The Second Date
I couldn’t get over our last date. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, and yet I felt like it happened last night. I mean, maybe I was living a boring life. As an archaeology student, all I do is pick away at rock and dirt, waiting for the day I hit something worth wild.
That hasn’t happened yet. But I feel like, with him, I had hit the jackpot; I had hit the motherload of archaeological discoveries.
But the problem with meeting people when they travel is that eventually, they have to leave. The next day, he was on a flight back to London, and I was left with just the memories. I could have texted him, but what was the point?
Yeah, our night was amazing, and I can remember every single thing we did from beginning to end, but he’s over there, and I’m over here. It’s just best to keep it as a fond memory, and move on, right?
On Friday, I was doing an archeological dig in the mountains with my team. It was rainy; I was covered in mud and dirt as I picked away at the Earth. I already decided that when I got home, I’d turn on Netflix, and make myself a cup of hot chocolate before I headed to bed.
But life is funny that way; things can change in a second. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I didn’t pay much attention to it, but then it vibrated a couple of more times.
Hmm...did something happen? I hope nothing happened to mom. I pulled my gloves off, dug into my pocket, and took out my phone. It was him.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we last saw each other. And I know it may sound crazy, but I bought a ticket, and I’m at the airport heading to you. I need to see you. I need to taste you. Meet me at the Hilton at 7 PM.
“Holy fuck,” I said out loud. I felt my body heat up, my back start to sweat. I looked down at myself, covered in mud. I texted him back, “I’ll be there.”
I told my boss I wasn’t feeling well, hopped into my car, and drove home. I only had a couple of hours to get the smell of mud and dirt off of me; it wasn’t an easy task. After some serious effort, I slipped on my classic black cocktail dress, and by the time seven o’clock rolled around, I was in the lounge of the Hilton hotel.
The lounge was dimly lit with only a couple of lights on; he sat in the corner of the room on a two-seater sofa. He looked up, our eyes locked. He looked even sexier.
New haircut? Who cares, he looks even sexier than before. I walked towards him, he stood up and held his hand out; I grabbed it and was pulled into him.
“Just looking at you gives me a hard-on,” he whispered in my ear.
I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, “Wait till you’re inside of me.”
We sat down on the couch, side-by-side, and stared at each other in silence. With his hand on my thigh, I knew exactly what his eyes were saying.
“It’s been a while,” he said, his hand slowly rubbed my thigh, inching it way closer to my pussy.
“It’s been too long,” I replied. He moved in closer, his lips hovered over mine as his hand caressed the lining of my panties. They slowly became soaked with my juices.
“We should go upstairs,” I suggested, as my breaths become heavier and heavier.
“I can’t wait that long,” as his finger slipped under my panties. I looked around momentarily, the lounge had a couple of people scattered throughout the room, smoking cigars and talking politics. No one’s going to notice...right?
In mid-thought, his fingers lunged inside of me, and I quickly grabbed the armrest to stop myself from moaning. “I’m going to make you squirt on this couch,” he whispered in my ear.
I quivered as the feeling of his fingers inside of me had me glued to the sofa. I opened my legs slightly as he leaned inwards, his other hand grabbed the back of my head, pulling my hair.
“We’re…” I moaned, “we’re going to get...in...t-t-t-trouble.” He thrusted his finger inside of me harder, and whispered “Good.”
As I dropped my head back, he fingered me harder and harder, hitting my g spot each time. I felt my muscles contract, and I tried to distract myself, but it was too late; I had let go.
My pussy released a gush of juices as my panties became dripping wet. He continued to finger me, my juices streamed down my inner thighs, pooling under my ass. I grabbed the back of his head, holding him as I flooded the sofa.
“T-t-the s-s-s-s-sofa,” I tried to blurt out, but there was no point. It was drenched. He suddenly stopped, pulled out his soaked hand from between my legs, and licked each finger with manners.
“Now,” he said with an all-too-serious face. “I’m going to take you to the room and eat you like a fucking buffet. Understand?”
I sat there feeling drunk, even though my drink was untouched. “Yes, sir.”
He helped me up; we both looked down at the giant wet patch on the sofa.
“Oopsies,” as I giggled.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he said devilishly, “look at the mess you made. I’m going to have to make a bigger mess upstairs.”
He took my hand, we walked out of the lounge towards the elevator. Inside, he tenderly kissed my lips as his hands firmly grabbed and massaged my head and ass.
“Coming to see you was the best decision I ever made,” he whispered.
Before I could reply, the elevator doors opened, and we walked out and went to the room door.
He swiped the key through the lock and looked at me before opening the door. “Now, have you ever been to a buffet before?”
Natasha Ivanovic is an intimacy, dating, and relationship writer best known for her writings on Kiiroo, LovePanky, Post Pravda, and more. She's the creator and author of her short stories on TheLonelySerb. She completed her first degree in Criminology and continued and finished her Masters in Investigative Psychology, but then decided to follow her true passion of writing.