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What Happened When I Had Work Sex With My Man

Sex

It had been far too long since the last time I tasted his skin, too long since I felt him fill me from within, too long since our tongues were entwined, just too long.


Fourteen days, I counted.

The holidays and travel did not leave much time to be alone or provide one another with a hit to sustain our need for a fix. We were deep into withdrawal now, thoughts and minds overcome with all things sex. Just that morning, we spoke on the phone about how I would use an evening dance class to alleviate the sexual tension that had built up in me. I was looking forward to it, but as soon as he heard I took the day off to prepare, he had other plans for me and I became a woman on a mission. Fourteen days. I was still counting as I made my way through the hotel lobby.

It was happy hour, so I babysat my two cranberry vodkas while I read my book and waited. I talked to him from time to time, waiting for the cue to head toward the empty room after his supervisor's departure. As soon as he left, I'd be able to come.

Fourteen days, I was still counting.

My body was singing from the sheer anticipation of the orgasm I'd been after. Toys could only do so much while daddy's away. There's a connection with sex, a humanness that no vibrator, no matter how good, would be able to replace. I think he came to that realization about his hand, too. I think that's why we have such power over one another, leading us to do stupid, risky things to get that fix, to fulfill those fantasies that enter our late night conversations in air that's honest and spaces that are nonjudgmental. I've always liked the freedom there.

I dodged the eyes of older white men who tried too hard to smile at me for my attention, and left my seat in a strut to head to the restroom as I was instructed. Would we f*ck in here? I wondered to myself, but a quick rebuttal came at me before I could even swing the door to the woman's room open. “Not there," he said, “there."

He was pointing to a room straight ahead with two large doors. He locked it behind us and turned on the heat. There was a long table with seats facing toward where a projector was. A large metal pitcher that held water was in the table's center surrounded by plenty of cups. It was a mess.

“There was a meeting in here earlier. It hasn't been cleaned yet, clearly," he said. “Is this okay?"

For a split second, my nerves tried to get the better of me, but I assured myself that the door was locked and although we were very close to the restrooms of the main floor, it was very unlikely that passerby would utilize the restrooms when they had rooms there. Either way, I wasn't turning back now. I shrugged out of my coat. “It'll have to do."

He moved closer to me to help me out of my clothes, a lot slower than I imagined, but I didn't mind. There was an undeniable tenderness to it, a desire to be languid, and drink all of me in. I've always loved that about him: his sensuality. He dipped his head where my thighs met. I gasped instantly, but tried to protest. I was concerned about the time. I was already cutting things pretty close with the class I was supposed to be headed to. Did I have time for foreplay? “Let me taste you," he said sternly.

I dropped my hands from his head, an act of surrender. How could I deny him when he eats so well? I lifted a leg to allow him better access and he devoured me. I like him when he hasn't had me in a while. Eating becomes a necessity for him, like breathing, and he's so damn hungry. My head's heavy and spinning from a combination of the pleasure he's giving me and the drinks I had minutes before. I feel close and it instantly makes me shy away. So I say instead, “Come f*ck me."

I'm surprised he doesn't request reciprocity, but happy that I can have that full feeling sooner rather than later. He kissed my lips and tongued me in an effort to get me to taste myself on him before bending down to cup my breasts and bite hard at my nipples. I hissed each time. I saw the lust dark and heavy in his eyes when he looked at me. “Turn around, spread your legs."

I already knew. The table was the first thing I laid eyes on when I entered the room. It seemed fitting to me that I allow him to take me against it. He entered me and we both let out our own versions of verbal appreciation. “Thank you for coming," he whispered against me as he began his series of deep, languid thrusts.

And as if he were talking to my body, it responded. Once, twice, three times. Almost instantly and right behind one another, my orgasms hit me in waves. They weren't loud or demanding, they just came as they are, causing me to tremble and me to tighten around him in spasms. He moaned raggedly before withdrawing himself completely. “It feels like you came three times."

I didn't have words, only nods and moans of agreement. He reentered me and tapped the small of my back, which I knew meant to arch, so I did. “There we go," he said. He stifled his moans, “I'm not gonna last long."

His thrusts quickened then. I felt my skin brushing hard against the wood of the desk. He was pounding so hard and relentlessly that nothing in the room was quiet anymore, not us, not the table we used for momentum, and not the containers of beverages that still were on the table.

With every thrust, the table thumped in synchronicity and the drinks joined them in its upheaval.

We evolved into rushed, primal, we don't give a f*ck type of f*cking, and it was delicious. He smacked my ass.

“It's mine?"

He knew exactly what to say. “Tell me." It's yours. “I can't hear you." My eyes rolled to the back of my head. I was coming again. He moaned deeply within his throat and his pace increased even more. He was close too. Afterwards, we shared a laugh as he rested his body against my back before he smacked my ass and told me to come on. He had to go. I definitely had to go. I checked my phone. My ride was outside and we were running late. I had already let her know that I was at my man's job, chasing my orgasm, to which she responded, “Better bust that nut quick girl!"

She's always so down.

Before I left him and the room, he pulled me back to kiss me. “I love you," he said.

I love you. It was a fun time and I was happy he could help me scratch something off of my sexual bucket list:

Have sex publicly.

Done.

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