exoticeva: filthykissesandwhiskeywords: *Lola’s? 8pm? I’ll have a sapphire martini waiting for you*
exoticeva: filthykissesandwhiskeywords: *Lola’s? 8pm? I’ll have a sapphire martini waiting for you* And with that one text, just 10 simple words, you make the last 4 years vanish. I’m back to being that girl, the one who got butterflies whenever you were near. The one who had never understood passion and chemistry and romance before you walked into a room like you owned it, and turned my world upside down. I get to Lola’s a few minutes before 8. Enough time to check my reflection in the window. A spike of anxiety surges - have I changed a lot? Will you still think I’m attractive? It’s followed by a spurt of annoyance - why the fuck does that matter? My hair is longer and lighter than when you last saw me, but it’s still fine and lustrous. My best feature. I think about all the time you spent smoothing it, pulling it, brushing it for me, and I shiver. The horn of a passing cab snaps me out of that reverie. I walk in and of course you’re sitting where you always sat. Left corner of the bar, so you could watch the door. You’re talking to the bartender so I have a few seconds to look at you. Heat surges as I do. You look good. Dammit. The new grey at your temples does nothing to diminish the strength of your jawline, or the blue of your eyes. Not for the first time I consider that this is a bad idea, but I didn’t come this far to turn tail and run. I plant my fuck-me Franco Sarto heels and walk toward you, putting a little more sway into my ass and hips than is really required. Two martinis in and I’m buzzed but not drunk. Loose limbed and a little flirty as you smile that familiar smile at me and we talk about nothing and everything, just like we used to. I’m staring at your hands as you illustrate some arcane point about voting procedures on the drink napkin. There’s that intoxicating mix of intelligence and confidence and nerdiness that I now look for in every man I meet. Those hands know me intimately. They’ve held me and hurt me, left red marks and purple bruises on my skin, bound my wrists and dried my tears. Pinned me down and picked me up. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel them on me again. The slow burn that’s been building since I took a chance and told you I was coming to town just jumped. It’s now a raging fire that has me grinding my thighs together as I squirm on the seat. My face is flushed and my heartbeat seems deafening in my ears. You look up and holy shit, there it is. That zap and sizzle of our mutual attraction. I don’t know who moves first, all I can do is moan in relief at the feel of your mouth on mine, your tongue unapologetically plundering my softness without hesitation. You taste like scotch and you - and I want to laugh with the exhilaration of knowing you still want me, after all this time. But I don’t. I keep kissing you back, letting you know I’m still yours, I always was, always have been. I don’t remember leaving Lola’s, or the ride back to your place. But when you push me down on the bed and ask if I remember my safeword? The look of triumph and reverence on your face when I whisper “scarlet”? The way I beg to cum for you as soon as you slip your fingers inside my soaking cunt? Those memories are seared into my brain. Just like all the ones we created before. Original writing @exoticeva —– Ummm, wow! Holy hotness @exoticeva! I felt that sexual tension with every ounce of my being! Seriously, so good! Thank you @filthykissesandwhiskeywords -- source link