Her trust means everything to me. The way she stands naked in the centre of the hotel room, arms voluntarily behind her back as I circle; a shark taking in every nuance of beauty I long to devour. The cascade of chestnut locks cover her breasts at the front and brush the midpoint of her spine between the vee her arms make, hands clasped. Her wedding band glints in the lamplight, a stark reminder of stakes long forgotten.
A whisper below her fingertips, the arc of her bottom begins. Sculpted perfection. The succulent orbs she has allowed me to mark in the past swoop to the tantalising crease where they join her toned thighs. And between their convergence, the faintest gap; a keyhole that unlocks the woman beneath the mask she wears for her husband.
I twitch beneath my suit at recollections of nights lost in her embrace. Breathless kisses, hands tearing at clothes. Her head lolling as I bite her neck and throat, tugging that glorious waterfall of hair, fingers squeezing, pinching, exploring, working south over fiery skin to find that beautiful gap. I always surge when she melts in my grasp as I swab wet heat from her cleft and feed it back to her parted mouth, sating that salacious appetite.
Her legs are impossibly soft yet firm. Supple to the eye, sinewy and muscular beneath. Strong and powerful on the occasions I let her take control. Let her straddle me and squeeze. Crawl over me. Tease me with her arousal and pin me down, crushing her wetness to my face, forcing every lap and lick, touch and nip that propel her towards completion.
There's only one thing more exciting than her owning me. Her surrender. When she places trust entirely in my hands. When I treat her to a foot massage, her sighs driving me further. To lift her toes to my lips and swirl my tongue over them, taking each one into my warm mouth to suck. Lick. Nibble. Circle her ankles with my thumbs, sweep them up her legs and journey the remainder of her body, charting it with fingertips and tongue to learn more about her without words.
But all that lies hidden. Solely for me to discover. Her surface is pure.
Innocence displayed.
Circling fully, I stand before her. Watch her chest rise and fall. Know her eyes are on my actions as I shuck off my jacket and toss it to the bed. Reach to unfurl the necktie that has bound her countless times as I tease her limber frame to the edge of its capacity for pleasure, then break through that barrier and take her further than she considered possible.
I drop the tie at her feet. Take in her expression. Cheeks lightly flushed. Lips that know so much sin. Hungry blue eyes that follow from button to button as I unsnap the white shirt at a tantalising, slow pace until I peel the garment from my body and dangle it in front of her. My clean, musky, scent invades her senses before I flick the material behind me to billow to the floor.