I run my fingers along the wall
tracing imaginary meaningless shapes
as I make my way upstairs
this new home still such a stranger
I’m unattached to much of my surroundings
having never been the type
to get caught up in the
who
what
where
when
and most definitely not the why
Which explains how I landed here
in the first place
“I love it,” he said
sounding more like a woman
than I ever could.
“It’s cool,” I replied
unable to share his enthusiasm
but willing to indulge his need.
“Let’s do it,” he glanced my way
touched the inside of my wrist
just so
grazed his full lips
along the curve of my neck.
and I was sold.
Fucking horny slut.
Goddamned sexy bastard.
Now I was here
in all this space
amongst all these people
living this life
of absurd bourgeoise privilege.
Dinner parties
Networking events
Charity functions
Weekday drinks
Sunday champagne
Swim clubs
Lawn clubs
Yacht clubs
Fucking horny slut.
Goddamned sexy bastard.
I grinned to myself
as I reached the top of the stairs
making my way to the most random place in the house
to call my own
despite his good intentions
“It’s all yours,” he led me into the space
and smiled
because he knew I loved windows
and sunlight
and woods
“your own office.”
I kissed him
open-mouthed and deep
eliciting a groan
so masculine and full of desire
as my hands touched all his places
and I fucked him on that desk
and I never once looked around that office.
But this bathroom
with its picture window
and views of the city
its free-standing tub
and open-air shower
its heated tiles
that massage my tired feet
its earthen tones
that calm my frantic mind
its vanity
of stunning design
a piece of art
in a room designed by an artist
this bathroom is MINE.
And he knows it
so he stays away
allowing me to linger in the mirror
after i step from the shower
naked
fresh
wet
and stand at that vanity
going through the motions
of preparing myself
for whatever bourgeoise exercise in the bizarre
we have planned.
Except tonight is different.
He’s waiting in the doorway
a smirk curving those full lips
those brown tatted arms
of muscle and sinew
crossed loosely
relaxed
as he watches me
at the vanity
one
two
three
four beats
before he steps into the room
his heat
stealing my chill
and wrapping me in all kinds of sexy
“This is my room,” I close my eyes and hiss
as his hands slip between my thighs
and his lips leave wet heat along my shoulder
and he laughs
the sound low and full of sex
and I know I’m going to share my room with that gorgeous motherfucker
because I just cannot help myself
“Get up on the vanity,” he commands
as he turns me around
hands on my ass
and lifts
because he knows
just how I like it
and he knows
just how I want it
and he fucks me
hard and fast
dirty and raw
until we’re nothing but a
seamless
boneless
useless
puddle of each other’s
sweat
tears
come
and we’re closer in those seconds
than any other time of our togetherness.
Fucking horny slut.
Goddamned sexy bastard.
“This is still my room,” I smile the wicked smile of the sated
my eyes closed
enjoying our post-fuck quiet
as he kisses me and grins
“It is most definitely your room, sexy,” he whispers in my ear
his warm breath doing things to me
“but this vanity right here,
it’s got my name written all over it.”
Fucking horny slut.
Goddamned sexy bastard.
*
Madhuri Pavamani is a writer of dark and erotic fiction and poetry. Her novel ‘Dutch’ has been called ‘unapologetically smutty’ and ‘dark and sexy and bloody’ — and you bet we’re looking forward to reading it! Madhuri can be found at madhuripavamani.com or you can follow her on Twitter @MadhuriWrites