cabby was one of the more complicated actions of the evening. Opening the door to my hotel room and finding a light switch ranged somewhere along the same lines. Pressing her into the bedroom wall and dragging my hands roughly down the fabric of her t-shirt, however, proves to be surprisingly easy.
She has her head thrown back, and the pale stretch of her neck inspires me to lick and bite my way across her smooth skin, in search of her lips. I quickly abandon that idea, however, when I trail my hands upwards, hooking my fingers under the hem of her tee, and by pulling it up over her head, exposing a well-filled black bra.
I cup her beautiful, plump breasts greedily and push them up and together so that they almost spill out off the lacy little number that barely contains them. When I bend my knees slightly and lean in to place my mouth over a nipple, I groan and suck straight through the delicate fabric, feeling the small nub stiffen right under my oversensitive lips.
She hisses and is pulling at my shirt, so I decide to leave the bra alone for a minute. I find that I really don't want it off of her, completely turned on by the combination of black lace on white skin. My roving hands travel further down, searching for the familiar hem of the flowery skirt, licking and sucking wetly at the smooth expanse between her breasts.
I push my hands up and under the flimsy skirt, tracing my fingers across the incredible softness of her thighs and she closes her eyes and writhes against me, her hands gripping my hips hard and impatient, kneeing my legs apart, pulling me close. We crush our mouths together at last and I rub my denim-covered cock against her thigh, desperate by now for any form of friction.
I suddenly remember the vivid image I had back in the pub, and I manage to grunt 'bed' before I actually lift her skirt. She kicks off her heels, lies down on her back on the pristinely made bed, and I nudge her legs apart with my knees. I sit back on my haunches and smooth my hands up and down her calves, first the outside, then the inside, wondering at their softness all the time. I pick up one leg and bend it slightly, bringing her ankle and the little chain she's wearing around it only inches from my face.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Kink of mine..." and I just fasten my lips to the side of her left ankle, lapping at the salty-sweet taste of it, teeth yanking playfully at the little chain. She utters a surprised little yelp and I grin against her foot, sucking in the tiny charm that is fastened to the chain. I pull at it so hard now that it leaves actual marks in her ankle and I wonder when the links are going to give way.
Not wanting to really ruin her jewellery, I let it go and slide my tongue from her ankle up her calf, this time unable to resist the overwhelming urge to bite. I suck at her white skin first, leaving a delicious red mark, and then sink my teeth into the tender flesh. She gasps violently and that causes me to bite harder and suddenly I feel how my balls draw up and I know I'm on the fucking edge.
It's too much.
I know.
I think I just came dangerously close to hurting her, but Jesus Christ... It always feels so fucking good.
I look at her, only to find she has closed her eyes, breathing hard, her full breasts moving up and down with the effort. I decide to make up for my roughness by licking the abused skin in long wet swipes, while my hand creeps further up her leg, along her thigh, fingers softly pushing against her clit through the fabric of her soaked panties.
When she blindly reaches out her hands to fumble with my belt I suddenly realise how much I need to get out of these jeans... Like immediately.
Carefully, I let go of her leg and help her unbuckle, unzip, undress...
She has opened her eyes again, watching me shove the clinging denim over my hips and further down, throwing them into a random corner. When she realises I decided against underwear after my shower this afternoon, she utters some incoherent, happy noises and props herself up on one arm, giggling like a teenager and turning me on even more.
I have the grace to blush when her fingers brush gently along the shaft of my erect cock, jutting out proudly, all flushed and painful and sticky with precum.
"Oh god," she just breathes and strokes again, causing me to shudder. "You're gorgeous..." Her fingers trace slick little circles in the wet at the tip of my cock, and I grab her wrist and stop her.
"I'm too close," I whisper. It's all I can manage.
"Take off your shirt," she says, lying down again, and I comply, pulling the sweaty thing over my head and throwing it into another random corner.
She reaches for the tattoo, her fingers slowly ghosting over it, then roughly scratching it with sharp nails. Angry red tracks cover the precious black symbols and I groan, dropping down on top of her, hands on both sides of her head. I crush my lips on hers and suck her tongue inside my mouth forcefully. She puts up a delicious wet fight and can't help but squirm when I start squeezing one of her breasts in time with her tongue pushing into my mouth.
Finally, I reach down her skirt, hitching it up, hooking two fingers under the hem of her ruined underwear. I slide it down as far as I can and have to break the urgent kiss when I sit up to pull them completely off.
"Spread," I grunt, and turn around to search for my bag on the floor. I fish a condom out of my wallet and return to my vantage point between her now wide open legs, ripping the foil with my teeth. "I'll do it," she says and rolls the nasty but necessary piece of latex down my cock, moving both hands from top to bottom and then suddenly dipping down to close her mouth over my trapped erection, causing me to curse loudly.
"Fuck!" I cry out and she lets go, smiling, probably realising I still can't take much. "Jesus Christ..."
My grumbling dies down when I drag my fingers through her wetness, and when I find the throbbing little nub, I decide to go for broke and stimulate it roughly with the palm of my hand. A good choice, apparently, as she opens up wider for me, making me smile at her wantoness, and rubbing a little harder in reward.
"Can I...?" I just manage to ask, hitching her skirt up a bit further, not wishing to stain and probably ruin it. Her smile pierces through the fog that is my lust-filled brain and I take that as a yes and hook her leg around my waist. She quickly follows with the other one and helps me guide my way inside of her.
I am blind. And deaf. And I miss the taste of her lips.
Every sense in my body short-circuits when I slowly become aware of her insides pressing warm and wet against my pulsing cock. Feeling returns and the urge to move comes with it, and so I pull out, almost gently, ready to start the movement all over again.
But I push myself up on my hands first to look at her. She is still smiling at me, caressing my nipples with her slickwet fingers, and pushing my buttons all over again. She is staring at her left hand that is now slowly smoothing down the soft expanse of my stomach until there is nowhere left to go, weaving her fingers briefly through the dark curls, and finally dragging her hand right back to the abandoned nipple.
"Come on, Lij," she whispers, giving me a dazzling smile, licking her lips. "Come fuck me..."
I push in again, gasping and cursing at the sensation of her tightness around my tortured cock and her expert fingers still teasing my erect nipples. "Fuck me harder, baby," she whispers again. "I need you raw and hard."
She keeps talking and I wonder how long I'm going to survive her dirty words. Once I am seriously aroused, I can actually come without being touched, as long as the right tale is being told, and I hope I will outlast her suggestive monologue long enough not to embarrass myself.
I slam in with much more force this time, and she groans, snaking her hands down my body and cupping my ass. "Again," she hisses, and I obey, supplying a number of agonisingly slow moves, withdrawing until the head of my cock is all that remains inside of her and ramming in again with all the power I can muster. Her eyes are closed again and one hand has started rubbing her clit, humming her appreciation, occasionally throwing in a "harder" or a "that's it, baby" and I look down at her face and find her beautiful.
It's impossible for me to stick to these teasing, powerful strokes, because the urge to give in to a fast and steady and familiar rhythm is just too overwhelming. "Please," I hear myself beg, and I almost grin, so completely past caring. "I need to fuck you faster." The remaining hand squeezes my ass roughly and she smiles through her daze and I know it's okay.
And it's not one of the most polite fucks I ever experienced, but certainly one of the most mind-blowing ones, because as I look into her shining eyes, I quickly lose myself into a ruthless rhythm and I revel in the way her inviting body clenches around my pumping cock in time with my thrusts.
I dip down once more, licking her breasts and biting her neck, and her hand lets go of my ass and cradles my head, trying to hold me in place. My wrists start to hurt, and my back is moist with the sweat I broke several minutes ago, but the coiling feeling in my balls intensifies with each stroke and I am strangely aware of my ragged breathing against the hot skin of her breasts.
Suddenly, her body jerks hard under my own and I can see her eyes go wide, and then hear her breath hitch and she clamps her internal muscles painfully hard around my cock and it is enough to give myself up to the all-consuming need to come.
"Oh Christ... Oh thank fucking god," I hear myself groan and curse gratefully before most of my senses shut down for a few seconds. I come in hot, urgent, quick bursts and I involuntarily push into her as deep as possible, shuddering against her body, feeling her arms gripping around me like a vice. I press my mouth against hers in an almost desperate kiss and ride the high of my orgasm for a few more gorgeous seconds.
It's six in the morning and I am wide awake. I slept like a baby until I woke up thirty minutes ago and now I find myself alone, staring at the ceiling or out of the window, as I never drew the curtains, seeing nothing but a half-dark, overcast sky.
I vaguely hear the familiar noises of traffic down below in the streets around the hotel, and they make me all the more aware of the quiet room and the absence of her breathing next to me. Which, in turn, reminds me of the weight of her arm around my stomach. Or the smooth leg she wormed in between my own. Or the scent of her hair.
She has gone.
She showered, got dressed and stood at the foot of this bed for a full minute, just looking at me. I smiled because I was staring at her again.
She walked around the bed to my side, sat down and pressed a quick kiss on my lips, stroking my hair with one hand. She bent her head forward and came so close to my ear that when she whispered into it, I could swear I felt the tip of her tongue flick against it. Then she got up, picked up her purse and left.
I have been wide awake for the past thirty-five minutes, staring at the ceiling or out of the window. Yet I don't see a thing. I feel like I'm blind, and only able to listen to the sounds filtering in from outside, from the always busy traffic down below, imagining her walking somewhere along one of London's many streets.
Oh yes, I am blind. And I won't see again until tonight.
When, she promised, I can stare at her some more.
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