Monday, March 22, 2010

It's a Beautiful Day If You're A Duck

The restaurant was dimly lit with ivory candles glowing warmly from within glass hurricane shades etched with twisting vines. Tables and chairs of dark glossy wood were generously spaced throughout the elegant room, thick navy blue carpet flowed underfoot and heavy burgundy drapes billowed around the wide windows like rich picture frames.

The food was divine; the wine, perfect. My macadamia nut crusted chicken had been paired with a mango passion-fruit jam that made the flavors sing. A sweet white wine complimented the taste and my palate had never been happier. The passion-fruit infused cream brulee was light and creamy and was my idea of heaven.

Across from me sat Alistair, his close cropped hair the color of honey and his laughing eyes like whiskey. His suit was clearly made just for him, tailored to his broad frame and the dark gray fabric was as soft as a baby’s cheek to the touch. When he had picked me up for dinner I had felt very aware of my off the rack dress, but he smoothly diverted my focus by brushing his lips across the backs of my fingers and telling me how beautiful I looked.

When we finished our meal we rose and made our way through the sea of quiet conversations and out through the heavy brass and glass doors. Standing under the dark green awning we stared at the rain that was drenching the city, a spring storm the weatherman didn’t see coming as of the six o'clock news.

“Shall we walk?” Alistair asked, a wide smile making his eyes sparkle with mischief. “My apartment isn’t far if you’d like a nightcap.”

“Walk? In this?” I asked, raising my brows at him.

“What, it’s a beautiful day.”

“Sure, it’s a beautiful day… if you’re a duck,” I replied with my own smile and he laughed, rich and warm.

Holding his arm out to me I slipped mine past his bent elbow, and together we struck out, stepping from beneath the shelter of the awning. We talked as we walked, nature’s wet kisses like pearls on our cheeks, warm and delightful and occasionally we would both spontaneously laugh up into the sky.

By the time we reached his door we were soaked to the bone and laughing almost uncontrollably. He fumbled with his keys, his fingers wet and the metal slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a jangle. He bent down to pick them up and his laughter suddenly ebbed as he stared at my legs, tentatively reaching out to caress the curve of one calf, and his touch slammed the brakes on my own laughter.

Alistair rose slowly, trailing his fingers up the outside of my leg, his gaze firmly focused on what he was doing. He lifted his eyes and stared at me, moving slowly as he stepped toward me, and the intensity of his gaze made my heart rate double. He gently pressed himself against me, pinning me to the door, his lips hovering only a whisper away from mine as he fumbled with his keys. He smelled of warm pears and vanilla, clean and edible, and the click of the deadbolt brought our lips together in a light exploratory kiss.

As the door swung away from my back his arms replaced it, wrapping around me before walking me slowly backward into the apartment and I pushed the door shut once we were inside. Our motions were slow, deliberate and focused, every moment a new discovery.

I pushed the heavy suit jacket off his broad shoulders, the expensive material hitting the hardwood floor with a wet splat. His white dress shirt clung to him, translucent where it touched his skin and I gave into the urge to descend on one nipple, the starched cotton rubbing between my tongue and his skin and a low moan escaped him.

He took his turn, unzipping my dress and peeling it away, revealing my bare breasts, and I stood unabashedly before him in nothing but my panties and heels. The rise and fall of his chest moved me back toward him, impatiently pulling his shirt out of the waist of his pants and pulling the shirt tails apart, sending buttons flying. My fingers attacked the button of his slacks, pushing them down to find him bare underneath, eager and waiting.

Alistair lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me to the bedroom, his mouth and tongue anything but idle on the way, tasting and exploring my neck, shoulders and breasts.

His bed was an ocean of silk sheets in which we got lost: drown, died and lived. He covered me with warm kisses, taking me to the moon and back, his caresses soft and delicate and I cried out for more until he slipped inside me. The patience and restraint he’d been exercising vanished once his body was buried deeply in mine, and his movements became frantic, hungry, and he ate at my mouth while pushing himself deeper.

I rose up to meet him, pacing him and driving him on with my own passion, flipping him onto his back and rearing up over him without breaking the rhythm he had set. His long elegant fingers gripped my hips, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.

Bending forward I took his face in my hands, “Look at me,” I said before bestowing a bruising kiss on him. “Watch me.”

His gaze didn’t stray, his whiskey colored eyes locked with my hazel ones. His hands roamed, plucking at my nipples and teasing me where we joined as I drove us both to the edge of ecstasy. We hovered on the blissful edge of sexual tension for several spine arching moments before falling headlong into the raging sea of release in a tangle of limbs and pounding hearts.

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