by Blaise Quin
Other than commenting on her beauty, Antonio had not made a single reference to sex, or what might come later in the evening. And yet, before desert was served, Emily was craving him more than she had ever craved anything in her life.
I heard the unmistakable flick of the key card being run though the lock. The door in the other room opened, but my vantage point didn’t allow me to see in that direction.
There was no other sound besides the swish of the door on the carpet, no laughter, no voices. She’s alone, I thought. Antonio dropped her off, he didn’t want to accept our terms.
I was about to speak up when I heard a muted sound, a murmur, yet also unmistakable, unique.
A kiss.
I held my breath, straining my ears.
The sound came again, accompanied by a slight rustle of clothing, brushing against another fabric, perhaps arms wrapped around each other. Then a short intake of breath, followed by another kiss. This one deeper, its greater urgency indicated by a higher volume.
I craned my neck around the door, but could not see them. It didn’t matter, they hadn’t turned on the light. It was up to my imagination to decide what was going on, an erotic movie, the action painted by nothing but the soundtrack.
And what a soundtrack it was. The kisses—as I imagined them—became longer, more passionate. I had never seen Antonio, but Emily had said he was as tall as me. She had to be on her toes, reaching up for his lips. Who had made the first move? Did she know I couldn’t see her?
I needed to move, yet I dared not shift in my chair. I didn’t want to make a noise which might break the mood.
Where were their hands? Was Antonio even now touching Emily’s breasts? Was she lifting her leg so he could grasp her thigh? Had they even waited until they reached the room? Perhaps they’d kissed in the car, fondled in the parking lot.
He may have already laid his hands on my wife.
I’d fantasized about this moment many times. I’d even seen it in reality, with Dwayne. And yet, nothing had prepared me for the sheer eroticism of listening to my wife kiss another man, so close, and yet so far away.
My cock, which had twisted in uneasy expectation all evening, sprang to life, shoving against my pants so hard I heard it. Perhaps Emily could as well.
A hum of a voice, low, assured. I couldn’t discern the actual words. Again, I had to fill in the blanks. Antonio, telling Emily how good she kissed. How pretty she was. What he was going to do to her.
Another kiss, then a tiny bump, a body nudging against the wall. Or being pushed against the wall.
A sharp intake of breath, then a moan, Emily, cut off, no doubt by a hard kiss. The vibration against the wall increased, I could actually feel it. I placed my hand on my side of the wall. Only a few inches of plaster separated me from whatever they were doing.
I felt like I was touching them, a part of it.
The wall shivered. Or perhaps that was me, my entire body shaking, sending a signal through my hand. I imagined Emily on the other side, pinned against the wall, her arms around Antonio as he pressed his body against hers. Could she feel my vibrations? Did she know I was here?
I pressed my hand hard against the wall, sending her my terrible secret, urging her forward. Toward him.
A more discernable movement, another moan. And for the first time, a clear voice. Emily. “Not here,” she whispered urgently.
I froze in place, my hand held out as if I was warding off whatever she was objecting to.
The bodies moved away from the wall, and the darkness in the other room shifted, a figure moving across my line of sight.
“Wait,” I heard Emily say.
A click, and the other room was gently lit, no doubt from the light in the bathroom through a slightly opened door. My eyes were already adjusted to the gloom, and I could see easily through the small crack in the door.
A man, in profile. He wore a suit. He had a calm confidence but an erect posture. I was immediately reminded of a movie star, that same casual comfort with being watched. That’s all I really noticed, because at that moment Emily was in my field of view, standing close to him, her back to me. Even in silhouette she looked amazing.
Antonio put his arms around her and bent his head to hers. She returned the embrace, just as I’d pictured it, her head back in surrender, yet in demand. The heads danced as they kissed, their arms tight, their bodies swaying slightly.
And now I understood what she’d meant by her whispered Not here. She wanted me to see.
They kissed forever, longer than I think I’d ever kissed Emily myself. Their breaths grew heavy, easily distinguishable even from across the room, now overwhelming even the air conditioner fan. My neck hurt from straining forward, my eye almost to the door. Emily’s neck must have hurt as well, yet she didn’t stop kissing him. I felt guilty; she’d always told me she loved to kiss, and I wondered if she’d always wanted a kiss this long, this deep, from me.
It was as if they were making love, standing up. With their clothes on.
My hand went to my lap, feeling for my erection. I was so wound up I didn’t dare take it out. Not yet. I wanted this to last, like the kiss.
Perhaps Antonio sensed my movement, or perhaps my pent up need was picked up on some primal wavelength. For just as I touched myself Antonio’s hand dropped off of Emily’s back and disappeared. I couldn’t see what he was doing, he might have been caressing her cheek, or her neck, or even grasping her breast. Whatever he did made Emily gasp, and moan into his mouth, her body both melting into his arms and pressing forward at the same time.
Antonio’s shoulder moved, and whatever he was doing was having an incredible effect on Emily. She rose right out of her shoes, on her tippy toes, and when she could reach no higher her left leg came up, wrapping around his. Antonio gently picked her up, pivoting like a gymnast, never once losing touch with her lips.
His hands deftly slid her jacket off. Emily twisted her arms, helping. I expected her to break the kiss, to do what she always did with me, hang up her jacket, or at least fold it carefully and lay it over a chair.
Instead, she crushed it in her hands and tossed it on the floor.
Emily stepped away from the bed. Her back was now to the light, her shadow over Antonio. Although he was one of the most handsome men she had ever met in real life, at that moment he could have been anyone.
She pretended she was a damsel, a maiden in a historical novel, giving herself up to her prince.
She stood there, and it wasn’t hard to pretend to be demure, because that’s what she’d been all her life. Until recently. But it was easy to slip back into her old persona, here in the dark. It was still mostly who she was.
Antonio seemed to understand, or maybe he was just appreciating her. Or perhaps that was the same thing. Emily pictured him not on the bed, but on a wide chair, befitting a powerful royal. She was his new prize, perhaps a gift from another country lord. Or a new mistress he had seduced with pretty words. Mistresses he would take, keep for as long as they pleased him, and when tired of them, cast them off.
That would not be Emily’s fate. She’d be taken, she’d allow herself to be taken, but she’d make certain that if he never saw her again after tonight he’d be haunted by her for the rest of his days. No woman would be able to satisfy him the way she would.
She moved just so, letting the slim light behind her catch his eye. Not the light from a garish bath florescent; it was a candle, flickering in the breeze from the open windows, thick silk drapes swaying. His eye glistened with his peaked interest, he could already tell she was different from the other woman.
She watched his eyes, she would judge her success by his reaction. Slowly she released the top button of her blouse, lifting her head, exposing her dainty neck. She was in no hurry, this wasn’t a strip tease to earn a tip stuffed into her panties, this was a promise for a lifetime of fantasies. For her, for her lover.
The next button. Still exposing nothing, yet she had set the direction of the pa
th she would take. Then the third. The top of her brassiere was now visible, a hint of undergarments. In Victorian times she might as well have been naked.
Her prince reached for her, perhaps to see more, but she stepped back, just out of his reach. He would become her ruler, her sovereign, but not yet.
Because of his impatience she did not move to the next button, but instead undid the one on her left sleeve. As she moved, the lace of her undergarment peaked out, then disappeared as she crossed to the other arm.
Again she swayed her neck, as if being kissed by a invisible lover, driving her prince insane with jealousy.
Her hands came up to release another button, her fingers pulling her blouse aside, as if the lover behind her was exposing her chest. The tops of her breasts shone brightly in the candlelight, Emily pretending to have larger bosoms, more cleavage.
The blouse was gently freed from her skirt. Who had done that? Her fantasy was so vivid now she couldn’t tell where her actions began and ended.
The last button let go, and thus she stood, the imagined breeze kissing her belly. Feeling more demure than she ever had in her life, even the first time she had sex, she removed her blouse and let it slip to the floor. Yes, the floor. Her prince could not be bothered by her clothing, he would not be made to wait while she hung it up. He could barely contain himself just waiting for her to undress. Normally he would not have accepted this, yet even in her shyness she held a power, and it was clear to him that this was the greatest gift she could give.
His eyes followed every movement of her hands, widening with each hint of skin.
Emily loosed the buttons on her skirt, squeezed her legs together, and using just her hips worked it down her body, inch by inch, undressing by magic. It took forever, as exciting to Emily as she hoped it was for the man watching. The skirt caught on her hip, and she crossed her legs to let it fall, pooling at her feet. Her hands covered the private place between her legs; she was a virgin, after all.
She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. Slowly she stepped out of her heels and freed herself from the skirt, and now she stood clad in only the thinnest fabric. There must have been a breeze, because her nipples hardened, pushing against the lace, threatening to betray her arousal.
She stood like that for long moments, her hands crossed over her intimate opening. The virgin on her wedding night, knowing she had to consummate her marriage, yet not knowing exactly how to proceed.
She’d have to move her hands to unclasp her top. Breathing stopped for her watcher. Would she do it?
She pulled her thighs together tightly, one leg slightly in front of the other. Fingers, not hers, but the invisible lover, Eros, her presenter, undid the clasp. The silky lace slid down her body, brushing her nipples, buds popping in the open air.
She was betrayed, her hard teats screaming for suckling, for her to be made a real woman.
In the silence she could hear men breathing in expectation.
Of course there was more than one man. Her prince would have a bodyguard, or a servant. He was hidden someplace behind her. He wasn’t supposed to look, but no doubt he was, wishing this woman was his. What would he do in his secret nook? Would he lust over her? Would he touch himself?
She turned her head in shame, covering her breasts, it was too late. Her nipples were in need, reacting to the touch of her own hands, quivering, a deep moan escaping her lips. In desperation she quickly pulled off the last of her clothing, abandoning the slow undressing of earlier. It was the only way to take his eye away from her breasts.
And she succeeded, but now of course he was staring between her legs, at her most private element, the entrance to her womb.
She’d come to the battle, she’d thought she’d been in control, but all was lost. She dropped her hands to her sides, her chest heaving, her entire body exposed, surrendering.
My view of Emily was mostly from the side and back. I could not see her face, and I was not sure if I would have been able to bear it if I could, for I imagined she was looking at Antonio in deep desire.
As it was, watching her slowly undress for him was captivating. With each step she was telling him that she would soon be his. Not just telling Antonio, but telling me.
Her movements were unhurried, measured, the perfect balance between willingness and a tease. Yet once her breasts had been uncovered she suddenly couldn’t get her panties off fast enough. I expected her to jump into Antonio’s lap, but instead she just stood there, as if on display.
What was she waiting for? His approval? His command?
I knew what she looked like from the front, her firm, perfect breasts, her slim thighs, her light silky hair framing, but not hiding, her luscious pussy. Yet I’d never wanted to see all these parts of her more than I did now. Was her mouth open in desire? Were her eyes wide with anticipation? Were her nipples hardening under Antonio’s gaze? Was a wetness spreading between her legs?
Antonio stared at her for a long time, not moving. Emily wondered what he was thinking. Though she had spent many hours with him in the office, in meetings, in restaurants, she really did not know him that well. He had commented on her beauty, but now that he saw her totally naked, was he disappointed? Had he lost his ardor since he was no longer pursuing his prey?
For a moment Emily’s resolve left her. She suddenly felt very insecure, very much alone. The woman who had gained great confidence from sexual exploration was no longer in the room.
What was she doing here?
Still Antonio did not move. Perhaps this was his way of showing control. Perhaps he was waiting to see if Justin would run into the room. Justin. He would be watching, just as she wanted. He was not there, yet still a part of this. His hidden presence gave her courage.
If Antonio didn’t want her, so be it. She give him just a little more time. She had made the first move, she had undressed. And before that, she had actually kissed him first. Justin would be shocked when she confessed to that.
In the meantime she could return to her fantasy. . .
Her prince was in no hurry, because he set his own schedule. He didn’t have to rush her into the bed. Nor was he sex starved; he was, after all, a powerful man who had been with other women. Many other women. That didn’t upset her, she expected no less. She would be different though.
She relaxed, comfortable in her position, in her nakedness. She was in no rush either. She’d show him what a wonderful lover she could be.
She began to imagine what his body would be like, what his skin would feel like under her fingers, what she would do to him with her mouth. She would be the ultimate contradiction, the experienced virgin, skilled with her hands and lips, knowing what should be hard or gentle, when to be fast or slow. He would think it was her natural reaction to his perfection, which would arouse him all the more.
The image of pleasing him, of being pleased by him, suffused her, and she smiled, heat flowing to her loins.
And perhaps as a reaction to this communication, he reached out, and she stepped eagerly toward the bed.
He nuzzled his face between her breasts, kissing her just above her belly. In his delicious voice he said, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I have seen many.”
Emily wrapped her hands around his head, her head spinning with his compliment. It might have been nothing but a line, but at that moment it made her feel special, it fit her fantasy. Her tinge of insecurity vanished, and she felt, perhaps for the first time in her life, as beautiful as he had described.
Antonio kissed her again, murmuring into her belly, now speaking in Spanish. She didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear, his attraction in his tone, his kisses. She stroked his hair, her own wordless response.
He stood up, keeping her close. His lips brushed the top of her head, then he stepped aside, removing his jacket, placing it carefully over a chair. His clothes mattered.
Emily stepped forward to help him undress, but he gave her the slightest shake of his head, his eyes
going to the bed. She looked back and forth, confused, finally understanding.
She pulled back the duvet and the top sheet, then removed them completely, setting them neatly aside. The large bed now lay bare, the crisp white sheets a virgin setting.
She turned back to Antonio, and he nodded. He again gave the bed a meaningful look.
Though Emily had come to this hotel room with him, though she had kissed him, though she had removed all her clothes, she could still turn back now. She could run into the other room and slam the door, escape to Justin.
But if she got on the bed, there would be no turning back.
She paused. Not just for her, but for Antonio. And of course, for Justin.
Justin would be able to see her now as she stood aside the bed. She fought the urge to look toward the connecting door. She wanted to arouse Justin even more than Antonio, that’s what this was all about. Yet she wanted it to last as well, for him. And, yes, for herself.
She turned to the bed, placing her hands flat on the sheet, cool and welcoming. She slid forward, bending as she did, a jungle cat stretching in repose. She raised one knee to the bed, then the other, displaying herself for the men to see.
For long seconds she was on all fours, poised, open, inviting. She quivered, her openings dangerously exposed, yet aroused by her own sense of allure.
Gently she rolled over onto her back.
Antonio was leaning forward, a new calculation in his eyes. Had she surprised him? Had he been about to lose control, pounce on her?
Now it was her turn to nod. And watch.
Antonio slowly took off his tie, then unbuttoned his dress shirt, but did not remove it. He knelt on the bed, but surprised her when he did not move forward. Instead, he kissed the top of her foot, first one, then the other. His mouth moved to her ankles, to her calves, slowly, kisses mixed with licks, gentle at first, yet growing in intensity as he approached her thighs. Emily’s shivers turned to a quivering, her skin tingling, warming where his mouth was, then cooling off, like a hot flame had been removed.