DEACON

"That was a quick ten minutes. Come over here and let me bite your lips. Let me taste your gloss and give me the opportunity to coat your mouth with something else entirely."

Her breath hitches in her throat. Her dress has to restrict the airflow as well, because feeling her up, up and close, I'm not in doubt my choice for tonight is wearing a silk corseted bodice.

Sexy...

"I know you can feel how hard I am already," sliding myself against and behind her, I'm looking for friction. Release. "Grind on me." The faintest little moan escapes her. It's the sign that spurs me on, "You feel so good. Yes, babe..." I encourage her, without even knowing if she hears me. She seems to be in a trance. Doing her own thing, using me as a prop. Which is a-okay with me, because if I'm honest, I don't even know who's asscheeks are holding my stiffening dick captive right now. I took a swing for the fences at the bar and hoped I wouldn't strike out. I didn't

Besides the connecting key and the click clacking of her heels, I didn't hear a peep. Didn't give her a chance to. No chance to reconsider. I waited for her in the darkness, striking the iron while it's hot. I crave it. A nameless, faceless fuck to take the bitter taste off the dog and pony show my birthday turned out to be. I knew it beforehand, nevertheless, Quentin was right. The both of us were monkeys in suits in a calculated circus. A cold realization.

A different kind of cold shiver goes up my spine, taking me back to the present. Open mouthed kisses find their place on my thighs. "You don't need my permission to put it in your mouth." Looking down on this woman that slips my crown in her wet warmth, I finally feel somewhat of a king. Her nails accentuate the movements of her tongue on my legs. It drives me to take things to the next level. "Get on the bed and let me eat your pussy while you suck on my cock."

"Oh God yes...," she whimpers almost inaudibly.

She scampers away from me. Determined to spread out on the bed, only to realize she's still clothed in her dress. I let out a slight giggle. A tender moment in between the mounting tension. I caress her midriff like I have done earlier, "Let me help you," I whisper. Marking her with a love bite between her neck and shoulder before finding the hidden zipper of her gown. I run it down with my teeth until it halts on the slope of her butt. There's no underwear. Instead I feel something else there that I can't identify. Doesn't matter, her shivering distracts me. How the tables have turned. "All done, Milady. Leave the heels on."

"You can't even see..." She tries to object.

"What I say goes." I pivot her in position, sheathing myself after. The tearing of the foil is the sound that seems to signal the before and after of our romp.  "Where were we again?" Starting to nib on her inner thighs, getting closer to her clit inch by inch. "Mmm, you're so fucking wet, babe. Just how I fucking like it and you taste so good. Delicious... Ahh, get down deep on my cock, take it deep. I'm so hard for you."

Dirty talk makes her tick. I feel her wanting to clamp down on me so I give her some quick precise licks to find out where her edge lies. High pitched squeaks guiding my way. "You're not getting off the hook that easily, I want to bury myself in your wet pussy. Get on top of my dick." She complies without any complaint. "Aaahhh yesss... You feel so wet and warm. It drives me fucking crazy."

Before I can praise her even more, she bottoms me out and rides me like her next rodeo. Apparently, playtime is over and she's meaning business.

Well, okay then. You know what they say, Save a horse...

"Go after what you want, babe. Chase me. Chase it. Good girl." I grip her hair and wrap it around my wrist. Pounding into her like a madman. We're both getting off the rails, letting out battlecry after battlecry. What started out as a loaded one-night stand is becoming a battle of wills. A battle to see who'll crack first under the imminent pressure. I might be an asshole most of the time, but in the case of wicked sexy games, ladies always go first. It's an unspoken, holy rule and my personal badge of honor.

"I'm getting close..." she croaks out. Her tone sounds like music in my ears quite literally. This is what I wanted, an unrelenting, soul crushing melody for tonight. Orchestrated for two with no strings attached in the Presidential Suite of The Hermitage Hotel.

I can feel the sheen of sweat on both our bodies. I swear this woman can rival me in the bedroom, because she's still going at it. Gliding from side to side, trying to find the spot that'll unravel her. "Babe, let me give you another angle, You'll tire yourself out like this."

"You don't know anything about me," she grovels at me without looking me in the eye. Swiveling around, she places her legs over mine. "Now, get me the fuck off."

"You just handed me the reins, Reverse Cowgirl. Buckle up." I'm leaning back against the headboard, giving myself room to tilt her body a bit further backwards. I feel us both locking in. This is what she needs. I've reached the spot deep within her, that makes her see stars.

"Harder," she requests. Pressing her ass deeper into me. "Fuck yesss!"

"Let go, babe. Let me push you over." Within seconds she loses her restraint and lets the most beautiful, guttural orgasm I've ever experienced with someone wash over her. Unbashfully she enjoys the pleasure I've given her. It's such a seductive sight to see her lost in our friction. I tweak her nipples, curious to discover what happens; her legs begin to tremble.

"I can't take any more,' she cries.

"You can, good girl. Take me." I wrap her arms around my neck to steady her. In an act of defiance, she claws her nails in my neck. "Mark me, feisty one. Goddamnit!" I roar, before I see fucking galaxies full of stars myself.   

Neither one of us moves for a couple of beats. After physically connecting, an all together different current zaps between us. My breath hitches this time. Sitting in this afterglow with her, breathing her in, for the first time in a long time, I might regret having a faceless, nameless fuck.

"I'll get you something to clean up or feel free to take a shower."

This is what I always say after a one-night stand. In this instance, it sounds incredibly lame.

"Mhm," she hums.

Standing up slowly so she can find her bearings, I try facing her as good as I can in this darkened hotel suite. "What's your name?" I ask out loud to my own surprise. Her answer is a sensual, greedy kiss.

When our cheeks touch for a moment, I feel wetness on one. I take her face in my hands so I can bring our foreheads together. "Did I hurt you?" I feel her shake 'No' between my fingers. "I know you felt whatever it was, is, too. Talk to me. "Wait. No, not like this. With a condom full of jizz and nothing to wear. Let me get the robes from the bathroom." I give her hand a squeeze for reassurance.

Which she doesn't return so I tentatively take a few steps backwards in the direction of the en suite. Noticing a stream of pale moonlight coming through the curtains that aren't completely shut. The light hits me square in the chest. I can barely make anything out about her. She's mostly obscured still. Although some of the rhinestones on her mask wink at me. She's definitely an atomic blonde. At least, that's something to go on. Any other traits will have to reveal themselves later.

The energy in the room continues to feel off, hesitant. Not certain what to do about it, I decide to give her some space like I intended, "I'll be back soon."

Standing in front of the mirror, I contemplate why I'm disappointed at the fact she's not responding. Knowing I'm crossing all of my own rules and boundaries. I'm not even sure what kind of territory or minefield I'm entering. But, something in me compels me to try. Like my intuition has told me once before.

"Just try," I hype myself. "All that we share will be protected by the cloak of night. Fuck, I'm a mess. And, I sound like I could be Harry Potter's professor. I only turned thirty, not ninety."

What's up with mirrors or my intuition for that matter? It all feels like a déjà vu.

When I'm finally done doing my business, I prepare a washcloth and grab the bathrobes off the hook. "Here babe, use this and wrap this around you." I say while holding out both pieces of cloth in front of me. Even though I easily find my way back to the king size bed,  I only find the sliver of moonlight as company. Her shadow vanished in thin air. "Shit." I stand motionless in the spot where we sensually kissed.

I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, condemning myself. But, after a while it gets replaced with cute snores and sighs. Relief floods through me. She's still here. In a flash the thought crosses my mind to switch on a table or floor lamp, but we both have come too far in this ruse to chicken out and reveal the mystery like a coward. If I'm not mistaken someone already called me out as one at the masquerade ball. Don't want a repeat of that.

If she wakes up now, she might think I've lost the plot. I'm pacing at the foot of the bed debating with myself about whether I can sleep in it with her or that I should take the couch. In the end I rationalize I can share the bed, we've had sex after all.

Sue me.

Her steading breath lets me know the side that I can occupy. More importantly it calms me. Quietly, I fumble around my stuff to find a boxer and discard what I have on. Wouldn't want to scare her or be presumptuous in the morning. We've had one rough and tumble bang to ring in my new year. I should be grateful for it instead of being greedy for more.

Sliding in next to her, I'm hit with sharp but fresh notes of citrus. Lime. Why doesn't it surprise me that she keeps smelling like something fruity after our sexcapade. It means this girl is pure, honest, sweet, maybe a bit tangy and unrelenting at her core. Simply put, the surprise I didn't see coming and not only because of the darkness we chose to surround ourselves with.

I crawl deeper under the covers and make sure we're both cozy. "Sweet dreams, girl. Can't wait 'til morning."

—

Said morning is a rude awakening. No babe so no surprise. No answers, no black fitted shirt with white polka dots, no sweatpants, no silk bodiced gown, no heels, not even a note. Gone, baby gone. What do I have? A detached duchess pink rosette, smelling like fucking lime and an eerie inkling: she kept the hotel key. Slipped it in her purse, I guess it makes her think of me.