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La Petite Mort (Part I)

Trembling, Rebecca watched him go.
Rebecca thrummed her fingers against the table top in a mindless tune and eyed the door in front of her worriedly. For the nth time in the past two hours she checked her watch, and then the large digital clock pinned above the counter, and wondered if the guy she was meeting today would be another no-show.

The bells above the door chimed and she looked up anxiously, only to deflate when a woman pushing a stroller bustled into the café. There was no one behind her.

Another glance. Her watch now read 2:26 and she tugged at a fraying piece of thread at the cuff of her sleeve and sighed, resigned to the fact that yes, she'd been stood up. Again.

She was thirty-six years old and couldn't even manage to find a decent guy over the Internet. She would have laughed if it didn't depress her so much.

"Ma'am?" the waitress who'd been supplying her with endless cups of tea for the past two and half hours said hesitantly. She was a pretty thing with big blue eyes and sleek black hair and an hourglass figure most woman would have killed for, herself included.

Rebecca figured that someone like her would never have to resort to using an online dating site to get a man.

A voice that sounded eerily like her mother chided her for being petty, and Rebecca promptly shoved both voices away.

"Do you need another refill or…?" She trailed off. She gazed at Rebecca with wide, pitying eyes, no doubt fully aware that she'd been stood up.

She tugged the piece of thread entirely free, decision made. It was time to go.

"No," Rebecca said. "No, I'm done."

She received the bill and set a ten dollar tip on the table before making her way to the counter to pay for her six cups of tea.

As she stuffed her change into her battered wallet the barista gave her a sympathetic smile that made heat rise in her cheeks. She ducked her head and walked out of the shop, shoulders hunched.

***

Her name was Rebecca Archwood and she was thirty-six years old. She lived in a somewhat posh apartment in New York City's East Village, made possible by her well-paying job as a trilingual translator for a research company.

Rebecca had a sister who lived in Ohio, and a cat named Prentiss, and one friend who was currently backpacking across Europe.

Her screen name on was Sweet-Becca, and she'd been one of the few people who'd actually taken the time to fill out a complete profile.

A waste of time, she thought, as the cursor hovered over the bit of flashy text that read: Are you sure you want to delete your account?

She hesitated only a moment before clicking yes, and leaned back into her plush chair as the site told her that it was sorry to see her go.

She shut off her computer and went to make herself lunch.

***

"I look ridiculous," she told Anne, frowning at herself in the full-length mirror.

Anne slapped her ass. "You look fabulous."

Rebecca scoffed. She turned her body this way and that, observing the way the dress hugged her curves in a way she might have appreciated more when she was twenty. As it was, she felt she was entirely too old to be dressed like a tart at her current age.

"I look like a whore," she stated, displeased. She bent down and narrowed her eyes at the cleavage that nearly popped out of the cut of the dress.

"You look like a hot whore," Anna said, "now stay still."

Rebecca relented and let Anna complete the finishing touches on her hair. It was a simple, though classy up-do, with two enhanced brown curls falling down each side of her face.

"Gorgeous," Anna said, watching her in the mirror.

"Whorish," Rebecca corrected her.

Anna snorted. "How long has it been since you've been laid, 'Bec? Over a year? Trust me, you could do with looking like a whore."

"Hey," Rebecca protested, not really all that offended.

Her friend's reflection grinned at her before she flounced away to get ready herself.

It had been Anna's idea. Rebecca had told her about her latest no-show date two weeks prior and Anna, being Anna, had designed an intervention that consisted only of herself (though, considering the kind of person she was, was more than enough).

According to Anna, Rebecca was taking this dating thing too seriously. What she needed was a good, hard, anonymous fuck (she shivered just thinking about it), with no expectations or consequences or strings attached.

Rebecca had argued. Of course she had. She was too old, she wasn't the type, she didn't like clubbing, she'd never be able to pull through with it. Her reasons, which she felt were all good ones, had been endless.

And then Anna had gone into explicit detail about being eaten out and fucked to an inch within her life by one of her many FWBs, and Rebecca's steadfast resistance had faded in the face of her want.

Anna's assumption had been wrong. The last time she'd had sex had been nearly two years ago, and she had felt those years as Anna had relayed one of her more recent nights of passion.

So here she was, wearing a too-short, too-low black dress that complimented the good bits and hid the not-so-good bits. A pair of three inch heels were situated at the corner of her bed, along with a red clutch purse that Anna had brought and some condoms.

She told herself that she wasn't going to use them, that she was just going along to humor Anna.

She purposefully ignored the voice in her head that called her a liar.

***

La Petit Mort was one of those hip, new-aged clubs with ear splitting pop music and scantily-clad severs that Rebecca tended to avoid like the plague. Anna was carded, but to Rebecca's resentment she was let in without even a questioning glance.

Unsurprisingly, things got worse from there.

Not ten minutes after they'd arrived Anna had been whisked away onto the dance floor. Rebecca lost sight of her in the sea of dancing bodies seconds later, and she stood there for a long moment, feeling abandoned and wondering what she should do.

She caught a glance of the bar on the other side of the room and made a start for it, wincing against the music and squeezing past gyrating bodies and jumping every time she felt a daring hand on her bum.

She nearly sighed with relief when she made it. She slid onto a stool at the corner end, back turned away from all the vertical sex going on behind her.

"A Cape Cod, please." She said loudly to the advancing bartender. He smiled and gave her an understanding wink—one that sent shivers down her spine—and then bustled off to mix up her drink.

He returned moments later, bright drink in one hand, and slid the damp glass across the bar. She grabbed it and with a grateful nod of thanks and without preamble quickly downed a third.

It burned going down, but the resulting tingle and spread of warmth made it worth it.

Someone took the stool next to her, and she huddled further into herself and took another deep swig. It took her a moment to realize that she who was being spoken to, and she glanced to her side with a confused blink.

The sight before her made her swallow.

He was stunning; all wavy dirty blonde hair and sparkling green eyes and a wide, infectious smile that revealed rows of straight white teeth. He wore a studded piercing above one brow, and a column of them along both ears. A touch of barely visible stubble graced his jaw.

He was completely shirtless, and it took every iota of self-restraint Rebecca had not to let her eyes linger on the silver ring that pierced his nipple, or the trail of hair that started from below his navel and disappeared into the waist of his tight black jeans.

"Hello," he said, eyes slanted and amused, unfamiliar accent curling his words.

He was one of the hottest guys Rebecca had seen in a long time.

He was also, without a doubt, definitely not old enough to be there. He looked barely seventeen, and every ounce the meaning of "jail bait".

"Hi," Rebecca rasped, and then cleared her throat and averted her gaze.

She felt him lean in close and she shivered at the heat emitting off his bare skin.

"What's your name?" He asked her.

"Rebecca," she said shortly, and then wondered why she'd answered at all.

"Rebecca," he repeated slowly, as if tasting her name on his tongue. He made it sound exotic.

"Beautiful name," he continued. "I'm Rome."

Odd, that.

"Interesting name," she couldn't help but say.

He chuckled. "My parents met in Italy."

At the word parents she froze.

What was she doing?

"So. Are you here by yourself?"

Rebecca licked her lips and glanced sideways at him. He was staring at her, piercing eyes fixated on her face, and she swallowed heavily and tried not to squirm in her stool.

"No. I came with…I came with a friend."

"Oh? Where is he?"

"She's dancing," she corrected, fully aware of what he'd just done.

His smile broadened and he leaned closer.

Rebecca clenched her hands desperately over her half-empty drink.

"Why aren’t you with her? Don't you like to dance?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Not really," she admitted, hating how boring that made her sound. To her surprise Rome just nodded in agreement.

"Same. I have no rhythm to speak of, and I'm not quite drunk enough to make any attempts yet."

Rebecca nodded once, and they lapsed into silence.

She surreptitiously watched as Rome gulped down the remainder of his drink, a dark bluish thing she couldn't identify. When he was done he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at her.

Rebecca didn't pull away as he leaned into her and set his stubbled cheek against hers. One of his hands landed on her naked thigh, and she bit back a gasp at the sensation.

"Hopefully we'll see each other again later," he whispered into her ear. His breath was hot and moist, and his lips softly grazed the edge of her ear before pulling away.

He gave her another scorching glance before he stood up and disappeared into the crowd.

Rebecca watched him go, trembling.

***

She spotted him a few times after that, always dancing with someone. He'd been right—he had no rhythm to speak of—but that hardly mattered in the face of how sexualized his every movement was.

Rebecca watched, transfixed, as he cupped one red haired woman's hips and ground into her. The woman moaned and dropped her head, exposing her throat, and Rome ducked his head and settled into the curve of her neck. They gyrated against each other, swaying to a tune that was entirely their own.

When Rome opened his eyes and stared right after her, she was too swept up in arousal and desire and need to care. They watched each other as he danced, his hands roaming up every inch of the woman, and her letting him. His fingers skimmed her exposed thighs, her delicate waist, the sides of her ample breasts, the swell of her collar and neck.

He sucked a bruise into the side of her throat and Rebecca could almost hear the woman moaning. Wanted to moan and cry herself.

All the while they never looked away from each other.

***

When Rome returned almost an hour later, skin shiny with sweat and pants tented at the crotch, and asked her to come home with him, Rebecca was unable to say anything but yes.

***

She didn't ask him his age, and he didn't offer it. It shamed her a little that she might still go with him despite knowing, but not nearly enough to stop herself from stepping into his apartment.

There was nothing extravagant about it. It was messy, clearly lived in, with clothes and books and weird knickknacks scattered across every available surface. She only vaguely paid attention to her surroundings as she was lead into his bedroom, and then all thoughts about his cleanliness promptly vanished as the door was shut behind them and lights were flickered on and a large, surprisingly neat bed came into view.

"Rebecca," Rome breathed, and wasted no time in pulling her in for a kiss.

It was searing, like the purest vodka against her lips. His kiss was fast, demanding, impatient, and it made her toes curl in her shoes. When his tongue slid into the crease of her lips, demanding entrance, Rebecca opened her mouth without a word and let him in.

She gasped when their tongues touched, moaned as he started to devour her mouth. His kiss set off sparks along every inch of her skin and she lifted her arms and wrapped her fingers into his hair and clung.

He backed her up until the back of her knees hit the mattress, and then softly pushed her down. She flopped onto the mattress and stared up at him, marveling at his disheveled hair and wet, swollen lips.

Rebecca licked her own lips in response and delighted in the sight of his eyes darkening with arousal.

For whatever insane reason he wanted her. Wanted her. And Rebecca was too turned on to deny either of them this. .

"You're gorgeous," he told her.

You're bedroom manners are commendable, she thought, and then forcefully set her self-consciousness aside. She wasn't going to let anyone ruin this, not even herself.

"Please," she whispered, and he shuddered and climbed onto the bed, crawling forward as she pushed herself back.

His hand touched her cheek, then slid down the side of her neck, to her shoulders, to the side of her breasts and down her waist. Goosebumps broke out over everywhere he touched.

"Can I?"

"Yes." She said.

He leaned into her so that he could zip down the dress from the back, and Rebecca took the opportunity to smell him.

He smelled musky, like sweat, and faintly of fading cologne. There was also a hint of soap, as if he'd showered only a few hours before.

And then the straps of her dress were being pulled down her shoulders, and she could only concentrate on the fact that she was completely bare from the waist up except for the tiny piece of material that covered her breasts.

Rome leaned back and raked his gaze over her, and she shifted, uncomfortably. She wasn't in bad shape for her age, not at all, but compared to Rome, whose skin lacked the blemishes and wrinkles and plumpness that came with age, well. It was hardly any competition.

Rebecca bit her lip and stared at her fingers.

"Rebecca," he prompted, and she found herself looking up at him despite herself.

"Yes?" She asked, nervously, a little afraid that he'd finally cottoned on to how much older she was than him, how much less attractive, and decided to end the night there.

"You're gorgeous," he said again, and then pressed his lips against her neck.

Her body shuddered as he kissed her neck, and when he let his tongue glide over the flushed skin she shifted and moaned. He paused, and then continued kissing bruises onto her throat, continued to comfort those same bruises with his tongue, continued driving her crazy with his ministrations. And then he lowered himself. He sucked at the skin between her collar bones, nipped at the swell of her breasts.

"Can I?" he asked.

Rebecca could do little else but nod.

It was a strapless bra and took no effort to remove. Once the front piece was unclasped the entire thing fell away, revealing her slightly sagging breasts. Her nipples were already hard when he grasped her breast, and the friction against his palm felt wonderful. She moaned as he began to gently squeeze them, her entire chest afire at his curious touch.

He pushed her until she was lying on her back, and after one smoldering look, took one nipple into her mouth.

Rebecca arched off the bed, overwhelmed.

She jerked and twitched and moaned as he lavished them, sucking with his mouth and probing with his tongue and teasing with his teeth, until both her nipples were pink and swollen and glistening with spit, and the skin around them bruised and red.

When Rebecca thought that she couldn't take it anymore he suddenly stopped. She whined at the loss and opened her eyes, desperate to find out what was wrong. She looked down and saw Rome grinning up at her. Her attention caught, he winked wickedly and lowered his head and began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses down her stomach.

Oh.

Oh.

Rebecca whimpered and failed to control her thrusting hips. It had been so long since anyone had done that to her, and she was desperate to get Rome there, to get his talented mouth in between her thighs.

Rome spent more time than was necessary sucking a hickey above her panty line, and she grunted with frustration and said, "Rome, please."

He sat up and ordered her to lift her hips, and Rebecca wasted no time in doing so. Her dress was quickly deposited of, and the only piece of clothing on her left was her dark panties, already damp with need and sticking to her skin.

"Please," she said again, and sighed when Rome cupped her through her. He began rubbing her over them, toying with the bit of hair peaking out over the elastic band.

"Rome," she demanded, and felt like kicking him when he let out an amused chuckle. The only thing stopping her from doing so was the fact that he'd hooked his fingers beneath the elastic and began to finally, finally slide them down her legs. She watched, propped up on her elbows, as a line of wetness followed the panties almost until they were at her knees. She should have felt embarrassed about that, but she couldn't even begin to, not when Rome was staring at her, spread open and dripping wet, like she was a feast he couldn't wait to get started on.

Her panties were unceremoniously flung somewhere, but Rebecca didn't care. Rome slid a single finger down her damp slit and she cried out and thrust her hips up.

"How long has it been for you?" he asked her suddenly, watching her watch him, his eyes a dark mirror of her own.

"What?" She rasped. She could hardly think.

"I asked," he repeated, and slid another finger down. His enjoyment to her reaction was obvious. "I asked how long has it been for you?"

"W-why," she panted, hips uncontrollably pushing against his hand, "d-d'you want to k-know?"

He pinched her clit and her arms gave out.

"Tell me."

"T-two years!" she snapped, half out of annoyance and half out of desperation.

"So I'm the first man who's touched you in two years?" he asked, and he sounded smug about it.

Somehow Rebecca found the willpower to glare at him.

He licked his lips at her.

"I'm going to make this so good for you." And then he shimmed onto his stomach, spread her legs, and took the first swipe with his tongue.

Rebecca cried out. She thrashed wildly against him, not knowing if she needed him to stop or suck harder. She moaned and fisted the sheets, head flinging side to side as he licked and probed every inch of her inner walls, running the flat of his tongue from top to bottom, suckling her inflamed clit.

She let out a hoarse sob when he thrust his finger insider her, slowly at first, and then so fast she could hear the rapid squelching sound echo in the room. Another finger followed, and then another, and Rebecca could hardly think about anything but the burn of the stretch, the feel of his fingers moving inside of her, the sensation of having her clit flicked at and sucked.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my g-god," she cried, over and over and over. Her nerves were on fire, and the feeling of pleasure that had started from her pussy and swelled to her lower belly was now spreading out over every inch of her. She felt her orgasm approaching, a rapidly escalating wave, but as much as she wanted it, as much as she needed it, she didn't want this to end. She was at the edge of a cliff and holding on for life, desperate to prolong the pleasure for as long as she possibly could.

And then Rome moved away quickly, spread her legs as wide as they would go, and slapped her open sex hard and Rebecca came with a scream that reverberated loudly in the small room, leaving a thundering silence in its wake.

She laid there, gasping for breath and trembling, feeling like she was about to pass out.

Her pussy quivered violently as Rome continued to pet her, until she couldn't take any more sensation there and leaned away with a whine.

He ran his fingers through her coarse hairs for a moment before he dragged himself over her and said, "Hi."

Rebecca didn't even try to answer.

With a huff of laughter he leaned in and kissed her, and Rebecca found herself moaning at the taste of herself heady on his tongue. When he finally pulled away, strings of spit and cum clinging between them, her face smelled like pussy and she wanted nothing more than to reciprocate.

"I want to suck you," she rasped, voice hoarse from use.

Rome closed his eyes and palmed himself.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Mm." She said, then, "Strip."

She would have done it herself if she could have brought herself to move. As it was, she watched from hooded lids as he rolled off the bed and began pulling his undershirt and jeans off. He hooked his fingers into his boxers, and with a sly wink shamelessly tugged them down.

Rebecca's mouth went dry at the sight of his erection. It bobbed against his stomach as he kicked off his briefs, hard and red and already leaking pre-cum. Rebecca licked her lips when a small bead of cum rose from the tip and dribbled over, and her eyes shot up at the soft moan Rome made in response.

With a shaky breath she crawled off the bed, ignoring that she was leaving a trail of her own cum against the sheets as she moved. She bent down and unstrapped her heels, kicking them off to the side in her haste, and walked towards him.

He watched her approach and she grew nervous beneath his stare, but her need to touch him, her need to taste him, nearly overpowered everything else. So with a shuddering breath and a single nervous glance at his face, she gripped his dick in her hand and nearly gasped out how hard it was, how hot.

Oh, she'd missed this.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca stroked him slowly, adjusting herself to the feeling of him. The skin was soft, almost velvety, and the bulging veins were like ridges against her palm. His balls were hard and fuzzy, and she reveled in his gasp when she squeezed them and rolled them between her fingers.

He hissed when she touched the head of his cock, much softer than the rest, and feeling daring softly pressed her nail into the slit. In response more white liquid was released, and she used it as lubrication to quicken her strokes.

She took a moment to just feel him and see what he liked best—like pressure on the underside of his thickest vein, and the hint of nails against his delicate head—and then pushed him back onto the bed and crawled over him.

"It's been a while," she warned nervously, still stroking him.

"I get the feeling that you're a fast learner," he grunted, watching her hands.

Rebecca paused, licked her hips, and then dipped her head.

The smell was the first thing that accosted her. It had been so long that she'd forgotten what a man's sex smelled like, all musky and heady, sweaty like spice.

The first press of her tongue against the tip of his cock made both of them shiver.

Rebecca breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent, and with a sharp exhale dragged the flat of her tongue against the underside of Rome's cock. He groaned and she used it as an opportunity to do it again.

It didn't taste bad. Just a bit salty from sweat, and strong from arousal. It was certainly nothing she couldn't handle. That part of herself satisfied, she opened her mouth and took in his head.

Rome twitched as she suckled on it, adjusting to the taste and size. She lowered her head and took him in as far as she could go—which, in her opinion, was pretty damn far considering how long it had been—and then slid back up.

Rome's chest was heaving as he watched her, eyes glazed over in pleasure. Satisfied that she was able to do that to someone like him, who'd probably slept with dozen of girls, Rebecca sunk down again and gave it her all. She hollowed her cheeks and hummed as she sucked him down, and roughly stroked the bits she couldn't reach. Every so often she'd slip her hands between his thighs and play with his balls, enjoying the way his breath would catch each time.

She held his cock in her hands and sucked and licked and nipped at every inch of it, paying special attention to the sensitive underside and head.

She nibbled a little too hard at one point, and immediately backed off at his hiss of pain. In apology she spread his legs and took his balls into her mouth, and suckled and lapped at them until his entire body was trembling with restraint. The sounds of his moans went straight to her cunt, and she squeezed her thighs tightly closed in response.

"How good's your recovery time?" she managed to ask. She lifted herself up again to once more get at his gorgeous cock, and marveled at how much pre-cum he was still leaking.

"Excellent," he said hoarsely, and Rome took that as permission to finish him off.

She took him into her mouth once more, so far that his cock pressed against the back of her throat, and willed herself not to gag. Spit and pre-cum dribbled out of her mouth, making it easier to slide up and down.

She hollowed her cheeks and increased the pressure of her sucking, moving as fast as she was able to. Her jaw ached something terrible, but the tiny gasps he was making motivated her to ignore the pain and finish him off.

She once again fondled his balls, blowing cool air all over dick until he was keening, and finally, when his balls began to draw up and his cock began to pulse, indicating his impending orgasm, Rebecca leaned back and echoed what he'd earlier done to her.

She slapped his cock. Slapped it once, then twice, then again. Slapped it so hard that it hit his stomach with a thump and rebounded to the mattress between his legs.

Rome came with a shout, body arching off the bed as squirt after squirt of his cum landed all over his belly and thighs, all over Rebecca's breasts and hands. She stroked him three more times, trying to prolong his orgasm for as long as she could, before pulling away when he started to twitch.

She watched, smiling, as he struggled to catch his breath and sit up.

"Hi," she parroted, loving the way he eyes lit in remembrance and his lips stretched into a grin.

"Knew you'd be a fast learner," he said breathlessly.

She beamed at him, and then leaned down for a kiss.

They made out for a long time, exploring each other's mouths and lazily groping. By the time Rome finally pulled back one of his hands were in between her thighs, and she herself was groping his bum.

"So that recovery time of yours—" she gasped as he pulled her further down and felt his hardening cock against her sex. The feel of him rubbing against her set her instantly on fire, and she writhed over him, desperate for more.

"Yes?" he asked, eyes half-lidded.

"Never mind," she said, leaning further into him.

"Can I?" he asked.

The tip of his cock pressed hard against her clit and on instinct slid over the place she needed him most. She pushed down and moaned out a desperate "Yes."

The condoms in her clutch purse were forgotten.

***

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