I didn’t have a hard day. It was easy, in fact, when compared to other Wednesdays of recent memory. I had no reason to want blood anymore than I had reason to eat chicken instead of beef. It was a choice, I told myself. Perhaps a habit, now, after all of these years of practice with sharp objects, needles….razors.

I’m sure she sensed it on me. We have that silent way of communicating that goes beyond words. I think she knew when she saw me take the steps down the hallway and drop my briefcase on the chair. I smiled. I kissed her hello. I know certain formalities exist at the end of the work day and like her to feel welcome here always. I don’t want her thinking twice about coming here instead of her cold apartment.

She gives me her silence when she senses it and affords me time to unwind myself. A run. A shower. Dinner is ready by her hand this evening, we share that duty, but more often than not, she takes the lead in this area knowing I prefer to eat out given the choice of cooking or not. Tonight I wouldn’t have eaten had it not been for her efforts. I sat there giving her the answers that I know frustrate her, so devoid of any type of useful information, grunts and one-syllable answers. I stare into space as if I am thinking of another place to be, but that isn’t it. I just have nothing to say. When the urge to speak does strike me, it is almost always to attack. Undeserving. I recognize that this evening and make the effort to keep quiet which only prolongs the silence between us.

I can feel the frustration coming off of her as it goes steps beyond the limits of her patience. I kiss her forehead and it seems to ease the tension. She knows it isn’t personal, but sometimes she feels that it is. I understand, but don’t really grasp it as it doesn’t strike me the same as it does her. I sit in one of my deep espresso-colored club chairs and stretch my legs out. She joins me moments later, curled by me feet with a book. It is a habit of hers, so automatic it doesn’t strike either of us as a submissive gesture, at least not the sort that invites dominant attention. My hand settles on her hair and strokes the length quietly. I feel her breath on my palm as she turns her head and kisses the center of it. My fingers curl. She goes back to reading her book.

It’s then that this monologue plays in my head. The comforts and demands of habit and body put aside, the mind is allowed free reign. I digest each portion of my day slowly, piece by piece. My fingers rub her neck. My eyes are closed and I can feel the weight in them begging me for the sleep that is still hours away. I force them open and blink away the glassy fog that blurs my vision.

Blood.

The word echos in my head and I feel it reverberate down my body into my cock. I answer myself with a responding yes, and feel the rush of blood start to stir my interest. I lean forward and open one of the drawers. She doesn’t look up, her eyes following the written word from left to right. I pull out and unwrap the razor casually as one would open a candy bar. I admire the way the edge seems to cut the light. Split it.

My fingers tighten in her hair. She puts her book away calmly, an envelope in its place. She looks at me. She looks at the razor.

‘There you are. Welcome home.’

And then she smiles.

…as if I didn’t know you were waiting for this already.

I disliked having to cut this into two pieces because I have to recall the image in my head and it is always impacted by my focus, my mood and other events that may have changed since the evening the first portion was published. I hope I’ve remained true to mood, kept the same tone, but if not, I can’t really say it will keep me up nights. Enjoy.

I’m taken by the arm by one of our hosts, a blonde femme fatale whose dress fits perfectly enough to make me glance twice. Her arm slides under mine and wraps around it. I feel her fingers squeeze my bicep instead of laying down against my forearm. I glance at her and she gives me a coy look as she points to the chair where I will obviously be seated across from her. I give silent thanks that the table is far too wide for her foot to cross underneath it. You’ve told me in the past that I am oblivious to some women and their games, but her, her I’ve noticed. I’ve never had a thing for blondes.

I take her to her seat and then walk around the head of the table to the other side to take my seat. I will be between one person I know, and find boring, and another that I’ve not met. I listen to the host speak and then dinner and the polite conversation that ensues between courses. I glance down the table at you and wait until you look up. I wink and you roll your eyes, I can tell you’re bored and hating the food that comes with the necessity of manners. You and I - we like food that forces us to suck the juice off of our fingers and makes no apology for its coarseness; its self-contained perfection.

The person next to me proves to be of enough distraction to keep me from tapping my foot impatiently. I don’t like formal meals. Perhaps my upbringing never prepared me for such events but I’ve never held food, expensive or otherwise, in such regard that I wanted to wait on it for two hours. Patience, I tell myself, patience, but my fingers begin rubbing together. My ability to maintain polite conversation is growing very thin, and if that woman across the table laughs in that giggling high pitched tone once more, I will gag her myself. I glance down at the table and find you watching me. You smile.

Somehow we make it through dinner and it is with some great relief that I stand and push away from the table. There is the low hum of conversation behind me of people exchanging numbers, business cards. I know most of them already and those that I don’t, I don’t need to know. I follow a small group of people outside of the dining room and into a dimly lit room, obviously intended for dancing. A band is taking up their instruments. I like the idea, but the large glass doors have caught my attention and I walk to them and push them open. I glance back at the room, but don’t see you. There is a smile on my lips now as I think of you nodding politely as someone discusses the merits of Anne Coulter or some other fiction. I doubt they will ever see your true opinion, in this setting at least.

Smokers make their way out beside me and I wonder off - away from the fog of gray they bring with them. The back of the house is something of a fantasy, a spoiled dream made to life and I wish for a moment that I had such a treasure. My practical mind however, quickly and shrewdly dismantles the image into what it is, a lot of money spent for a postcard. I knew the hosts, I doubted they spent any time out here. There were no signs of daily life. Still, I envied the large trees that hide everything and give the illusion of privacy, even if the home is directly off of a main artery for the upward-grasping crowd.

I stop and watch the man-made waterfall that pours from aqueduct arches stretching over a man-made pond. I want to hate it but still find it soothing. I can hear the music pouring out of the windows and think I need to find my way back in before someone works up the nerve to ask you for a dance. It’s then I hear your footsteps, a soft click on the path. I turn slightly, glancing out of the corner of my eye. ‘You’ve found me.’

‘You left me alone.’ Your voice drops to a whisper. ‘With Republicans!’

I chuckle softly and slide my arm around your waist. My fingers find the exposed skin on your back and splay. I lean down to kiss you. You pull back. ‘Is this an attempt at an apology?’ You ask the question, your brow arched ever so delicately.

My fingers brushed an invisible hair from your neck. ‘No, but you can try again later.’

You issue a snort and I smirk. ‘Let’s go look at the house.’

Your face lights up and I shake my head. You damn near pull me back in and moments later we find ourselves past the velvet ropes that block off the stairs. The security staff was overpaid, I decide as we walk down a long hallway with doors on either side. Everything was quieter here, even the noise seemed to be a far distant sound buried in the soft whisper of our footsteps on the carpeted floors. The downstairs we could investigate later, the quiet appeal of these rooms called to us first.

You let out an appreciative sound as we opened the first door, a bedroom, as I suspected most of them were, dominated by a large poster bed and dark wood furniture. You’ve got a habit of touching everything you admire. I close the door behind us with a soft click. You glance over your shoulder and open your mouth to speak, but I hush you with a finger to my lips. I can hear voices coming down the hall towards us. You stiffen as they grow closer. My fingers reach down and turn the lock on the handle. I let out a slow breath when it doesn’t make a sound. A second later I feel the handle turn slowly. I let out a breath. They are spies like us.

I hear the man shhh the woman as she giggles and he whispers and tells her rapidly. ‘It’s locked!’

‘Try this one.’

You’ve come closer, pressing your ear against the door as you try to hear their conversation. There is a sound as the door clicks shut on the other side. A giggle. I lean down and whisper against your ear. ‘I think we’d better not look in that room now.’

You laugh, a breathy, nervous sound. You cover your mouth and inch closer to me. ‘I’ve lost my nerve!’ You whisper against my jacket, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’

There is a bumping sound across the hallway and I rest my chin on your head. I groan. ‘They’re screwing, Jesus.’

You don’t even breath as your body stills and listens intently. ‘I think you’re right!’

My hand follows the curve of your back and rests on your ass, squeezing you up tighter against me. I kiss the curve of your neck. ‘They’ve got the right idea.’

There is that breathy laugh of yours again as you tilt your head further to the side. My lips explore the area revealed. Your hand falls to my arm and squeezes. ‘We shouldn’t.’

‘We will.’

I kiss you and you slide your fingers into my hair and tighten your hold, my fingers slide underneath your dress and brush against hardened nipples. My tongue lightly teases yours, my teeth and lips sucking and tugging on your bottom lip. It pulls free and you groan loudly, as if the noise were pulled from you. ‘No. No.’

‘Tell me again in 5 minutes.’ My fingers are already sliding one of the straps down your arm. My mouth finds your nipple and closes around it. My hands slide into the slit so wonderfully cut into your dress and play along the warm expanse of skin. My tongue rakes across your nipple and you shudder, my fingers follow the curve of your ass and I make a discovery. ‘You aren’t wearing any panties.’

Your head shakes as you part your thighs a little wider. My fingers dip in slightly and I growl softly in your ear as I find your wetness. ‘Tell me no, pet.’

‘No.’ You whisper, your fingers kneading my muscles through my jacket and shirt. I love that getting dressed up means more clothing for me and less for you. I stroke that thin line of your sex again, my teeth tugging on your nipple. You gasp, shifting your leg slightly so that your sex parts and I feel the heat of it spill against the pads of my fingers. I bear us both to the floor. My fingers shove your dress around your waist, and my cheek rests against your belly. I can still hear them in the next room, know you can as well, the bass-like thumps of some piece of furniture hitting the wall.

My fingers tease and then a single digit pushes into your sex. Your body rolls upward, twisting slightly as you adjust to welcome the intruder. I can hear the soft wet sounds of moisture as I push a second finger into you and curve it inside you. I can feel your hands searching and pause, wait until you blindly seek out the waistband of my pants, fiddling with unfamiliar snaps and buttons in your quest. My thumb brushes the hood of your clit. Your fingers reflex and you have to attempt the same button again. When it finally comes free your fingers rush in like flood water, seeking out my erection and wrapping around it. I feel your fingers brush the head and then squeeze the shaft. I hiss softly. I can smell you. My hips thrust forward.

I push a third finger into you and you cry out. ‘No! You. I. want-t. you.’ I am drunk on the image of you. My hips continue to meet the greedy clasp of your fingers, my cock moving in the warm vise of your hands. I pull my fingers from you and slowly unwrap your fingers from my cock. You squirm, moving into the position my hands now guide you. I adjust the zipper of my pants, pushing them down only slightly before I thrust into you. It is a desperate effort. I want to howl when I feel you squeeze me with your muscles, feel the heat of your cunt wrap around me. I shudder. Your hands slide down and grasp my bare ass underneath the soft glossy fabric of the tux.

‘Yesssss.’ You hiss. ‘Fuck me, baby.’

I thrust hard and our bodies jerk and meet with a loud sound of skin and moisture. It is one of those hard fucks, where each move is a twisted, pained, jerky movement driven by pure need. My fingers dig into your ass, pulling you up to meet my hard thrusts. Our bodies slide against each other through layers of clothing. I push into you like I want to come out of your throat. Your mouth is on my neck, biting and sucking and gasping the entire time. I can feel your juice clinging to my balls, my glossy shaft that sinks into you with a desperate urge to claim you over and over.

I feel you squeeze my shaft hard and grit my teeth, knowing how the friction can send you other the edge, knowing how easy it would be to go now, flood inside you. Sweat beads on my brow. ‘Come on my cock, pet. Come on.’ I continue the assault inside your body, pushing into your slit with relentless voracity. Your head thrashes, your entire body coils like a spring. Tighter. Tighter.

‘Oh God………’ You draw out the word and then I feel it, the jerk of your body, the release of tension. I close my eyes and shallow my thrusts for a few moments before sinking deep and groaning as my seed spills into you. I push my hips into yours as I empty myself into you for long moments afterwards. Each movement is punctuated by the sloppy, liquid noise of sex. I rest above you, clasped in your arms for ages.

I lift my head an eternity later, after the breathing has calmed, the fever cooled somewhat and I kiss you. You smile again and say, ‘We should do it in this house more often.’

‘Agreed.’

I pull from you and lean back. I laugh and you lean up which only causes another laugh to come from me. ‘What?’ You say.

‘We’ve made a bit of a mess.’

You inch back and look at the small, wet puddle on the carpet. You laugh and say, ‘They’re rich, they can afford carpet cleaning.’

I pull out my handkerchief and press it against your slit and wipe away some of the evidence of our sex. ‘I don’t think we are up for dancing. We are quite a mess ourselves.’

‘I’ve seen enough of the house anyway.’

I intended for this to be one long post, rather than what it will have to be…two, but I’ve been interrupted and need to step away, so here is the first half.

D

It was a large house designed for entertaining and too impractical for daily use. I imagined a layer of dust on those unused rooms, the ones where light didn’t pour out of large, shiny panes of glass. We were several cars away from being able to hand the keys to the valet and I glanced at your profile as you studied the stone facade, the landscaping attended to and placed so carefully outside. You’ve always had an eye for architecture and I imagined your fingers were ready to greet this new masterpiece. It was a home that both of us had wanted to see - so well guarded, hidden behind tall sentry-like trees that were older than either of us. It had history of its own, a story to tell.

I inched the car up a bit further and glanced at your profile, your face illuminated by red brake lights and the soft, welcoming glow of the gardens we were passing. ‘Excited?’

Your lips broke into a smile as you glanced at me through your lashes and nodded. I wondered if my imagination placed that blush there, or if the excitement really was that tangible for you. My hand settled on the bare expanse of leg peeking through the slit in the dress you’d chosen so carefully. My thumb made light circles on the outside of your leg, my fingers resting along your inner thigh. You hand covered mine and squeezed. I watched you as my fingers found a lightly raised scar and followed it. I thought I heard your breath skip.

Your door opened without warning and the moment was forgotten as you took the valet’s hand and stepped out of my reach. I took the ticket he offered and slid it inside the same jacket pocket that held my invitation and our identification. I handed those to the security guards waiting by the doors. I waited as our wrists were banded and the wand was hovered over each of us. The valet line seemed to explain itself as our car wasn’t removed until the doors were opened. Security seems to be paramount at any of these events these days. I was half expecting to remove my shoes and be forced to display the blood red socks I had under my pants.

I felt your arm settle in mine and you kissed my cheek before rapidly wiping away the evidence. I would find out later that it wasn’t all gone, but lipstick on my cheek was an acceptable faux pas in the world of men. I doubt they would even pause if they knew the same shade was still lingering on my cock, a reminder from only an hour or two ago. Hands were shaken, polite chat made and cocktails served in this, the first of many events of the season. I watched you as I made polite conversation with a broker. My eyes lingered over the curve of your back, the generous swell of your ass. Your hands were resting on a door frame leading to some roped off area as an older gentlemen pointed to the ceiling. I followed and assumed it had something to do with the beams and glass there.

I was distracted, obviously, and didn’t hear the first chime of the bell indicating dinner. I simply watched you walk off in that general direction. I knew we would not be seated together. It was likely for the best as the only meal I had in mind had much to do with parting your thighs underneath the table and creating a distraction that no one would turn away from. My cock stirred and I blinked to realize the room was increasingly emptier. I followed the remaining trickle of the crowd.

My eyes found you first and I joined you, kissing your shoulder as I slid behind you. I waived a young staff member away and pulled the chair out for you. I leaned close. ‘Will you be okay?’

You nodded. ‘I should be fine, D. Yes.’

I glanced at the woman being seated to your left and laughed softly in your ear. ‘Our hostess knows you well enough.’

‘Why do you say that? We aren’t sitting together.’

I nodded my head at the blonde and smiled. ‘She sells sex toys - owns that shop you like on lower Greenville.’

Your head snaps around and you meet her gaze, leaving her no uncertainty that we were just discussing that very topic. I rise and start to walk off and your fingers grab mine. ‘Let’s explore the house later, okay?’

I pause and study your face before nodding carefully. ‘Yes, fine.’ I move away again and your hand tightens.

‘Promise?’

My lips thin out and I pull my hand from yours without a word. I run my thumb over the knuckles along the back of your hand to soften the silent reprimand. ‘Yes.’

‘There was a time, long ago, when I thought myself able to fly. I could close my eyes and feel the air whisk over my body and I would extend my arms out, my back arched, and will it to be so. Asking the wind to take me.’

I paused in my story to glance over at her face, watching me quietly as she does when she knows that every word matters. A razor blade lay on its side atop a stack of gauze pads she had placed there earlier. I picked it up and turned back towards her, pausing to run my fingers along her fingertips, curled into the leather bonds as they were.

‘It never happened, of course. It was a childish, fanciful dream - that wish to be lighter than air itself.’ I glanced at the windows and only caught our reflection in them. The night was as black as her hair. The candlelight we used betrayed our secrets to anyone bold enough to watch. Her skin has this way of radiating light that I’ve never seen in another. She was perfection itself, in my mind, at least.

I stood before her and pressed a kiss to her temple and felt her exhale against my bare shoulder. ‘I love you, D.’ She whispered the words and I smiled before running my palm down her back. ‘I’ve realized for sometime now, that I am of flesh, of earth. I am solid and was never meant to live in the sky or among the clouds.’

I ran my fingers along the curve of her hip, and traced the line of her thigh until I reached the juncture of her legs. I didn’t press further, but instead lifted my head and looked at the beautiful woman before me. I brushed my mouth across hers. I felt her muscles contract as she clutched at the cuffs that held her in place. ‘I am of earth, of the ground and I am of passion and fire…and those things weight me.’

The razor had found its comfortable place between my index and ring finger. I kissed her neck, felt her shiver, felt it rush all the way down her body. I pressed the razor’s tip against the swell of her breast as my thumb flicked over the nipple. It nicked her and she trembled. A single drop of blood welled slowly, very slowly, from the wound. I watched it form, silent all the while.

She stirred and my gaze flicked to hers. ‘D?’ she asked.

‘You help me fly.’

And then I took her.