His accented voice calls me back from the edge of sleep, low and close over the line despite the thousands of miles between us.
The edge of sleep he’s brought me to after he crumbled my sanity in his hands with nothing but the power of that melodic voice of his. After he’s told me, in explicit detail, how to touch myself to please him. After we’ve come together even though we are apart and he’s brought me to my knees once more. My body is sated, exhausted with the intoxicating grip he holds me in. The grip that only feels at rest on nights like these where he stays with me until I’ve come and lets me drift off to the sound of his voice, telling me absolutely anything just because I love to listen to the blend of accents unique to him. The rich depth of his Irish brogue, softened at the edges with a little Scottish and a whole lot of sensuality.
“Mmm,” I hum back to him, too close to sleep to trust my words.
He laughs, the sound rolling over my skin in a wave of warm tingles and anticipation, “You should go to bed, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
He’s right of course, but he says this as if it’s something I could forget. How could I forget a single minute of the countdown to when the space between us will be measured in breaths instead of bounds?
In the morning, I will board a plane that will take me from my home in America to London, and then on to Edinburgh by train the next day. Then, we will be in the same time zone, the same city, by a wild twist of chance. The trip was booked months before we met-a reward for my hard work, and an attempt to find myself in lush landscapes of Scotland like a grownup version of running away. Months before I knew I’d conjure the man of my every fantasy right into reality via erotic audio, chance meetings and the internet.
We say our goodnights and despite my buzzing mind, I drift off to sleep marveling at the incredible oddities of the universe.
The next morning arrives too soon, and is a blur of travel and lost time. By the time the plane lands in London, I am so exhausted I can’t see straight and my body is achy and tense with the stillness of the journey. I stumble to a taxi and hand the driver a note card with the hotel’s address.
The drive is short and uneventful. I am hungry and tired, but plan to get food once I can drop my bags until the accommodating cabbie suggests we drive through a McDonald’s as the hotel’s bar is “absolute shite”. By the time he drops me off, I have a belly full of greasy deliciousness and can barely keep my eyes open. Just two nights of this two week long trip have a stay in a true hotel, and I’m so relieved I had the forethought to make this one of them. I can’t imagine sharing a hostel bunk in this drunken haze of exhaustion that is jet lag.
I do not charge my phone, or unpack. I pay no mind to the reality that there is a man waiting for confirmation of my safe arrival. I tumble headlong into dreamless sleep and wake many hours later to blinding light streaming in through the open window shades. It takes me a minute to remember where I am, how I got here. But the moment I do, I scramble for my phone, shoving the (thankfully correct) adapter into the power port and waiting anxiously for it to power on. When it does, I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face at the messages that load.
-Are you here?
I message him back that I’ve arrived, and had fallen asleep last night. I snap a quick selfie despite my bedhead, send it with the text and tuck my phone away with a final glance at the clock. I have 5 hours until it’s time to catch the train to Edinburgh, and after a quick shower, I spend them all wandering the streets of London, snapping as many photos as possible and eating Tesco bakery snacks. I don’t hear from him and I try not to worry about that. I’d come here for me, as was always the plan, and he was just a bonus.
But I can’t stop the hammer of my heart when, as I am boarding the train, his next message arrives. I jerk my phone out like a woman possessed to read:
–Sweetheart, I know you were tired but you worried me. You know how much I don’t like to worry. I planned to let you rest another day, but plans change. 19:00.
There is an Edinburgh address attached, and my pulse races, breath quickening and the world spinning as I realize it’s happening. It’s not a panic attack, more like dizzying anticipation at the reality of it all when Google tells me it’s an adorable pub, close to my hostel and with great food. Something about the menu brings me back to reality and I’m struck with what’s happening. I’m here, and he’s here. We are so close.
Soon, I’ll be even closer, and then closer still when I meet him at this address tonight.
Not tomorrow. Not someday. Tonight.
My mind is spinning, imagination combined with the anticipation of finally meeting the enigmatic man I can’t be sure is truly real. I’ve heard his voice enough to prove it, canlı bahis but still my mind resists the inclination that a man like him could actually exist. Could actually be waiting for me on the other end of these phone calls and messages.
The train ride is beautiful and smooth, the scenery flying by so lush and impossibly green that I feel like I’ve truly stepped out of reality and into a postcard. Or a movie. Maybe, I muse, it’s all a really sexy rom-com.. Light on the rom, heavy on the smut. Even the hostel is scenic, a tiny quaint thing tucked into the edges of Princes Street. The desk clerk is kind and check in goes more smoothly than I thought possible.
I’d not planned on meeting with him tonight so I’m in a shared room trying to get read for this date, nervous and alone. But when my bunkmate peeks her head over the side of her bunk and asks if I need help, I’m relieved to be in the shared room. She is a helpful distraction from the stampeding butterflies churning my tummy and we are fast friends. She helps me zip my dress, a sleek black number that falls mid thigh and hugs my curves so closely there are no wrinkles evident from being stored in my pack. I tug my thick, wild hair over my shoulder, trying in vain to arrange the chaos into something manageable but it will not be tamed. As usual. I sigh, letting it do as it pleases in wild waves around my face and carefully apply the minimal makeup he’s said he prefers- red lip, lined eyes, a little mascara to make my gray eyes pop against my pale skin. I zip up my favorite metallic booties with some finality, trusting them to be the good luck charms they always are. When my bunkmate looks me over with an approving nod, I’ve officially run out of distractions from the flutter in my chest and the sweat at the nape of my neck.
I give her a tight smile, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth anxiously as I wave goodbye and walk out of our shared room door. I have never been more nervous in my life.
I make it to the pub without incident, and wait outside for him like he’d told me to.
He sees me before I see him. I am tugging my phone from the bag at my hip to check it when I feel prickles raise the hairs along my skin. I feel his eyes on me moments before I feel a presence at my shoulder. For a moment I am nervous as I take him in from the corner of my eye.
I worried it would be awkward, meeting him for the first time. I didn’t know how to start the conversation or how I should touch him, much less how he may touch me. After all, we’d been talking online and these phone calls for four months, but we have never met.
But it seems he’s got it all figured out. I should have known, I think, as his hand comes to the nape of my neck, touch light when he speaks into my ear, voice low and comforting in a moment of uncertainty, “You remembered just the kind of dress I like.”
He eyes me appreciatively and steps closer, his grip on me tightening just so as I feel his body at my back, hot and strong, “And you look fucking edible, sweetheart.”
The depth of his voice sinks right through my defenses and sets me on fire, just like it always does. Except this time he’s everywhere. He fills my senses, warm chest at my back, and breath tickling my ear as he speaks. His woodsy scent, rich and clean, wraps around me just like the heat of his voice wraps around my mind and they pull me under his spell.
I turn toward him, glancing up to meet his vivid blue eyes for the first time and I’m struck momentarily speechless at just how intense his gaze is this close.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, amusement lifting the corners of his lips as I stand there, open-mouthed gawking at him.
“D-dinner first?” I stumble over the words, searching his face for a single fucking flaw because I knew he was beautiful but this is just unfair. Sharp jaw peppered in dark stubble, straight nose, full lips and those impossibly blue eyes. Thick lashes, and thick dark hair in perfect contrast to his smooth, soft skin. I bite my lip to hold in the commentary about a skincare routine I already know he doesn’t have. The ass.
And speaking of, his ass. Without thinking, I reach for him, touching him for the first time when my arm snakes around his waist until I’m holding him and then lower, so it rests on that ass of his. I squeeze and, his hand still at the nape of my neck, he squeezes back, a soft laugh rumbling from his chest to my cheek where he’s tugged my head closer to him so we are embracing. It’s romantic. It’s sexy as hell. I can feel him all around me, so close to me, and I have no idea how I’m going to eat an entire meal when I can barely form a sentence.
But somehow I do. We make it through dinner, which he orders, and an endless stream of conversation that never seems to run dry. The food is absolutely incredible, just as Google promised and he makes me laugh more than I ever imagined, his eyes sparkling with the delight in doing so. All of his commentary is laced with bahis siteleri innuendo and he can barely keep his hands to himself, finding little ways to touch me at every turn and I can’t get enough of the way it feels to be so wanted by him. I’m nearly drunk on his attention, like the jet lag of the day before but better. Headier. Wetter and hotter.
When the waiter comes by to ask about dessert, his devilish grin ramps up about a thousand watts, “I’ve already arranged dessert,” he tells him, a sly glance dropping to the ample cleavage I’d done my best to tame, “And I’ll be enjoying it at home, thanks.”
Damn right you will be.
We settle the bill, and walk out of the restaurant much more intimately than we’d entered. His palm is warm and firm at my waist, possessive in the way he grips me. I hold him much the same, my fingers toying with the place his dress shirt disappears into the waist of his trousers. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to tug it out, touch his skin. All of his skin.
He leads me to his car and opens the door for me, ever the gentleman despite my confusion about which side of the car I’m to get in. He drives with what looks like his full focus but his warm hand is on my bare thigh beneath the hem of my dress, his fingers trace warm swirling patterns ever higher as he keeps up idle conversation. I don’t hear a word he says.
When the car finally stops in his driveway, he looks at me, poised to say something.
“I think it’s time you kissed me,” I blurt, interrupting whatever train of thought he’d had.
His brow furrows for a moment before he laughs, rich and velvety as it fills the quiet car.
“Oh darlin’,” he says, turning the full depth of his glacier eyes on me with an intensity I can’t fully read in the dark, “Once I start kissing you, I’m not stopping. Let’s get in the house first, okay?”
I follow him up the walk and wait rather impatiently at his back as he unlocks the door, disarming the alarm before leading me inside. The moment the door shuts, the game ends. The manners end and he turns on me, pale eyes gone dark with desire and half lidded as he takes me in.
He stalks toward me, backing me up against the door he’s just closed until he’s on me, his chest pressed against mine, his hips pressed against mine and his hard cock settling against my hip and I’m pressed against the door. His mouth is just a breath from mine, breaths heavy as he looks down at me with so much heat I think he might burn me.
“You wanted me to kiss you, yeah?” he whispers, and I tip my chin up in confirmation, waiting for his mouth. He brings it closer, lips barely brushing mine and they’re so eager they part for him, ready to give him access.
“Well, sweetheart, I want to fucking devour you,” he growls against my lips, his teeth sinking into my soft bottom lip and I gasp against his mouth. He catches my lips as the come together, closing his mouth over mine and kissing me hard. There is no time for softness because as soon as our lips touch, we ignite. Everything we’ve built over these months comes to the surface and we are on fire.
He’s fucking my mouth with his tongue, gripping my hair and I lose track of everything except the way his body feels against mine. I can’t think, I am consumed with need that only builds as his hands work their way into my hair, tangling in it and making a fist, tugging my head back so my mouth yields further to him. I yield further to him, my body melting in his hands, against his chest as I press my hips into his, rolling them against his erection.
“You’re unreal,” he mutters, one hand going to my thigh and pushing my dress up roughly until it rises over my hips, the cutest panties I’d thought to bring on full display. But he doesn’t look, he just tugs my thigh up and around his hips until I wrap it around his waist and he makes a sound of approval, “That’s my girl.”
We’re both fully dressed still, just kissing, and I’m so fucking turned on he could probably just look at my pussy and I’d explode. I want to explode for him. I want to please him. I want to let him do whatever he wants to do to me and I am soaked with it.
His mouth moves across my jaw, to my throat where he nips at the soft flesh over my pulse, growling his satisfaction against my skin before moving along. He licks and sucks along my collarbone to the hem of my dress and takes it in his teeth, tugging to test its strength.
“Don’t,” I gasp, worried he’ll rip the only fancy dress I brought, “Small suitcase, minimal clothes.”
His laugh is smug as he glances up through heavy lids at me, “You’re not wearing this fucking dress again, sweetheart. You in this dress? That’s for me and me alone. I’ll do whatever the fuck I please.”
With that he grabs the dress in his teeth, tugging until the seam rips, and he brings a hand up to speed up the process. I let him, because how can you argue with that?
The slinky fabric falls away from my body and to the floor between us and bahis şirketleri I am against him in nothing but my bright pink bra and panties. He looks triumphant as he continues to kiss down my body, hiking my leg that was around his waist up over his shoulder when he kneels before me. The look he gives me is positively carnal, and it shoots straight through my veins in a sharp flash of raw desire.
I am desperate for this man, and he is looking up at me like I am a buffet for a starving man. My pink lace panties rip easier than the dress did, and it only takes him a moment to get them off, the destroyed fabric forgotten amongst the other rubble of our lust. His hands slide down my sides, the flare of my hips and around my ass until they grip the backs of my thighs and he pushes them further apart until I’m open for him.
I am soaked, swollen and hungry for him. He knows this, and wastes no time dipping his head to my pussy and licking a long swipe straight down my center. His tongue is hot and hard, soft to the touch but with the perfect delicious pressure I’ve told him that I love, before he sucks my clit into his mouth and I choke on my own scream. I feel the vibration of his laugh at that, arrogant and so fucking sexy.
I’m responding to him like a moth to a flame, and he’s eating it up. Literally, he is lapping up everything I’m giving him like I am the most decadent honey and he is desperate for more. I roll my hips into his face, trying to fuck myself on the tongue he won’t put inside me as he sucks my clit, but he only shakes his head, eyes blazing in admonishment when he glances up at me. I still, barely managing to swallow the frustrated groan at doing so.
“That’s my good girl,” he tells me against my slick pussy, licking once more before he pulls back and kisses down my thighs one at a time.
“Please don’t stop!” I cry out, back arching in protest at the lack of contact. But he ignores me, gingerly lifting my calf off his shoulder and rocking back on his heels to appraise my body more fully.
He makes a disappointed tsking sound at my breasts and my brow furrows, worried I’m not what he expects. What he wants. When he looks up at my face, he seems to see this and smooths his features, eyes dancing with amusement.
“Oh darlin’. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Every inch the dream I knew you’d be. But that bra… we can’t have that,” he says, eyeing the garment like it’s wronged him as he gets to his feet, towering over me once more, “Let me help ye with it.”
That blended melodic accent of his only grows thicker as his voice drops with desire, and I’m enchanted by that but when his hand wraps around my bra strap and he begins to tug it down, I yelp.
“I draw the line!” I tell him as sternly as I can, “you cannot rip my bra off. I can’t replace that.”
Both his brows go up, surprise and annoyance written across his features but he drops the straps and gestures to my full chest, “then by all means, sweetheart, take the feckin thing off yourself.”
When I shift to unclasp it, I feel the doorknob against my ass and realise we’ve not even made it past the entryway and I’m already nearly naked. I flick the clasp of my bra and the straps fall from my shoulders, full tits bouncing free for his appraisal. He appraises them with desire-darkened eyes as he licks his lips.
Make that fully naked.
He, however, is annoyingly entirely dressed.
I glare at his dress shirt, slacks and sharp belt, its buckle the key to tonight’s paradise.
“You like what you see, then?” he asks, smile cocksure.
“I donno,” I fire back, “since I can’t see shit with all those clothes you’re still wearing.”
I arch a brow, trying to look unimpressed even though I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my thighs, his wet mouth on my pussy. I can still see the shine of my desire on his lips and when he catches me staring, he licks them.
“Get naked,” I tell him, staring imploringly at the fabric over his taut chest before my eyes drop to the crotch of his trousers where I can clearly see the outline of his hard cock, “and then take me to your bed and fuck me.”
“Now sweetheart,” he chides, stepping toward me and running his hands along my sides, hot palms grazing up sensitive skin until he’s cupping the undersides of my breasts. Not lifting, just barely holding, he continues in a harder voice, “those are wonderful ideas, but that is not how you speak to me.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, or my hips so that my chest will press forward into his hands. He’s being patient with my sass but I don’t want to push him too far. Not yet.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I say softly, eyes wide as I watch him. He stares at my mouth, fingers flexing almost involuntarily until his thumbs brush my nipples and I gasp, “please take me to your bed and fuck me.”
He grins at that.
“Since you asked so kindly,” he says, dropping his hands from my breasts and reaching for my hand to tug me down the dark hall after him.
He turns on a light at the bedroom door and I cringe, feeling exposed in my nudity and suddenly insecure. But he shakes his head, motions for me to drop the hands I’ve used to cover myself.