You’ve spent the day everywhere else, roaming the room, conversing with others. More than once, your gaze drifted to mine.
Now you’re a foot away, standing behind me, so close I can almost feel you. You need only reach out.
But you don’t. Won’t. Can’t.
Because this isn’t the time, isn’t the place, in this room full of people we both know, all of them waiting to hear what you’ll say next. They’re asking questions and you’re answering, but I only hear the timbre of your voice, imagine the curve of your lips, the way your breath would feel against my skin, the way my name sounds when its torn from your throat.
My mind has drifted to a different place, to an empty room with white walls, each one desperate to have our bodies pinned against them.
This place has no warmth save that which comes from heated skin and panting breaths, from need, greed and aching flesh.
Its overwhelming silence begs for pleasured moans and dirty promises, for cries of fuck and harder and ohmyfuckinggod yes.
The room wants for color; your grey shirt, my black bra, the red streaks my nails leave as they make their way across your back, the pink outline of your fingers on my hips, the bluish-purple of bruises we’ll look at longingly days after it’s all said and done.
It is here I lose myself, here where I taste you, touch you, my mouth wrapping around your cock, my hand cupping your balls. Here where I suck you to the brink of ecstasy before drawing back to look at you, your lips pressed together, your eyes glazed. Here where I slide on top of you, teasing you with my breasts, my fingers, my cunt.
I won’t wait for you to beg. The torment has cost me, too, and my body is paying the price. I’m wet, throbbing, screaming inside, as desperate as the room itself to feel you moving inside me. I slip down until I have engulfed you completely, then move, first slowly, then faster, harder as your control unravels.
It is in this moment that the room takes its first breath of life. Filled with heat and the smell of sweat and sex, colored by clothing and abused skin, shattered by words with no meaning beyond the moment and the unmistakable sound of fucking. And in that moment, I am lost. In you, in this place, in what it means and what it doesn’t.
And in what happens when we have drifted.
Back in the room full of people we know, you ask a question.
For me, there is only one answer. Yes.