Dance for Me

Chapter Two

I rap my knuckles on the door twice—two quick, rapid taps. It's our signal. Sometimes, I pretend that this is a little game we play to keep the intimacy alive, but the reality of it is that the man behind the door is more concerned with secrecy. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to guess why.

I don't know what possessed me to accept His invitation, but I've been coming here every second Thursday and every first Sunday for months, ever since he'd taken an interest in my routine. He knows nothing about me, and I know nothing about Him, except that he likes control, an occasional glass of scotch, and he fucks like a god.

If I had to explain it, it'd sound crazy. The truth is, I have no idea how I got here. It just happened one day, and it keeps happening. And I'm not inclined to stop anytime soon.

He could be married. He could have kids. He could be a drug smuggler. I have no way of knowing, but I know that the few hours I spend in his bed are some of the best, most exhilarating moments of my life. At least when I am old and gray, I'll be able to say I had lived.

The door cracks open revealing nothing but darkness and I am sucked inside by a strong, unyielding arm. A squeak of excitement leaves me as I am whirled around and my back is slammed up against the door.

Hard, punishing lips crash down on mine, and a hot, wet tongue forces its way past my teeth. I moan shamelessly as my purse drops to the floor and my hands find the short fine hair that I know to be as black as the midnight sky.

My mystery man is always hungry after watching me dance.

Ripping the button on my jeans free, he plunges his hand into my panties and groans as his fingers part my moist folds. "Jesus fucking Christ. Always so wet," he mutters as he nips my jaw, and then begins moving down my neck.

I am always ready for this, for Him. Maybe it's because he's my only source of sexual release besides my fingers since I broke it off with Eli last semester, or because he is so talented in the sack. But the truth of the matter is that a part of me gets off on the mystery. Our sex is just that—sex. It's wild and dirty and passionate and honest. Strip away the mystery, and you lose all of that. Maybe not right away, but one day.

Relationships almost always have an expiration date. I'm not naive enough to think our arrangement doesn't, but at least I know I won't lose anything in the process. When my mystery guy gets bored, I figure I simply won't see him again.

Right, I should be concentrating on what he is doing to me now. We only have so much time together, and I don't want to miss a second.

I feel Him lowering down to his knees, and I kick out of my shoes. I luxuriate in the feel of smooth, strong hands sliding patiently down my sides to my thighs, taking my jeans with them. My pants are then tugged free from my ankles, and they land somewhere in the room with a heavy plop. My panties follow them, and in an instant, I feel the magical heat of his mouth cover me.

Thrusting my fingers into his hair, I hold Him to me as he sucks my clit between his lips and feasts. He loves this. It's always the first place he attacks, and who am I to deny him that pleasure?

As his fingers push up inside me, my eyes cross and I tilt my pelvis higher, trying to get closer to that tricky little spot that needs his attention. But he isn't in the mood to play for long tonight. Must have been a long week. Of course, I'm only guessing because we never talk. About anything.

I don't even know his name, and he doesn't know mine. Like I said, we know virtually nothing about each other. Sex is all that connects us. Fantastic, life-altering sex.

I whimper in protest as his fingers and mouth leave me and he stands. In the slashes of light coming in through the window across the room overlooking the river, I can see that he is still dressed to thrill. He's wearing some kind of casual dark suit ensemble. I want to rip it off him and run my hands over all that honed muscle hidden beneath.