I wish I could say I understood what I am doing with Sara, why I am driving us to my apartment to, I presume, get laid. But this is making less sense to me the farther we get from the bar. Fortunately, I don't live too far away.
She is huddled against the door, the window cracked to let in a little air, which is stirring her hair, and I want to reach over and tuck it behind her ear. I'm afraid to take my hands off the wheel, one because I am fairly buzzed and need to pay attention, and two, because I'm not sure I could stop at just touching her hair. She is so quiet, and the way she has turned away from me, virtually ignoring me, I can hardly believe this is the same woman who begged me to take her home. I can still taste her chap stick when I lick my lips, though, so it must be.
Maybe begged is not the correct word. 'Not here' isn't exactly poetry, but from her I'll take it. It took me a couple seconds to grasp her meaning, and then I practically dragged her around the SUV, remote unlocking it, so I could help her into the vehicle in one smooth motion. And by helping, I mean shoving her, more or less. I'm not fond of poetry myself.
I didn't bother asking where she wanted to go, I figured my place was close, and I didn't want to give her an opportunity to change her mind. Like a lot of the guys I know, once I get wound up, I really need that release. Right now I can feel my clit rub against my panties every time I shift in the driver seat, and there is no way I want to take care of that alone. I find a spot in front of my building vacant, which is unusual, and the elevator works today, also fortunate. I figure these are good signs; something must be blessing this. Sara doesn't say anything, just looks around, probably taking it all in like she does during a first walk through of a crime scene. I can't think of anything to say to her that seems important enough to share. I could describe the amenities of my building, or share part of my internal monologue, but I suspect it would just be background noise to her. So we ride the elevator to the fifth floor in silence.
We walk down the hallway to my apartment, Sara a couple steps behind me, and it occurs to me that I don't think she has even looked at me since we left the parking lot. I didn't expect her to act like a teenager on a first date; looking at me all moony, wondering if we would kiss before I dropped her home. But some acknowledgement would be nice. I'd worry about whether I was being too forceful with her, but she is following me on her own; I haven't even touched her.
I fumble with the lock for a minute, and when I get it open, I hold my breath because I can't remember if I cleaned recently or not. I'm lucky again; I must have tidied up in the last couple of days. There is no obvious mess, just odds and ends lying around. It is a pretty standard one-bedroom apartment; living room separated from kitchen by bar style counter, bedroom and bath off to the right as you enter. I have collected simple, classic furniture; neutral colored couch and love seat surround dark stain wood coffee table, with several unfinished pine bookshelves along the wall. It could be anyone's living room, which is what I want. Sometimes I dream I'll walk away from all of this, my whole life, and someone else will just move in and pick it up. Sometimes I not sure anyone will notice if I do.
I take a few steps into the room and start to turn to Sara; I can feel her behind me in the room. Before I get all of the way around, I feel her hand on my left bicep, pulling me until I am backed against the closed door. I hit the door hard, and before I can catch my breath, she is kissing me, biting at my lips. I figured I would be the instigator, but she has one hand on the back of neck, tilting my face up towards her, and the other on my shoulder, holding me in place. I close my eyes, enjoying the taste of her, her lips on mine. She moves down to my neck, kissing and sucking along the contours she finds there. When she starts to nip the skin, I hiss in mild pain and great pleasure, though I really don't want marks to explain away at work tonight.
"No, wait, wait, I…"
I don't get too far with objecting, though, before her lips are back on mine, smothering whatever protest I was making. As her hand leaves my shoulder to grasp my breast, tweaking the hard nipple she finds by touch alone, I can't remember what I was objecting to anyway.
I groan against her lips as she twists just a little bit harder. Then her lips are gone, and I open my eyes and find myself staring at the crown of dark hair as she bites the skin above my collarbone. Somewhere in the last few minutes, I lost track of one of her hands, and now I notice that my shirt is completely unbuttoned. I pull forward enough to let my shirt slip from my shoulders as she pushes it down my arms, and then I feel her hands between my back and the door. I can't help shivering as her cold fingers fumble with my bra clasps, though that may be a result of her sucking at the soft skin on the top of my breast.
Her hands slide down my back to my hips; which is fortunate since her lips have moved to my exposed nipples, and I feel my knees start to buckle as she runs her tongue over them. I move to draw her head closer to my chest, but find myself lightly manacled by the bra straps tangled around my arms. I shrug the bra off and reach for Sara's head with one hand, tangling my fingers in her hair and drawing her closer. With the other, I reach across her back for the tail of her shirt, thinking to pull it up and over her head. Then I hear, more than feel I hear, the sound of my belt opening and Sara fumbling with my trousers. My hand stills on her back, just lightly stroking her silk shirt. She has some trouble with the clasp on my pants, but she finally opens them enough to slide her hand into my panties. She moves back up to kiss me as she drives two fingers into my pussy.
I hadn't thought too much about what sex with her would be like; unlike Gil, she is not someone I really considered for a partner, never fantasized about. If you had asked me on the ride to my place from the bar, I would have thought I would have been in charge, guiding her through. If I had thought about it, I would have assumed sex with Sara would be slow; a long build up, a great tease, and then a satisfying but not mind blowing climax. I would have been wrong.
When she starts pumping her fingers in and out of me, I find it hard to breath, and I'm whimpering against her lips. It is a pitiful sound, not at all like me, but the constriction caused by my pants causes her palm to grind against my clit every time she thrusts into me, and I can't help myself. My head falls back against the door, too hard, I'll have a headache later, and her head drops to my shoulder. I pant at the ceiling, and when she adds a third finger, my knees finally do give out. She's quick to grab my hip and steady me, but in the split second before she does, my weight is almost entirely supported by her hand in my groin, and it ratchets me up a few more notches. Once I'm sure I won't fall, I relax again and she starts pumping away. I'm so close, and I draw a deep breath and hold it as long as I can. It doesn't take me more than a couple handfuls of seconds after that to come, shaking in her grasp as she continues to thrust as deep into me as our position will allow. I grit my teeth, fighting my body's instinct to draw in air. I don't want this to end. But as I start to see spots floating in mid distance and it all becomes too intense, I swallow a shallow breath, and then another. I had thought for a moment that I might break into a thousand pieces that would scatter in the breeze; for a moment I am nothing and I want to stay there in the ether.
A few more shattered breaths bring me back, and I am again Sofia Curtis, slumped against my apartment door, being held upright by a woman I can barely tolerate most days. She won't look at me; doesn't bother checking how I am. In a way I am grateful that I don't have to share this part of myself with her; her lips are still buried against the hollow between my neck and shoulder blade. She withdraws her hand from my pants, but all my nerve endings there still tingle, like a phantom hand has taken her place. I shudder again and try to regroup. When I'm sure my legs will support me I pull myself upright from the slumped position against the door. Before I get any farther than standing under my own steam, Sara grabs my shoulders and spins us around so it is her back against the door.
I start to stumble, and she catches me, only to shove me down to the floor. I fall to my knees, catching one hand against the door and the other on her hip, and hope like hell I won't have reason to shower in the locker room at work for the next few days; I don't want to explain away bruised knees. I look up from my position on the floor to curse her for pushing me, but I get distracted by the sight of her hands fumbling with her own jeans. She is entirely focused on getting the belt open, and I take the chance to watch her pout. I'm not sure I've ever had a chance to study her so unabashedly, and even on my knees on the hard wood floor, I'm grateful for the opportunity. She is stunning in her frustration. I move to help her, but she bats my hand out of her way before I get there. I sit back on my heels since this is clearly where she wants me and wait.
She gets the buttons undone on her jeans and kicks her shoes off in two awkward motions, scuffing the back of her heels as she pushes them away. Her jeans and panties follow in one motion, her dark hair falling over my head as she reaches down to pull them off. I think I smell jasmine in her hair, though I suspect it is my imagination; she wouldn't risk dulling her sense of smell with perfume at work. And then it is gone, and I get a quick look at her bare from the waist down, the tails of her shirt trailing across her pelvic bone as she grabs the back of my head and pulls me towards her center.
Just to clarify, it is not that I have never been with a woman; after all, there is a time and place for everything, and it is called college. Then there was the relationship with Carolyn when we were working towards our additional accreditation before we joined our respective labs. But it was always more of an afterthought; no attractive men around, well, OK. Why not a woman? And in each case it was really more fooling around than actual sex. What I'm saying is, while I'm not completely innocent, I rarely, if ever, have found myself on my knees going down on another woman.
And that is where I am now. I'm staring at Sara's pussy, wondering if I'm really up for this. I realize I started this, but I didn't really think this through. Now I'm here, and her fingers are tightening in my hair, pulling none too delicately. I feel my eyes start to tear up from the sharp tug and I know blond hairs will be tangled around her fingers when she pulls them away. When in Rome, as they say. I flick my tongue out, just barely brushing her clit, and she jerks at the contact and then again as my lips connect with more skin. I run the fingers of one hand up the inside of her thigh, lightly trailing the muscle tone I find there. I wonder if she is ticklish as she squirms beneath my hand or if it is just that I'm better at going down on a woman than I had thought.
She pulls me even tighter against her if that is possible and keeps me there, and I stop thinking, stop analyzing the moment. For whatever time it takes her to come, I am just in that moment. When she climaxes she digs her nails into the back of my skull and it is the first time in several minutes that I have thought of anything but moving my tongue and lips over her. She cries out as she comes, an almost painful sound. Just one brief, wordless sound, a strangled noise she couldn't quite bite back.
She releases my head, but I'm still kneeling there in front of her, trying to catch my breath. I can hear her draw a few shaky breaths herself, but she seems to pull it together quickly. In fact I'm still staring at the floor, wondering what to do next, when Sara straightens and pushes past me; knocking me back on my heels. I turn to see her gathering her slacks and panties, getting a nice view of her ass before she sits down on my couch to pull them on. I can't believe she is not on the floor next to me, rubber knees and panting breath. But she has her pants buttoned before I think to speak.
"Where are you going?" I know it sounds ridiculous as soon as it leaves my mouth, but it is out there. Sara doesn't even bother to respond verbally; she just looks up beneath the hair hanging over her face as she pulls on her shoes and I think I see her shake her head in a negative response. What she is telling me no about, I can't figure.
And before I can ask her anything else, she is opening the door to my apartment and I shuffle back, on my knees still, to get out of the way. She doesn't even look down at me again as she lets herself out and closes the door.