Love Painted Red

Chapter 1

Warning: Lots of the sex type stuff.

The feeling of being dominate could compare to the feeling of being powerful. My hand clamping around her much smaller wrists felt elating. The feeling of her smaller body writhing beneath me and the feel of her breast cupped in my hand felt amazing. Her breath coming out in sputters, her beautiful red lips parting to let out a delicious moan felt intoxicating. I would describe that as beautiful. Those intense gray eyes could barely stay open as she watched me hover above her, watched me dominate her. Her nails digging into my flesh, her thighs pressing up against either side of my waist; it was amazing. It was what I thought to be the best feeling.

I'd describe the feeling of being dominated by him as finally having the ability to allow myself to be satisfied as well as being able to satisfy. The feeling of being able to allow myself to let go for a couple of minutes, arch up into his hands, allow him to restrict my hands, have him put his mouth on me - own me. The thoroughness of his kisses as he places them, ranging from face: my lips, my cheeks, my chin - to placing kisses on the heel of my foot, dragging his tongue over my toes. He did it to make me feel out of control, make me shiver. The way he teased me until my bottom lip was raw and I was a sweating mess made me feel like our encounters were less about getting each other off. The way he took his time made me feel like this is what making love felt like.

She rarely reached a satisfying orgasm. No matter how much she wriggled underneath me, her body shivered, her back arched, her lips parted, she rarely reached that place of ecstasy where her eyes would roll back in her head, her breath catching in her throat, and her fingers gripping the sheets. God knows I tried my hardest to make her feel what I was feeling. She deserved to feel that toe curling, breathtaking, stomach curdling feeling of letting her body succumb to the blankness of her mind being numb from pure bliss.

He was a man and he didn't need that kind of attention to finally get there, that glorious place.

So it was no surprise when I found myself, in my drunken stupor, focusing on that tall and lean figure hovering in a corner. Admiring his curly brown hair cut short and messy, appreciating those assessing blue eyes that watched me carefully; I stood there like a fool. He also had a drink in his hand - whiskey. Heaven knows who had given it to him, but he was gripping it loosely and had only taken a couple of sips from the glass. I watched oh so carefully as the perspiration dripped from his glass and landed onto those black shoes and my eyes traveled up his body and took in the jeans and fitted grey shirt. After all, this was just a bachelor's party - my bachelor party. He wasn't dressed up as the business man's son who was soon to inherit the family's fortune. He was laid back, carefree, unintentionally sexy and I'm sure he knew it as he shifted in his spot and watched the room vigilantly. He was searching carefully before his eyes landed back on me.

Like the fool I was, I was dragged into the middle of the floor only inches away from where he was standing with a stripper draped over one arm and a glass of champagne gripped loosely, almost slipping out of my fingers, in the other.

Even as the nameless woman pressed her ample breasts up against me, I could only watch as he watched. That was until she lifted my chin up so that she now had my attention. She was a long-legged, big breasted; small waist woman in what have might as well have been half of a bikini to cover up her bottom half and only cheetah printed pasties to finish off the outfit. The way she swung her body and dipped and grinned flirtatiously would have caught and held the eyes of any man, but I wasn't one of those men. She was beautiful, yes, but my eyes kept straying back to the man who bit his lip unconsciously, smirked when he knew he had the upper hand and had the tendency to catch my eye at the worst times. We were friends, best friends and had known each other for only a short period of time compared to most friendships, but he wasn't the type of man to make friends easily and with just anyone. Yet, I'd never had this much a drive to admire him until the pressure of getting hitched was being dangled in front of my face. Before the rope was then being tied around my neck like a noose and his father was holding it and about to kick the stool from under me. It was his sister whose hand I was about to take in matrimony, but it was he who I found myself staring at as he sat his glass down on one of the refreshment tables and took a step closer.