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Sparkle (4)
The hotel suite spun around me as he moved in for a kiss. I dropped my coat, revealing the white lingerie underneath. He reached back and snapped my bra. I worked my way down his shirt buttons. He pulled my hair and kissed my neck, then released me to pull off his shirt. I was already working on his pants. They dropped and he stepped out of them. There is a certain hilarity few recognize that is found primarily in the exchanges of lovers as they break all physical things restraining them so their bodies can meet at last with nothing between them.
When all obstacles had been removed, he slammed my naked body against the wall, lifted me up and began to devour me with a hunger impossible to describe. Every thrust of his hips rocked my body against the wall, devoid of any fear that he might shatter me. At that moment, I felt unbreakable. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me this way into the bathroom, positioning me on the long, granite sink, then pulling me down long enough to turn me around, so I could watch our reflections in the mirror.
Then, we were in the shower, the various shower heads raining down on us. The clashes continued as though eventually a savage thrust would enable our essences to mingle without the restraint of a physical form. At some point, we moved from the shower to the bed. My wet hair clung to my body, and my wet body pulled the sheets along with it as we collapsed on the mattress, soaking it through.
It didn't matter that we would be sleeping there later. Consequences had no bearing on the moment. The only thing present was the now. Arms and legs, hips and backs, fingers and lips -- they didn't need orders from the brain. No thoughts interrupted the fluid orchestration of body parts. They knew what to do. In that moment, savage instinct ruled over everything.
And then, a pause. A pause? Yes, a pause. A pause as in: stop. It was like watching something on Netflix, and just when you're getting into it, that dreaded word: buffering.
"Young Couple" via Shutterstock
Buffering... 10%
I'm not sure what happened. The fantasy faltered and stopped transmitting.
Buffering... 25%
He'd just stopped. He was looking at me.
Buffering... 50%
He was looking, but it wasn't appreciation. It was... expectation? He said nothing. I said nothing. My brain got online scurrying to figure out what had happened.
Buffering... 75%
Finally, my brain issued a statement. It was annoyingly concise: "Insufficient data."
Buffering... 85%
"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he said finally.
Buffering... 95%
I looked at him in the dim light provided by the glow of the buildings that came in through the massive windows all around us. What happened to instinct? What happened to passion? Desire doesn't need direction. Desire just takes what it wants.
"Are you speechless?" he asked me, with amusement in his tone.
Buffering complete. Loading...
"No," I replied, the words hardening in my throat so speaking felt more like spitting than it did conversation. "I simply don't think I should have to tell you."
He trust into me and looked into my eyes before a smile crossed his face.
"Oh, make no mistake," he said. "I know exactly what you want. I just want you to say it. But if you won't, then I'll tell you what you want."
He thrust into me again and bit my neck. His teeth which had, just moments before felt like the embodiment of passion, suddenly felt barbaric. The whole room swung wildly around me. Nothing had changed, but in a matter of seconds, nothing was the same. The city around us was the same city we'd crossed an hour ago to get here, but now, the endless opaque orange sky wasn't an electric canvas against which we acted out our impulses -- it was a dirty blanket blocking the vast expanse of the universe from reaching me. The windows no longer offered an awe-inspiring, nearly 360 degree-view, they were a terrible barrier locking me in.
I gasped, trying to breathe. Every pore on my body which had until that moment stood on tip-toe, mouth open and ready to take him in, slammed shut and recoiled. My whole body pushed into the mattress, trying to bury itself as his own became heavier and heavier, crushing me underneath.
"You want me to treat you like my little whore," he said, almost matter-of-factly. "You want
