We ascended the glass elevator to my hotel room, hand in hand, my pulse racing with excitement. Now it was my turn to set the mood, so I selected some sultry jazz tunes from my phone’s playlists. Moscow and I sat on the couch and discussed what was about to happen. • Warning: Contains explicit language and graphic sexual references. Only for readers 18+.
Tonight, you weren’t fine, and I felt your pain. Tell me. Don’t tell. I’ll just stay in my lane. We keep hurting each other. Our unintentional flow. The truth cuts so deep, and we go blow for blow.
We sat on the rooftop with the city lights as our backdrop, devouring those sweet chocolate crêpes and sipping on wine from glasses that Moscow brought up from his apartment.
Sometimes, just the mere taste of fine chocolate can bring me close to an orgasm. It can be a transformative experience when I find myself alone with a tasty chocolate dish and a glass of red wine.
Moscow ordered for both of us in perfect French. I listened closely and gathered we were starting with a soup of some kind and then a dish with prawns and more red wine. The server returned shortly with slices of warm baguette in a bread basket. “Merci!” we both chimed enthusiastically. It seemed that Moscow liked warm bread as much as me. Well, despite his nickname, he was French!
It was an unseasonably warm spring day outside of a small café on boulevard de la Tour Maubourg in the heart of Paris, I sat taking in the sights and sounds of the city. In the distance, I could just make out the lights from the Eiffel Tower as the sun made room for nightfall. Cars rolled along and people strolled by on their way home or to an evening of magic in this city of wonder. It was shaping up to be the perfect Parisian evening.
Blink once, what to do? Right swiped for those eyes. Mind open, golden rule, you took me by surprise.
The private cab Sir had called moved us slowly and smoothly through the city streets of London. With the privacy partition, it felt like we were very much alone, Sir and I.
Our table sat in a dimly lit corner of a side alcove off the main dining room in an aging Italian restaurant. We were fairly isolated from the rest of the diners, just the way Sir likes it. I pressed a glass of cool prosecco to my lips and drank in the smooth sparkling wine. As I swallowed, I felt the coolness in my throat followed by a heat rising to my cheeks. I could feel his eyes on me. I returned the glass to the table and slowly raised my eyes to meet his steel-gray stare. His gaze was amiable but intense. He was studying me. I felt my lips drying up from the drink, and ran my tongue over them to bring back some moisture. I smiled, he did not.
Warning: Contains explicit language and graphic sexual references. Only for readers 18+.