You never know exactly when it happens or why. Its like that lightning bolt that strikes the tree next to the tallest one in the forest. In one moment, you go from the least noticed and least attractive man in the room and then you become something better than yourself. At first, you aren't sure where he is or when he started to see you. But you always know.
His eyes are like fiery coals or a thunderous blizzard against your skin. You try to continue dancing desperately. But you're distracted, self conscious. He knows all this though. He knows the effect, how every single twitch of your muscles is affected by his very presence. You pray he'll go but also pray that he'll never leave.
You've noticed him long before, but assume that he'll never give you the chance. You've never seen him dance in the club before, not sure he's even taken anyone home. He's there before you arrive and leaves sometime after last call. One can only assume that means he has a full-on sexual encounter with one of the barmen. The hot one with tattooed sleeves and a yellow motorcycle that wears a green John Deere cap baseball backwards, the brim just touching the back of his dark brown hair. Yes, you've had that fantasy before.
But now, he's staring at you and its harder to breathe than you remember. You can't stop dancing for fear he'll look away, but you can't continue dancing without his permission. You need the nod, you want that acceptance that it is okay to feel. Because you crave feeling this way and right now, you're stronger than the whole Swedish skeleton crew.
He walks over to you with a slow pace, the echoes of his shoes overpowering the beats of the music. He's wearing a tank top that exposes a neatly hairy chest. His jeans are almost tight enough to show his religion, but he has everything to flaunt and refuses to do just that. You pray somewhere silently and deep inside yourself that you are enough to make him horny, even just for a brief moment.
When Chris Keller licks his lips and his skin presses against yours, you lose conscious thought of the need to breathe. Suddenly, the least crowded dance floor becomes claustrophobic and the most crowded empties and fans out into oblivion. Somewhere inside, you know the dj is still spinning rhymes, but the thump in your heart overpowers it. Chris Keller entwines his hand with yours as you dance.
Hips and pelvises are aligned, his gaze unabashedly and infuriatingly dead on. Even when your eyes dart, he is there. It makes you shiver with delight and importance but you suddenly feel the fear grip you and you need him to hold you tighter, to let those sparks dance in the minuscule place between the pair of you. You realize your scent must be toxic, that you're sweating, and yet he doesn't seem to mind. He's close enough to breathe in and he has the scent of a man, part wild beast and all sexuality.
You gasp when his bugle caresses your own. He smirks like you knew he would and it takes all your energy and courage not to just reach into his own pants and lunge forward with your mouth, tasting your way down his body until his cock squirms and pumps against your own tonsils. Even before all this, you are helpless against him. You are chained to him. You don't care.
You don't stop for another drink unless he buys it for you. With Chris Keller, his intoxication is more than enough. You know he needs to loosen you up because you're tight wound but you don't want to be. Hours and years spent at the law game wearing gay colored nooses against your neck in Windsor knots have made you this way. When he kisses you, you know he understands and he wants to free you. Chris Keller has taken a personal interest in the married wimp from nowhere with a pool house and an anonymous name prepared in case a hotel room is required.
Chris drives, asking which hotel you want with that sweet yet flippant smile. You can't help but melt and forget the name of every hotel in a five mile radius. Eventually, you remember that there is a Hyatt around the corner. Suddenly, the thought of waking up to Chris Keller watching you as he eats french toast and grins like a cat who has just gorged himself on canary frightens you and intrigues you.
You say something that makes him laugh and you watch the edges of his eyes crinkle, the lines continuing down his muscled form. He shifts gears in the muscle car he owns and you feel the rumble beneath you. Not daring to look away, you notice the buildings along the street as they are bathed in orange glow. Everything is strange that night.
Chris whistles while he's in the lobby, hands in his pockets as you register and pay. He winks, overtly checks out women as they pass. Most of them blush, flattered. He won't look at another guy, knowing that it would push you past the edge of your own sanity. Your sanity, your very self esteem is wrapped tightly in his reaction to you. Chris explains later that the reason you paid is that had it been up to him, it would have been a dive only a bit classier than something that charges by the hour. Your heart skips a beat when he laughs after you make a quip about the continental breakfast.
You both stand silently in the elevator, your eyes peeled and focused on the jumping numbers. You don't dare look at his reflection because you know that there are cameras in here. And somewhere inside of you, you know that he would do it in the elevator. He would start it right here. Strip you down and rip into your very desires with that dangerous animal heat of his. God, how you wish he would.
The first thing Chris does when he enters the room is to turn on the lamps. He wants light, but nothing harsh or overhead. He notes that you didn't opt for the suite with the couch, just a professional model with two beds, for appearances, a bathroom with a wide white shower, and a do not disturb sign which is more than happily swinging from the outside knob.
He reclines and you can almost hear the purring from the king of the domain. You stand nervously, as if forgetting the fact that this is not your first time. His gaze pierces you and suddenly you find yourself babbling while he listens intently. You aren't imagining that hard blush rising across your body or that thick syrup coating your throat as all the water seems to have sweated out of you.
Then his gaze softens and the corners of his mouth turn upward. He holds out his hand, beckoning you over. You sit on the bed across from him, knees almost touching. You look down, finding something interesting on your shoes.
"Hey, you okay with this? We don't have to. We could just talk if you want."
You swallow, privately cringing but also somewhat relieved that you have a way out. Because, after all, you can't possibly measure up to his standards. "No, I just, it's been awhile."
His hand is warm and rough as it cups your chin. "I've got a bit of experience. Don't be afraid. You can really dance, you've got the rhythm.'
"I don't really consider what I do there dancing."
"Your wife drag you to ballroom and salsa?" He grins a little too wide at the thought.
You wince. "No, I actually learned them in college. God, I'm such a nerd!"
"Hey, don't be embarrassed about who you are." His left arm forms a mock fist and swipes against your arm, trailing gently down. "I wish I'd have had those kind of opportunities."
"What stopped you?"
"The old man needed me to follow in his footsteps to an early grave. Never really got away from that."
You shake your head as his eyes cloud over, a memory anchoring the room. "I'm sorry. Forget I brought it up."
Chris shrugs. "I'm proud of what I've accomplished. I could go one day."
You stutter a bit. "You've got everything it takes. You seem pretty smart, confident, you're very attractive...."
"You think so?" Chris has a devious smile now, leaning back on the bed and kicking his shoes off. "What makes you so attracted?"
He wants you to feel flustered, off-balance. "Well, I....think..."
Chris chuckles. "I can't be that attractive. If I were, this whole body would already be covered with your kisses, your bites, your want...."
His hand as it roams his clothed chest, rubbing back and forth from neck to groin and all points inbetween, makes you salivate and rehydrate yourself quickly. He leans back, sighing a bit.
"No, trust me, any man would be a fool not to want you."
Chris' tongue even scratches across his teeth seductively. "So tell me what you want."
"You."
His hand grabs for his hard crotch, outlining the massive tool hidden beneath the zipper. "Show me how much you want me." He stares at you dead on and you find your body rising until you're hovering over his. That overpowering scent fills the room, reminding you of what a real person smells like and tastes like, as though you've forgotten something you knew long ago.
That first kiss is strong, grappling and methodic. He's mapping out your reactions, one hand grabbing your wrist while the other presses you deeper into his body. Its the wasp coming close to the blue light, its the man who runs from his own intervention. You want to stop, you want a minute to clear your head. You never want to stop.
He slides your hand underneath his shirt and his body is unbelievably warm, engulfing you. His skin is blemished and a bit hary, but that just makes him more attractive. His pecs are solid and his nipples hard against your fingertips. Compared to him, a year at the gyms the best you could do for yourself. Your hand also traces a couple of old scars and you imagine him in one of those knife fights you only hear about next to phrases like gangland warfare, even though he's a little past the point for that.
At some point, the hunger takes over. Its an odd hunger that comes from somewhere deep inside of you. It is a want that takes all of him and charges it with electricity. Kissing him is like licking a battery, fueling your eyes and fingers. Its not just about pleasing him, although through pleasing him you do please yourself. It doesn't hurt that he has a huge tent bucking against your body.
You gulp as you finally reach the belt line. Suddenly, remembering what to do becomes difficult. You hear a growl low in his throat, pleasing to the ears. His hips buck as your hand squeezes the bulge. It would be so easy to get him off like this, make him cum in his pants. But you've never taken the easy way out before.
Slowly, the zipper slides down in near silence. His cock is already fighting for air, nine or so perfectly hard inches of man meat. You find yourself drawn to the tip, the head rippling sexual heat like a beacon. Veins intertwine with his body so perfectly. You want nothing more than to touch him, to taste him.
He hisses when you gag trying to take too much. He wants you to take too much, but he's controlling the urge to fuck your mouth hard. He wants this, needs this, as bad as you want him to have it. At some point, his jeans and briefs slide onto the floor. You come between his legs and take as much as you can, his tight sac so close to your body.
You gauge his reaction by groans. Every time something good happens while you feast on his cock, the groans vocalize into a staccato operetta. He's more quiet when you go toward something else, as though he wants to lay in a certain feeling for awhile. It might be your imagination, but Chris Keller might be feeding on the energy you're giving him through his cock. But that's not possible, is it?
"Oh God."
Chris leaps out of the bed and you don't move, momentarily stunned. You begin to question every move in your mind, every groan. His taste is on your lips, but its unsatisfying. Its unsatisfying until his breath is on the back of your neck, his hard-on pressed into the back of your khakis until you're unsure whether or not that beast is gonna rip a hole into your pants.
"Have to fuck you, baby."
You respond inbetween ragged breaths, your pupils dilated. "I know."
Chris slides his hand beneath your abs, releasing your belt buckle with ease. You want to say something like...you've had practice doing this, haven't you? But you can't bring yourself to say a word because Chris Keller is behind you, naked and horny. And he's denying himself the privelege of ravaging your hole because he doesn't want to hurt you.
Your ass is in the air as he licks his thumb, hovering it against your hole. When he presses in, your body shivers in response. You want to say that you're frightened, that you've never...but he knows all this. He knows in the reaction to the thumb. What he can't gauge is how far you'll go for home. Some things you can only know by trial and error.
A thumb becomes a long, slow probing finger. It searches, a sentient being on a mission of peace. Your body rocks in response, some cringingly negative but more overwhelming positive. It's tight back there and you gulp audibly more than once. But you don't give up, because he finds one spot inside of you that you've been missing your whole life. He presses it and there is nothing but pleasure feeling every crack of your being.
"Doing good, baby?"
You want to yell at him to just fuck you already, but you don't. "Yeah."
"You ready?"
You nod, terrified. Your mind clears the second you feel his incredibly hard meat against your hole, centering itself. Truth be told, you could just let him stay right there. Just the feeling, the thought is enough. But all he does is spread your legs a little further. You imagine a grin coming across his face, thinking of the tight and sweet ass he's about to impale.
His juicy rod begins to slide in, helped by some spit. You can barely hear his groans over yours. Partly, its excrutiating and sensual at the same time, finding that pleasure inside the pain of having your insides ripped in two. But the thought of that powerful body behind you calls you, forces you to go on and on with more until he's fully inside you and warm balls are pressed against warm balls. His hand clamps down on your shoulder for leverage as he begins thrusting, slowly at first.
"God, yes."
He's so hard inside you and you feel like whinnying in response as you find yourself ridden to the edge of oblivion. Eventually, his tongue exhaustes adjectives and he begins to blabber a wholly sexual language he invents on the spot. His rhythm entices you and you fill the empty moments with breaths all your own. The bedsheets begin to shift and fall to the floor beneath your fists.
He pulls your body closer, almost laying on top. He tries to reposition you, but fails and you tumble together towards the floor. Its painful, and yo u cry out but his hot breath is on the nape of your neck and he's laughing while in sexual ecstacy being inside of you. At that moment, you are spurred on towards pleasure.
His arms slide across your stomach, gripping you tightly in a hug while fucking you senseless. Or perhaps you're fucking each other senseless. Neither matters now, sweat and heat and lust are all mingling together. A torrent of emotions course through your body, thoughts imploding on the brain one after the other.
He tenses up, arching hard against you and waiting for a moment. You cease your chance, writhing up and down against your body. He gasps and you imagine his eyes rolling toward the back of his head.
"Toby, I'm gonna..."
He doesn't even finish the sentence before it begins. Heat seeps inside of you, pouring from a pounding vessel. The world is still for a second, Keller's arms going limp around your body. He hisses, skin super sensitive as it presses against yours. He does not move right away, your cum pounding just behind his all over your stomach and his arms. You feel bliss, even as his cock slides away from your hole.
Turning and resting on top of his warm body, you kiss him as his glazed eyes shine. His sticky and yet slick arms, a mixture of sweat and semen, fit perfectly in yours. His still semi-hard cock rests against the line of your ass. He responds with his own kiss, tasting the afterglow of your body as both shiver together.
"Perhaps we should use the actual bed for sleep."