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Twenty Two Years

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The moment I saw her, I swore my heart stopped beating. My eyes widened and I completely froze. Luckily all attention was on her, as she was late. By the time everyone settled, I had been able to collect myself enough that I didn’t look quite so shell-shocked.

Then she smiled at me, with that tiny, wicked smirk that said that she knew exactly when I was thinking. I didn’t doubt it.

I felt like my thoughts were broadcasting themselves around the room. I was sure Marc knew… “gaydar” and all that.

But if he – or anyone else, for that matter – did know, they were all, thankfully, polite enough to not say anything.

She cornered me a week later, after shooting was finished. I was in my trailer, changing out of the horribly preppy outfit they put me in, and she just walked right in. Without a pause, she walked over to me and pinned me up against the wall. Now, I could have pushed her away if I wanted to, as I’m a good five inches taller than her. But I kind of needed her there at that moment, for support. My knees has spontaneously turned to Jell-o, and I knew that if she took her weight off my torso, I would sink to the floor at her feet.

Her voice in my ear was low and sexy and casually seductive when she asked pseudo-innocently if I remembered her. It had been twenty two years.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my voice from shaking, so I quickly whispered yes.

Then her eyes met mine and damn her, they were so blue. Her voice was quiet, concerned and slightly amused. She asked me if I was mad at her.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, saying no.

She asked me if I was sure, that I seemed angry.

Suddenly anger did blaze in me and my eyes shot open. I grabbed her hair and pressed my lips to hers, claiming her, marking her.

She kissed me back and I felt the tips of her fingers slip under my shirt, touching the bare skin of my waist.

When I let her go, we were both panting for breath. I told her that I wasn’t mad at her, that I wanted her.

She smiled that same smile from twenty two years ago and I felt that same unwanted tug at my heart.

She took a step back and pulled her shirt off. She wore no bra, and I began to wonder if she ever did when she wasn’t acting.

The sparkle on her finger caught my attention. We hadn’t mentioned him, so I could pretend that I didn’t know she was married. It was better for my conscience, because as soon as I saw her again, I knew that this was going to happen.

She looked older, of course. So did I. Her breasts weren’t as perfectly perky; her stomach was no longer concave, but flat. She was beautiful.

When she came back and pressed me into the wall again, I suddenly realized that we were both naked. I didn’t know when or how I had lost my clothing, but at that point, I didn’t care.

She bent her head forward and kissed my collarbone, and I gasped. Her fingers danced across my stomach, up to my breasts. Her eyes met mine as her fingers brushed over my nipples. I moaned.

An urgency grasped me, and I claimed her lips again. With my tongue sliding against hers, I could taste the grapes she had eaten – she remembered – and the unique taste that was simply her.

I broke the kiss with a rasping gasp as she unexpectedly twisted my nipples with a firm grip.

She smiled, erotically evil.

My mind flashed back to twenty two years ago. I had never thought – before that or since – that I would give up control to anyone like I did with her. Some call it S&M, or bondage, or being dominant or submissive. All I knew was what she wanted, that she needed to have me, body, soul and submission. And I needed her.

My eyes closed and hands fluttered along the wall, looking for something to hold on to, to ground me. I felt her smile, back against my collarbone. She knows what turns me on.

I began to move my hips, seeking, needing contact.

She denied me, for the moment. Her fingers continued to twist and pull my nipples, and every now and then her nails would brush the tender skin, and shocks of pleasure/pain would race through my body. She makes it turn me on.

With anyone else, being this helpless would have scared me, turn me off. But with her it excited me.

Her mouth slid down the middle of my chest, her breath warming my skin. I moaned as she moved, and she smiled again. She once told me that she savored every sound I made, because it was a signal of my releasing my control to her.

She was on her knees in front of me, hands still stretched up my body to my nipples. I suddenly realized that she was just as desperate for me as I was for her. She had never knelt before me.

Her breath washed over my, stirring the dark curls between my thighs, whispering over my skin. I couldn’t keep myself from thrusting my hips toward her, but she held back.

I nearly cried out when her fingers left my nipples to trail down my body to my hips. I wondered if she realized just how desperate I was for her touch.

Then her lips brushed the skin of my abdomen, just ever so slightly. Again, slightly lower. She continued to ghost kisses on my skin until she was just brushing my pubic hair.

Then she stopped.

My eyes finally opened and I looked down to see her sitting on her haunches, hands resting on her own thighs, watching me.

We were silent, and it occurred to me that she was waiting for something, but for the life of me, I didn’t know what it was.

I thought back twenty two years, to every time she took me up against that wall. Every time, she pinned me, taking me with her fingers. When we were in bed, and I was below her, only then did she touch me with her mouth, never against the wall. Then I remembered that I asked her about it. And I remembered what she told me.

When I kneel in front of you, I’m submitting to you. I’m not ready to do that right now. But when I an, when I do that, I need to hear you tell me something.

She never told me what she needed to hear, I realized. I looked at her again, and she was moving away, reaching for her shirt. Her eyes were upset.

I didn’t know what to do, so I simply did whatever came naturally. I reached out and touched her arm, stopping her. My voice was low and dark, and I told her that I didn’t need her to submit to me, although I loved that she felt ready. Then I told her that I loved her. I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I just slid down the wall, ending up on my knees.

I heard her gasp, and thought how beautiful the sound was. I had never heard it before.

Her fingers touched my cheek, and they trembled. I looked up and her eyes were filled with tears. She told me that it was what she’d needed to hear.

When she kissed me, it was a release. My body was still charged with arousal and pent-up energy, but my soul was free.

She broke the kiss, and, my eyes on the floor between us, I lowered my hands to rest palm up on my thighs.

Submission.

She took me like that, as I sat on my feet, thighs apart, my torso bent back so my head could touch the wall. Three fingers of one hand filled me, twisting, thrusting, taking me to the edge of orgasm, while the fingers of her other hand pulled and twisted one of my nipples, a painful counterbalance to the pleasure of her other hand.

Her lips traced my collarbones, back and forth. By that point, I was gasping and moaning nearly continuously, and her smile was still pressed to my skin. Suddenly she sank her teeth into my collarbone, and I yelped. A second later, just as the rush of pain was beginning to retreat, she firmly moved her thumb over my clit.

I screamed then, unexpectedly catapulted into orgasm. Twenty two years of pent up desire for her released in one earth-shattering climax. She continued to manipulate my body, bringing orgasm after orgasm until I was completely exhausted and unable to respond any further.

I was a puddle on the floor of my trailer, trembling and dripping with sweat.

She smiled at me, sweetly. She whispered that she loved me, then kissed me. She helped me get dressed, and drove us both to my house. She spent the night.

The next morning I had been forced to acknowledge her husband and, I learned then, two daughters.

It was difficult those first few years after.

But it all worked out in the end.