Warning: Lots of the sex type stuff.
The feeling of being dominate could compare to the feeling of being powerful. My hand clamping around her much smaller wrists felt elating. The feeling of her smaller body writhing beneath me and the feel of her breast cupped in my hand felt amazing. Her breath coming out in sputters, her beautiful red lips parting to let out a delicious moan felt intoxicating. I would describe that as beautiful. Those intense gray eyes could barely stay open as she watched me hover above her, watched me dominate her. Her nails digging into my flesh, her thighs pressing up against either side of my waist; it was amazing. It was what I thought to be the best feeling.
I'd describe the feeling of being dominated by him as finally having the ability to allow myself to be satisfied as well as being able to satisfy. The feeling of being able to allow myself to let go for a couple of minutes, arch up into his hands, allow him to restrict my hands, have him put his mouth on me - own me. The thoroughness of his kisses as he places them, ranging from face: my lips, my cheeks, my chin - to placing kisses on the heel of my foot, dragging his tongue over my toes. He did it to make me feel out of control, make me shiver. The way he teased me until my bottom lip was raw and I was a sweating mess made me feel like our encounters were less about getting each other off. The way he took his time made me feel like this is what making love felt like.
She rarely reached a satisfying orgasm. No matter how much she wriggled underneath me, her body shivered, her back arched, her lips parted, she rarely reached that place of ecstasy where her eyes would roll back in her head, her breath catching in her throat, and her fingers gripping the sheets. God knows I tried my hardest to make her feel what I was feeling. She deserved to feel that toe curling, breathtaking, stomach curdling feeling of letting her body succumb to the blankness of her mind being numb from pure bliss.
He was a man and he didn't need that kind of attention to finally get there, that glorious place.
So it was no surprise when I found myself, in my drunken stupor, focusing on that tall and lean figure hovering in a corner. Admiring his curly brown hair cut short and messy, appreciating those assessing blue eyes that watched me carefully; I stood there like a fool. He also had a drink in his hand - whiskey. Heaven knows who had given it to him, but he was gripping it loosely and had only taken a couple of sips from the glass. I watched oh so carefully as the perspiration dripped from his glass and landed onto those black shoes and my eyes traveled up his body and took in the jeans and fitted grey shirt. After all, this was just a bachelor's party - my bachelor party. He wasn't dressed up as the business man's son who was soon to inherit the family's fortune. He was laid back, carefree, unintentionally sexy and I'm sure he knew it as he shifted in his spot and watched the room vigilantly. He was searching carefully before his eyes landed back on me.
Like the fool I was, I was dragged into the middle of the floor only inches away from where he was standing with a stripper draped over one arm and a glass of champagne gripped loosely, almost slipping out of my fingers, in the other.
Even as the nameless woman pressed her ample breasts up against me, I could only watch as he watched. That was until she lifted my chin up so that she now had my attention. She was a long-legged, big breasted; small waist woman in what have might as well have been half of a bikini to cover up her bottom half and only cheetah printed pasties to finish off the outfit. The way she swung her body and dipped and grinned flirtatiously would have caught and held the eyes of any man, but I wasn't one of those men. She was beautiful, yes, but my eyes kept straying back to the man who bit his lip unconsciously, smirked when he knew he had the upper hand and had the tendency to catch my eye at the worst times. We were friends, best friends and had known each other for only a short period of time compared to most friendships, but he wasn't the type of man to make friends easily and with just anyone. Yet, I'd never had this much a drive to admire him until the pressure of getting hitched was being dangled in front of my face. Before the rope was then being tied around my neck like a noose and his father was holding it and about to kick the stool from under me. It was his sister whose hand I was about to take in matrimony, but it was he who I found myself staring at as he sat his glass down on one of the refreshment tables and took a step closer.
The woman was grinding upon my lap, fingers gripping my hair as she yanked me to attention and I could hear the crowd of ten howling and wolf whistling as she gave me a flirtatious grin. The people who crowded around to take a look apparently couldn't see the discomfort that adorned my features as she straddled my waist and drew closer. It was not women who gave me this feeling, but the fact that she wasn't my main priority right now and I wasn't really the type of man who slept with women who weren't close family friends.
"How much booze have you had to drink, Dav?" Everyone seemed to stop, even the woman whose mouth was open in an 'o' fashion, but she still managed to look as if she were about to drop down on her knees for him. This produced a feeling of irritation that made me bite the inside of my mouth. I snapped back to Damien even in my hazy state. He was gesturing for her to move and then he was helping me up from the kitchen chair and pushing me past Oliver and Paul who were merely blurry faces. He was taking me way faster than what I could handle after I was loaded with enough drinks to actually fill a small bar.
I just needed to let myself go one good time and have fun for one more night before I was met by my impending doom. I needed to let go tonight, which meant getting drunk, having a couple of strippers prance around my friend's place, and if I'm lucky, having sex with my fianceé's brother...No big deal. I'd only felt his fingers run down my body in the dark broom closet next to his office and I'd never intentionally kissed the man unless the situation was completely dire and he was fucking me across his desk with a strictly platonic barrier keeping each other at bay all the while doing things that would have me dead for sure. It wasn't completely my fault that I was like this. He was so similar to Ro. The way he acted as if everything was so meaningful and the way he smiled even though I know I'd just made a fool of myself or when he stroked my cheek slowly and allowed his eyes to drift down to my lips, parting them with his thumb before smiling as if this small sentiment meant much more than what I was seeing and feeling. He was distant, but he managed to be just as touchy.
He threw my arm over his shoulder and hauled me out of Paul's apartment, guiding me towards the black Benz that was parked next to an entire row of cars that led down the driveway. He helped me in and I waited patiently for him to round the car and then get seated before I was leaning across the middle compartment to just get my lips on his neck.
"Not here, Dav," he hissed and pushed me back down into the passengers seat.
I didn't quite understand. Where could we possibly go? A hotel wouldn't work unless we wanted it in the next issue of any gossip magazine and 'home' wasn't safe because that's where Roman and 'Dad' were waiting. So I sat quietly watching as we pulled out of parking and headed down the driveway and soon we were on the road and turning left and then right and then right again and I just knew that we were headed for Roman and Mr. Lovett but then there was another turn that had us heading in the opposite direction and I found myself staring up at apartment complexes.
"You got your own apartment?" I mumbled and got nothing in response even as we parked in front of B17 and I was helped out of the passenger side. It was pitch black outside after the car headlights flickered off and we were left to stand in the darkness as Damien fumbled through his pockets before he fished out a key and shoved blindly at the door knob until he finally got it open and turned on the lights.
The inside of the apartment wasn't like the ratty, old or semi-nice apartments that I'd grown to know over my search for places to live outside of my mom and dad's place. There was not much you could get off of an artist's salary, but when you were the son of a rich man and managed to buy a place in cash, you had plenty of options.
I could hear Damien walking around me but I was too busy staring at the king sized bed, the oddly colored lava lamp that came in three impossible colors, the surround sound TV caught my attention, the satin sheets of the messy bed, and the stack of dry cleaned suits hanging up on the closet door. What caught my eye most was the red flag-like scarf strewn across the headboard in a rather menacing fashion.
One other thing that the two so graciously had in common.
"Down on the bed, David," he hissed as he stepped back into the room with a bottle of lube and a smirk, "You look tired, baby.
The three steps it took to get there felt like I'd run a marathon as I plopped down onto the mattress. The five it took him to join me felt like centuries. When he finally made it close enough to seat himself between my open legs, readily awaiting him, he sat there for a second before reaching up for that red satin scarf.
"Sit up for me," his voice was soft but demanding and I knew what was next as he tied the scarf around my head before pushing me to lie back onto the pillows.
"Are you ready?"
"Yeah..." He shifts above me and I can feel my eyes clamp shut before I succumb to the mind numbing sensation of his fingers skimming down my throat before his lips replace them.
"Relax...," he whispers into my skin before flipping me over onto my stomach.
"I'll take good care you."