Suit. Dess shoes. Silk tie. Cuff links. Dress shirt with French cuffs.
I said it before and I say it again: I lust after well-dressed men. We agreed to meet for dinner. You rushed. I arrived early and the hostess tucked me into a dark booth in the back.
Watching as you dash into the restaurant, your briefcase clutched in one hand, your overcoat draped over your arm, I sigh. In this instant, in this moment, you are perfection personified. You arrived directly from the office, your breathing heavy.
I wave, signaling you. A sharp nod acknowledges the wave then you wend your way to the booth. Tossing your briefcase unceremoniously into the booth, you take two extra steps, bend and press a soft kiss and a whispered apology to my lips. Your jacket blankets your briefcase.
We eat dinner. A local Mexican restaurant, we enjoy margaritas and tequila shots. We laugh. We touch. We flirt across our meals. The tension rises, clearly combustible.
We communicate with the waiter. The bill arrives. A card emerges. Paid.
We gather our things. We extricate ourselves from the booth. We saunter from the restaurant. Your hand engulfs mine. We make our way into the night.
We decide to walk to my home. The night is young. The sky illuminated by the high rise light show and the air temperate, swirling around us, teasing the hem of my skirt.
You laugh as I bat my skirt down, rail at the breeze. Your hand tugs mine, I fall against you, my head upturned. Your head lowers; your lips kiss mine.
Kissing, in the middle of the sidewalk, hot and passionate. Your tongue pushes past my cherry ice cream smile. My arms creep up, wrapping around your shoulder. Standing on tip-toes.
I break from the kiss, lips swollen, breathing heavy. My dark eyes sparkle in the dimmed evening light. Still hand in hand, I pull you behind me, a force with which to be reckoned.
We walk, rushed in silence. The sounds around us muted. Our heavy breathing, our footfalls, the swish of material the soundtrack to the race.
I smile and mumur a greeting to the doorman as we slip into the buildling. I tug you after me, although you are beside me as we enter the elevator.
Soft thuds accompany the falling to the floor of your coat and briefcase. You attack. Pressing me against the wall of the elevator, a free hand jams the button to my floor. Your mouth already returned to mine, your tongue plunging into my mouth.
You break the kiss, your hands roaming over my body as mine roam over your back and shoulders. Your mouth is against my ear, whisper how much you want me. Grinding against my hips, I feel the rock hard lenth of your cock through the layers of our clothes.
The door chimes, signaling our arrival on my floor. We somehow manage to scoop up your briefcase and jacket and exit the elevator. Your hand cups and caresses my bum as we walk the long length of corridor to my floor.
Keys in hand, when we reach the door, I slip the key in, unlock the door and we step inside…
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