Hit and Run

Chapter 1

The dark haired stranger, who had probably told me his name through his beer stained breath, lifted me onto the kitchen counter and pushed my legs apart. His hands were rougher than most of them, but I didn't mind. They got the job done.

He took his rough hand and brushed it through my hair, tugging lightly at the ends of the long brown strands. His mouth was firmly pressed against mine, opening and closing rapidly in sync. I ran my hand down his chest to his stomach. It was stiff which I had assumed it would be. His body probably matched his beautiful face which I knew would be unrecognizable to me tomorrow. He pressed his other hand against my back as if this moment were urgent and I were subject to disappear if he didn't keep me close. 

I thought maybe I was his shining trophy that he needed to take a hold of. Like when they call your name at an awards ceremony and you walk up to stage, all eyes on you, knowing full well that the trophy is yours. Still, you feel like if you don't get to it fast enough, it might not be real. It isn't until the cold metal touches your sweating hands that you feel a level of comfort in your victory. Here was the beautiful stranger running to the stage to take a hold of my skin to prove that this moment was real. And here was I: his for the taking.

I reached the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up as strongly as I could. He threw it over his head and moved his hands to my jacket, slipping it off my shoulders. It slid the way it always did. Good  he must be thinking one step closer. 

Everything started moving faster. This is around the time when the theatrics would generally kick in. He moved to my tank top and aggressively reached for my breast, massaging it like a piece of clay in his hand. His lips moved to my neck with deep kisses that released a moan from my own lips. I felt him smile against my skin before he began leaving a mark where my shoulder meets my neck. PR is going to love that. Not really.

He tugged at my shirt as if signalling me to rip it off with the same desperation that he had. I played along. Once it flew off, probably landing somewhere on my kitchen floor, he brought his hands to my back, fiddling with the clamp of my bra. I was always stunned at how many men had now clue how to properly do this. Bra removal was by far the most time consuming part of his endeavor. The alcohol in our systems probably didn't help the issue.

I felt him give up. Rather, move on from this challenge and return to it at a later time. He placed his hands under me and he lifted me off the counter, walking me to queen bed inside my condo's largest bedroom. His lips remained fixed on mine, remaining unobstructed in their dance despite the movement. I moaned softly because I knew he'd like to feel the vibration of my pleasure against his lips. My hands moved to his hair and I grabbed it as firmly as I could in order to support my legs that were wrapped around his waste. His kisses became harder, excited. I felt his tong begging for me. He was running up that stage and he was about to get his trophy. He could feel it, just barely out of reach.

He laid me down onto the bed. I could tell he liked control. I assumed he thought he was the one with the power and I liked the deception of the moment. I did him a favor and reached for my bra, unbuckling it with one hand. Noticing my independent act, he unbuckled his black jeans and pulled them off of his legs. I hoped he would pick all of this clothing up once the night ended because it was scattered around my apartment. Once his jeans were successfully out of sight, he reached for mine. He unbuttoned the jeans and pulled them down my legs, wasting no time once they slipped off. He immediately pushed his hand inside my underwear which shocked me a bit, mostly because I felt my neck arch backwards as I moaned. This time it was wasn't just for show. I heard him laugh softly. He was a man who made Analiz Maika moan for him. He played with my pleasure with his rough hand for as long as he could handle it. I loved every second of it, my hands reaching for any piece of him I could grasp. I didn't want him to stop. I had to admit, he was among the best I had experienced and it occurred to me that maybe he did deserve my own personal trophy. Moans escaped my mouth uncontrollably. Usually the sounds I made were more regulated so not to give the other party too much power, but this man could have all the power he wanted. Finally, I felt him move his other hand to his boxers and rip them off desperately. He then stopped the rhythmic touching and tore mine off too, faster than he had his own.