"Across A Crowded Room", part 2

This is for everyone that begged. *grin*


Another fucking press party. Jesus ... how many of these things do they think we can stomach before totally losing our grasp on reality? For the past twenty minutes, I've been hiding. Funny, you can hide in plain view of everyone if you try hard enough. So here I sit, somehow maintaining a nonchalant expression while searching desperately for a way to escape.

Then she moves into view, the love of my life. She certainly knows her way around a room, I'll give her *that*. How the hell does she do it? Polite small talk, a smile here, a laugh there ... her lips curving just so ...

Damn. Even twenty-five feet away she can make me hard for her. It's a talent, I suppose. I watch her move, graceful and elegant, her hands tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her hands ... the same hands that touched me just last night, drove me wild, are clasped in the hands of one of the stodgiest newspaper editors this side of the Mississippi.

I smirk in spite of myself. God, I wonder if he has any idea where those hands have been? And what they've done?

She looks my way and catches me staring, a challenge in her eyes. I smile, never breaking eye contact and she licks her lips. Not much, just enough for me to notice and I shift against the cushions, my Levis suddenly two sizes too small. Her eyes undress me and I want to throw her to the floor and have my way with her. Now wouldn't *that* make a pretty headline? They'd damn sure get their money's worth from this little shindig, now wouldn't they?

Flushing, she looks away, finally losing this round of eye tag. Score one for me. But I can't drag myself away from her. Her back is to me now, I can see her curves outlined beneath the clingy dress she has chosen for this little soiree. Those same curves that fit so well in the palms of my hands just last night ... those curves that met my hips time and again until...

Shit, it's hot in here. Or is it me? Damn if I can tell.

All I know is that there's precious little between that dress and her body. There *can't* be, or it would show... and here I sit, Mr. Fashion Critic. One finger hooked under each tiny strap, one smooth tug, and it would be nothing but a puddle of fabric around her feet.

One at a time, that's how I'd do it. I can see myself slipping up behind her, moving her hair softly aside so that I can press my lips to the curve of her neck .. right *there*. That's the spot that drives her wild. So slowly, I would trace the line of her neck with my tongue, from her shoulder to her ear and back again. Slowly. *Very* slowly, my breath sending chills along the moist trail.

She is so tiny, I see over her shoulder the effect I'm having on her. As I said, this dress conceals nothing and her nipples have puckered beneath the silk, tenting the fabric and begging for my touch.

Who am I to say no? I nuzzle her ear with my nose, murmuring all the things I plan to do to her and my hands slide along her ribcage and slowly upward letting the weight of her full breasts settle in my hands. God, she is so hot ... she leans back against me and sighs and I am lost. My hard-on presses against her backside as my thumbs toy with her nipples and then she moans. God, she moans my name and it is almost my undoing.

She tips her head back and I capture her mouth under mine, my tongue begging for entry. She is hot, God, so hot. My right hand has grasped her hip, pulling up the fabric into a bunch and I was right ... my sweet girl is wearing nothing beneath. Holy fuck, not a damned thing.

By now, my whole body is engaged - my mouth is attempting to devour hers, my left hand can't seem to decide which breast is its favorite and my right hand is alternately fascinated with the soft curve of her bottom and the sharper planes of her hips.

I pinch her nipple and she arches against me, crying out her desire. Our bodies communicate with no words necessary. Her hips rotate against my groin and it's all I need to know.

I hold her against me, my hand still firmly holding her breast as my fingers tease the flesh of her thighs. I'm a bad man ... I *accidentally* brush over the wiry curls that guard her heat and she shudders violently. Puprposely prolonging her agony, I sweep my fingers along the crease of flesh where her thigh meets her hip and she whimpers in frustration and longing. Her hands grab for mine trying in vain to move them just where she wants them and I push them away. All in good time, baby, all in good time.

*please* she begs, *please* ...

My fingers weave through the curls to find her soaking wet and throbbing with need. Slowly I use my index finger to separate the soft, hot folds beneath. God, I can't reach ... she is petite and so I bend my knees to extend my reach and doing so, my cock rubs right down the valley between her ass. Jesus, I nearly come right then and there.

I hear the scream on her lips and I twist her head back to mine, my mouth swallowing her cries. My tongue plunges into her mouth at the very same instant my fingers reach their destination. She is so damn hot, and her body pulses around my hand. I move faster and deeper and my thumb presses against her clit and I feel the tremors begin. Her body is tense and then suddenly breaks free as she floods my hand with her love. One last kiss and I turn her in my arms. Brushing the damp hair from her face, I bring my finger to my lips and lick it clean.

I hear her quick breath, and see that in this mass of humanity in which we have lost ourselves, she is standing before me and knows my mind.

Softly she whispers, "take me home."


Part 1 | Part 3, Conclusion

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