She wasn’t sure how she got to his room. One moment she was sipping on her Caesar, the next she was standing in his room at the hotel. He sat on the bed. She stood, afraid to approach him. She felt the tingles running up and down her spine, a quiver of memory of love so sweet it could last all night if meant to.
She was unaccustomed to attention. Her mind raced to the man who was her husband, even now probably searching for her. His anger would be a painful display when she returned. The man on the bed was moving. She watched him as he stood. He was a strong-looking man, dark shoulder length hair that looked silky to the touch. She wanted to touch it. He stood just shy of six feet, the perfect height for her. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to his waist. God she wanted him to take her.
Almost as if reading her mind, he moved without making noise, no shuffling or soft scuffing on the carpet. It was like he danced to her in some unknown tango of seduction. Before she could sigh, he was behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her bare shoulder. He placed his hands on her. The heat burst through her body, being caused by nothing other than the fact he finally touched her. She felt a slight murmur release from her lips, a pitched sigh giving permission to his advances.
His hands swam around her ocean blue dress. Exploring the surface and diving below when necessary. She felt her world swim too, feeling alive and wanted. He finally slipped her out of her dress and it fell to the floor exposing her to him. She wore only a laced thong under the dress. In truth she was hoping to find something this night to take her away from the life she had. His hands swam, her body shook.
She turned to face him, looking into his dark eyes. His smile was genuine, as was his excitement. She fumbled with the few buttons of his shirt, giggling to herself as his hands caress her backside. As she undid the last and peeled the shirt off, she was greeted by a strong chest. She kissed it, thanking whatever god had forged this man.
She kept her attention on his chest as her hands fell to his waist. Her hands knowing what they wanted to have, to feel, throbbing and warm. She needed to feel like a woman, like a woman who could please and entice. As she found what she was looking for, pressing against the front of his slacks desperately trying to escape, she felt his finger find her. She shook as the first spasm of pleasure shot through her body. My god had it been that long, she thought as she fought through the pleasure to release what she wanted.
They stood there in front of each other naked and wet. For a second she found his eyes again, such loving eyes for a man skilled in love-making. Her gaze slipped from his and down to the tool that she wanted to control. She needed to show this man that she was skilled too. She dropped slowly down to her knees, allowing her nails to drag down his chest. It was his turn to moan and she heard it…like a beautiful piece of music playing in her mind.
She used her tongue, gently tickling him. She continued until she could feel him try to push himself toward her. This was the time; this was the moment when she would make him know she was a lover. She opened her mouth and allowed him to slide into her. She could feel him spasm in response to the pressure she applied. She took all of him deep into her throat. She was alive, in control. She was not just a bride, taken for granted by the man who said he loved her so long ago. Her lover was loud now. His grunts and moans making her go faster. She wanted him to know, she needed him to know. She was more than a wife, more than a plaything, she was…independent.
She bit down hard, her fangs piercing him allowing his blood to flow. He screamed in agony at first, but slowly it subsided. He dropped to the floor, but she held on, sucking on him with a wild fervour she had not felt in years. She felt him spasm and go rigid and then limp. She released him and stood wiping the warm liquid from her mouth. He wasn’t moving, he was too weak from her skills.
She moved without making noise on the carpet. Her dress was back on in moments, she glanced back to the still man covered in his own blood.
“I’ll be downstairs, lover,” she laughed as she left the room. She felt powerful again, whole again.
At the bar he saw her, she was radiant. His eyes followed her shape as she moved towards him. This was the woman he remembered; this was the Sasha of their youth. He felt the lost feelings return to his dead hands.
“ I’m leaving you Vlad,” she said quickly, not stopping to take his hand or sit at the table.
Sasha walked with her head held high. She left the hotel bar, smiling as she noticed the eyes of men follow her. She knew, she finally knew, she was woman.