Submission {UNFIN}

Chapter Eleven.

11:52 a.m., New York City, New York, Fulton Street.

The fresh yet brisk autumn air nipped at my cheeks when I rushed out of the cafe door in desperation. My mouth was unexpectedly dry, my legs were unexpectedly weak, and my womanhood was, to no surprise, warming with the heat of deprivation. I could feel his sizzling breaths on the back of my neck, he was so close to me, forcing my spine to raise with an uncomfortable bliss, reminiscent of hot rocks during a massage.

Thoughts and woes clouded my mind to the point of haziness, forcing Shawn to step in front of me and lead the way to his icy grey, glistening 2015 CLK Mercedes that was conveniently parked in the skim alley that separated Starbucks and a dry cleaning building. With trembling fingers, I dropped my $700 handbag on the sodden gravel of the narrow passageway and shoved him against the brick wall of the Starbucks without regard to his Hugo Boss suit that had, no doubt, cost him a pretty penny.

For some eccentric reason unbeknownst to me, we didn't kiss. Instead, with my manicured nails clutching the lapels of his suit, our hearts pulsed heavily and hastily and our eyes searched each other's for.. something; Something I didn't know, or maybe I hadn't known in a while. Whether it was curiosity or attraction, I wasn't precisely sure. 

But whatever it was, I liked it.

Then, somewhere, the play button was pressed, and our lips were nearly swallowing each other in attempts to taste more and perhaps place our tongues in some sort of lovers' wrestling match. As I savored the familiar flavor of spicy cinnamon, I was driven against the car door by his unchallengeable strength, and I then felt his fingers delicately unhook my fur Valentino jacket and open the car door, throwing the jacket in the back seat and pushing me under and into the car, never breaking our futile lip-lock.

Once I found myself sprawled over both the driver and passenger seats, he inched himself above me and shut the door behind him, somehow with his foot. Our typically steady breaths were awry within those few moments of profound touching, much to my surprise, seeing as I hadn't ever experienced such extreme arousal without an intensifying pill in years. Before I had the time to even gather myself, my skirt was being pulled from beneath me, leaving me without a choice but to reach for the clunky metal buckle of his belt and expertly let it loose it seconds. 

Words had failed to fall out of our mouths in the few moments of contact we had outside of the coffee shop, but it was almost as if words would have been traffic cones on our highway; Annoying, changing, and unnecessarily time-consuming. So when his brow raised in the slightest after he'd gotten a glimpse of my rather vibrant, lace, turquoise thong, I knew what he was asking me. 

Foreplay or no?

One of the queerest abnormalities of the dominant-submissive relationship was that foreplay with submissives before two weeks was strictly frowned upon. The reason for such an informal rule was because many consider dom-sub relationships prior to two weeks as sensitive, meaning the submissive must adjust to a new master as well as he or she must gain discipline in the sense that anything the dominant says goes, and to make sure it is ingrained into their heads, foreplay is often held off on until two weeks post the signing of the contract. 

Shawn and I, however, were not dominant and submissive. I wasn't sure if I wanted to engage in foreplay, since I hadn't in so many months, and I was accustomed to my sexual thirst being quenched immediately. Not to mention, I didn't feel like sticking a c*ck (yay for censoring) in my mouth; I hadn't done it since college, and I didn't plan on breaking my record. 

"No," was all I had said before he indulged himself in the perfectly sculpted package that was my body. Without bothering to unbutton it fully, I tugged at the bottom of his white dress shirt, causing it to open and expose what I knew he had the entire time.