11 Lust

When she woke up her clothes were damp with sweat. Gingerly she peeled them off and put them in an empty bag.

She turned on the water and sat on edge of the tub until it warmed up. When the shower head roared to life, she stepped into the water. The heat scorched her skin, leaving red patches on anything touched for more than 30 seconds.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been in the shower when a knock came at the door. Slowly, deliberately, she got out of the shower and looked herself over in the mirror. She could see the bite marks on her neck. Light fingerprint bruises on her back, hips, and ass. She smirked, remembering.

The robe at the hotel was plush and easy to throw on. Another round of knocks, quick and sharp.

"Un instant s'il vous plaît." She called wrapping her hair in a towel.

She peeked through the door at a young man in a jersey. Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. Unbolting the door with haste, she swung it open.

"Hey angel." He peaked up from beneath his long dark lashes. His eyes were hooded but dilated. Without her invitation, he stalked past her into the room.

Her heart was pounding so loud she could hear nothing else. He took the door out of her hand and closed it. The front of him pressed to her back. She was intrigued but not surprised to see him. Forcefully, he spun her around by her waist and held her hips firmly against his.

"What a coincidence." He said sliding his hands under her robe. "That you are in Paris on the day of my game."

He tore the robe open but didn't meet her eyes. Painstakingly slow, he removed his shoes, then shirt. Her eyes greedily watched his hands as her breath hitched in anticipation. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his legs. Without boxers, he immediately sprung to life.

"I saw you in the lobby," he pressed her against the door, biting her neck and spreading her legs. "I couldn't believe my luck. I couldn't believe you remembered the hotel I always stay at when I'm in Paris."

"Sometimes I listen when you talk." She whispered tilting her head back against the door.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming to Paris? I could have gotten you box seats." On the words seats he dropped to his knees and devoured her.

She squirmed and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. "I'm here for business." She moaned loudly and could feel him smiling.

"What business does an elementary teacher have on a long weekend in Paris?" His breath caused her to shudder, her insides spasmed at his assault. On the word Paris he stood up and inserted himself hard.

No more talking was necessary. She recognized, for the first time, the relentless pounding was a need for him. It was his way of showing her how much he needed her. How much she meant to him...

Frustrated by their height difference, he lifted her by her thighs and brought her over to the bed. Her arms clung to his neck and he bit her shoulder, hard. He didn't break contact with her as he lowered her down onto her back. One of his hands clasped both of hers above her head. His other hand palmed her breast, pinching her nipple.

She made a point to turn her head when he tried to kiss her lips. Long ago she told him, kissing during sex was too intimate and she didn't want him to catch feelings. As if you could catch feelings like you could catch a cold. Ironically, that conversation was about 5 years ago.

He nipped her neck and she felt her release was near. The grin of his lips pressed to her neck told her that he could feel it too.

"You. Are. Mine." He articulated each word with a deep thrust. She let go, her body betraying her resolve not to finish. His eyes were on hers when a few moments later, his release came.

"Why?" He said laying on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his weight. "Why can't you just be mine?"