I feel powerful. All that is reflected in his eyes in the mirror is intense desire. And I know this man can see me. Really see me.
I.
Am.
Beautiful.
His left-hand drifts from over my heart to push the robe past my right breast, displaying my entire side to him. He cups my breast and slides his fingertips down the slope, circling my nipple gently. Rolling it between his thumb and finger, I can't help but moan breathily and drop my head back against his chest.
His left forearm presses into my other breast while his hand continues to tease and pluck my right nipple. I could float away, but his arm around me and his hard body pressed to my back keeps me grounded.
His other hand moves from my smoking jacket belt to my stomach. I wiggle my ass back against him to see if I can feel his hardness, see if he is turned on like I am, and am rewarded with the proof that he most definitely is.
He holds my stare in the mirror while his right hand drifts down, sliding sensually against the full curve of my belly and, in this moment, I love my body. I love the way his hands caress my skin, and I love that my body has brought me to this moment. I also love the effect it is clearly having on him.
His hand trails down, exquisitely slow, until he finds the apex of my thighs and sets me to panting. Nothing has ever had me wound up this way before. Nothing I have experienced in my sex life, or have seen or even read, has been as intense as this. And very little has even happened yet.
My hips buck forward of their own volition, desperate for him to touch me. He rewards me by sliding his hand down further. Our stare is molten, his liquid gold around the edge of a bottomless black hole, mine green and gold around endless matching black.
The sight of myself in the mirror, left side covered by my smoking jacket, right side bared and being worshiped by his hands, is so erotic.
He languidly teases me. Feather light touches back and forth across my folds until I could scream, feeling like a live wire, desperate for more. He slips the tips of his fingers through them, finding me soaked. I gasp out loud and he smiles that full megawatt smile.
I bite my bottom lip, tasting copper, and moan as he thrusts two thick fingers inside me. They slide in easily despite their size, as I am dripping for him. I grab onto his forearms, my left hand pulling his tighter into my chest while I push his right arm further down with all my strength, needing his fingers deeper inside of me.
I’m breathing like a freight train, pressing my breast forward into his hand and trying to get enough traction to meet the building wave of pleasure that threatens to pull me under. I am absolutely frantic for him.
If I hadn’t been holding on to his arms and caged against him, I think I would be on the floor. His chest feels like an immovable wall against my back. My legs are shaking and I’m breathing in staccato gasps.
He continues to thrust into me with his fingers, with just the right amount of pressure, while grinding the heel of his hand into my throbbing clit. Pleasure spiking, I widen my stance, trying to get more contact with his hand, with anything.
I can’t help but dig my nails into his thick leather jacket, muscles tensing, my right hand sliding down to cover his as I grind into his palm. The sounds echo in the bathroom, of not only my breathing and moans, but my lewd wetness.
I would normally be embarrassed, but it is so remarkably erotic, all I can feel is beautiful and desired. My eyes snap shut as I feel myself clenching around his fingers like a vise.
“Watch,” he whispers harshly in my ear. I open my eyes and look in the mirror at the most beautifully erotic sight I have ever seen. Him, fully dressed, black leather-clad arms encircling me, one large hand gripping my breast, and the other between my legs.
His colossal size leaves him as an outline around my body, his head topping mine. A wide swath of my skin flushed with pleasure peeks out from my smoking jacket.
His intense, hungry gaze is taking in the same sight and visibly fills with desire for me. As I feast on our combined image, his fingers curl and find a spot inside me that sings.
I’m shocked at the immediacy of my body's response to him. He knows the exact places to touch me, the ideal pressure and speed. His hand on my breast kneads at the optimal rhythm while his other hand provides just the right amount of thrust. Not only does he know where to find my clit, but his thumb expertly strums across it at the perfect angle.
He seems more comfortable with my body than even I am. What should be an encounter with a stranger, instead feels like a core memory, my heart and my body drawn to him, trusting him with my most vulnerable self. Like a physical Déjà vu, rippling through time and space, making it so easy to just give myself over to the incredible sensations.
My pleasure wells up, snaking from my core out to my limbs, spreading like a nuclear blast and leaving me decimated in its wake. Miraculously, I keep my eyes open and focused on his, the erotic sight pushing my peak even higher.
My loud moans echo in the bathroom, the copper slipper tub adding a deeper acoustic layer to the sounds.
“Now you see,” he says, as I wantonly ride out the orgasm’s last clenches on his hand, smaller aftershocks continue to rumble through me as I bite down hard on my lower lip. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “????? ????????? ???????? ??????????? (Etzem mi'atzamay u'vasar mib'sari).”
I don’t understand what he says, but something seismic shifts and clicks into place. Some missing piece I had never even been aware of is sliding home. My racing heart and the swirling feelings fall still. Everything coalesces into a single focus. The entire world seems to stop spinning on its axis.
I can feel everything and nothing at the same moment. I feel the universe expanding ever outward and simultaneously feel it as a single point in the darkness at its birth.
Although I cannot understand his foreign words, I understand the magnitude of this moment, and I know nothing,nothing, will ever be the same in my world again. The last words of the song drift into my brain as my breathing quiets, and just like it says, now that I’ve had a taste of him, I am thirsty.
I turn my head to look at him, rather than our combined reflection in the world of mirrors. His eyes fall to my mouth, and I lick my lips, tasting a drop of blood from where I had accidentally pierced the skin with my teeth.
