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Didn't he know?
By
RebeccaCatherine

Didn't he know?

Didn't he know we'd already met.

Didn’t he know that I was standing beside him on the tube? Yes, that was me, the redhead just on his left. Yes, the one he bumped into and then apologized to without actually looking at my face. I guess the blouse was a little too daring, the stares from the people on the street when I left my apartment block this morning should have prompted me to go back and get changed, but here I am, sitting beside him at a bar that we both just happened to walk into.

God he used the cheesiest chat up line I doubt there’s a girl in the whole of the world who hasn’t heard that one “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” his eyes twinkle as he says it. I think he expects me to laugh. He has the most wonderful eyes, so dark that they’re almost black, but then the brightest flecks of green catch the light and it’s almost like there are fireworks there. I humor him and then turn back to my drink.

“You know, you seem familiar,” he says, attracting my attention back to him. I look up, aiming for an interested smile.

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” I say, refusing to count this morning’s tube incident as a meeting since he spent the majority of our very short exchange staring at my breasts. Yes, I did notice, but, to be honest, I know his type and he probably couldn’t care less. I’d normally avoid guys like him. He’s about twenty-eight or thirty years old, but he looks good, too good for his own good, tall, black hair and chiseled cheekbones and facial features, but what can I say? I’m feeling daring tonight.

“Hmm… I’m Sam Watkins,” he says, taking a card out of his wallet and handing it to me. I smile and accept the small cream square of card. His name is written in an elegant font and underneath it ‘Managing Director at Dionysus Technologies’, underneath that are two telephone numbers, a mobile and presumably an office.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Watkins,” I smile, placing the card down by my glass. I extend my hand to him “I’m Sophia James,” his hands are large. I like men with large hands.

“It is lovely to meet you, Miss James,” he replies, holding my hand for just a slight moment too long. His eyes sparkle with something close to mischief. “So what is such a beautiful woman doing out by herself on a Friday night?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not about to get jumped by a jealous boyfriend or fiancé am I?” he asks, looking around.

“No, no, Mr Watkins, you’re perfectly safe,” I reply, laughing at yet another cliché. “No, the question is where is your partner, surely a man like you has an attachment somewhere? I’m not looking for a cat fight tonight,” I answer, leaning back on my bar chair and sipping at the remainder of my drink, maintaining eye contact with him. He smiles dashingly.

“Well, wouldn’t you know, I’m just like you, living the simple life of a bachelor,” he replies, leaning closer to the bar and gesturing to the barman for another round including my drink in the order.

“Thank you very much, Mr Watkins,” I say, blushing lightly.

“Now, Miss James. I wouldn’t go making assumptions here, but it is a Friday night. We’re both alone and I have a feeling you are looking out for some fun tonight. Would I be wrong?” he says, watching my face carefully. I smile.

“You know, I was thinking the same thing. I’m feeling daring tonight,” I reply, crossing my legs and turning to the barman as he hands me my vodka and lemonade. I smile in thanks before returning my attention to his face.

“You know, Miss James, I think you and I could get on very, very well,” he says, taking a long drink from his glass. I run my foot up his leg gently and he stiffens across from me. He hadn’t expected that. “Miss James, might I enquire as to your age?” he asks, leaning still closer and placing a large hand on my knee. It inches up slightly under the high hem of my skirt.

“I’m twenty-four, but I like an older man, Mr Watkins. I’m not accustomed to going home with strangers, but I can only agree we probably would get on… extremely well,” I tease, swallowing the rest of my drink in one go.

“Well, Miss James, I am not one to turn down the desires of a lady,” he murmurs, letting his hand glide still further up my leg. I let out a stuttering sigh as his fingers brush the already moist surface of my underwear beneath my skirt.

“Your place or mine?” I ask, gripping his wrist before he can get any higher in public.

“I live on the next street,” he answers, withdrawing his hand from my leg.

“Yours then,” I murmur, picking my bag up off of the bar beside me. He drops a £20 note on the counter and the barman nods. He slips down from his barstool first and, as I step down, his hands come around my waist to steady me and then we sweep out of the bar without a second glance.

As he guides me along the street, arm around my waist, my heart begins to hammer. Little does he know I’ve never done this before and not only is it thrilling, but it’s also terrifying. Casual sex is not generally what I look for, but this might just be something I need. His hand is hot and insistent on my spine. We hurry across the pavement to his home, a large townhouse on the edge of Piccadilly Circus. He leads me up the stairs to the front door and pushes a key into the lock. The lock clicks back and before I even know what’s happened his lips are on mine and the door is slammed behind us. His ferocity is terrifying at the beginning until I warm up to his tempo. I’ve never had a man react so quickly to me before.

His hands run through my hair, pushing it away from my face, before coming to rest, one at the nape of my neck and the other at the base of my spine. I shudder against him, winding my arms up over his powerful shoulders. He presses me back against the nearest wall and I hear my handbag fall to the ground. I can feel the power of his body even beneath his clothes and it makes me want him more. I pull at the tie around his neck and finally throw it away from him before proceeding to undo his stubborn shirt buttons. I struggle for a moment before he stops and pushes my hands away, tearing at the expensive looking shirt and shrugging both that and his black jacket onto the cool marble floor.

He crushes his lips back to mine, but undoes the buttons of my own blouse with nimble and skilled fingers. I wonder, momentarily, how often he’s done this before, but soon dismiss it from my mind as, suddenly his large, firm hand clasps around my left breast and I gasp against his mouth. He groans into my mouth and I feel his tongue tangle with mine, battling together.

He drags his lips away and kisses down my throat. “I… know… where… I… saw you.” he murmurs, lifting me further up so I’m closer to his height. I wrap my legs around his hips.

“Uh huh.”

“How could I forget these?” he murmurs, pulling away the pale cream lace of my bra after undoing the clasp and pressing his face to my right breast, pulling my already taut and humming nipple between his lips. My neck arches away from him and my fingers tangle tightly into his hair, pulling him closer at the sudden jolts of pleasure that rush through my body then straight to my already soaking channel, which tingles and quivers with anticipation.

“You never… did say… sorry… to… my… face,” I gasp, trying to be cynical, but losing all hope as heat floods through me. I feel him chuckle breathlessly though.

He pulls me away from the wall and through a doorway to our left, breaking contact with my breast for just long enough that I can survey my surroundings. The room is a living room, dark and bold, lacking in personal touches that you would find in my apartment. The perfect bachelor pad I suppose.

He sets me down on one of the large, black fabric couches and then kicks off his shoes and socks before returning to me. I feel my shoes slide from my feet and hit the floor as his lips press back to mine. His hands play at the fastening at the side of my skirt until I feel it come loose. He pulls it away and I raise my knees so he can slide it off with ease. Once again, my unskilled fingers trip over the fastenings of his trousers. I get the zip down, but his belt proves impossible until his hands brush mine away once more and undo it in no time at all.

“You really don’t do this much do you?” he asks, kneeling beside me and sweeping his eyes across my body. He groans and slides his hand across my left leg and between my thighs.

“It’s not my norm.” but my sentence is cut short as his fingers slide under my pants and into the pooling heat between my thighs. I moan loudly and writhe up from the couch until his other hand presses down on my tummy keeping me still and I watch as he pulls me around and lowers his face to my thighs. I shudder as he kisses my inner thighs on both sides. I feel him smile against my skin before, ever so lightly, pressing his lips to the desperately trembling centre.

Bolts of the purest, most painful pleasure shoot through my body, sending my heartbeat skywards and my mind reeling. I almost lose it there. It’s been such a long time that I doubt, with the level of pleasure he is causing me, I’ll be able to hold on much longer. I grip hold of the fabric of the couch, holding it tightly between my fingers, trying to hold onto reality as his tongue teases me. It’s evident he’s done this before; he knows how to drive a woman wild.

It isn’t until his tongue touches the sensitive bud there that I scream out, but still my orgasm doesn’t come. He smiles once more against me and I open my eyes to look down at him, pleading in my eyes. His eyes glitter with a strange mixture of desire and mischief that, in any other situation would be disconcerting. “I’m not sending you over quite yet.” he murmurs, pulling his face away. I moan in frustration as he stands up before me.

I gasp at the magnificence of him. His cock is rigid and dark, larger than anything I’ve ever had before. I reach out to touch it and my hand appears small against it. He shudders for a moment as I run my hand along his shaft, feeling his ridges and pulsating veins against the palm of my hand. I see a drop of moisture forming at his tip and I lean forward, watching his face as my tongue sweeps out to collect it. His eyes close and a slow rumble escapes through his lips.

He tastes salty; it’s not an unpleasant taste. I dip my head slightly, taking the bulbous head of his cock between my lips and sucking. He winds his fingers into my hair and lays a gentle pressure on the back of my head, but I won’t let it guide my movements too far. I take him an inch at a time, slowly and carefully using my tongue to trace the dips and ridges of his magnificent cock. I cup his balls in my right hand as I push my mouth as far as I can onto his huge cock. I feel him throb in my mouth and he groans above me. A second later he drags his cock from my mouth and pushes me back onto the couch, looking at me with burning lust in his dark eyes.

Before I even know what’s really happened he’s retrieved a condom from the cabinet beside the couch, torn the wrapper and slipped it on to the monster between his thighs. I open my legs for him, already feeling my heart beating faster and faster with anticipation.

“Be gentle. I haven’t done this in a while.” I say and he lines himself up with me.

He looks at me, not a hint of humor in his eyes “I’m not sure if that’s possible.” before pushing his whole length inside me with hardly a moments pause.

My hands grip his shoulders and my short nails scrape thin lines over his shoulders and upper chest as his cock fills me to overflowing. I scream out in a mixture of joy and pain. I can hear him above me, breathing hard. “Miss James-“

“Sophia, my name is Sophia.” I gasp, opening my eyes again.

“Sophia, I need to fuck you hard. I have to, there’s no other way.”

“Go, go, go!” I say, gripping hold tighter and watching his eyes as he pulls out slowly at first and then begins his onslaught. I scream as he hammers into me, gripping my thighs tightly and pulling my left nipple between his lips. He bites down and I scream again, wrapping my legs around him as his huge cock slides in an out of me with such dangerous abandon that I fear, any moment now, I could die from the pleasure of it.

My pleasure builds still more until, like watching a glass full to the brim take one last drop of water, the hot, burning lava inside me spills over and I convulse painfully around him, arching from the couch and tightening my hold on him. He roars above me and pumps harder just twice more before I feel him expand inside me, stretching me even further as he comes.

It is a good few moments before I manage to come back down to earth. He pulls out of me and steps away, peeling the used condom off and wrapping it in a tissue before tossing it in the waste paper bin on the other side of the room. I don’t understand how he can possibly still be standing after that. I tremble with aftershocks of my orgasm and can hardly move. I’ve never been so satisfied in all my life until he drops onto the sofa beside me and pulls me to his chest.

When I wake the next morning I find myself in a bedroom. Beside me is the man from last night, Mr Watkins. I look at him; his dark eyes are closed now in sleep. His hair is tousled and he looks younger than he had last night, closer to twenty-five. He’s just as beautiful, yet, in the cold light of day, I find myself regretting what I did last night. What we did last night. I slip out carefully from under the sheets not wanting to jostle him into waking. I creep out of the room, looking back at him as I leave. I pull the door to and move silently across the upper landing of the town house he brought me to last night. I can see, not too far away from me, the staircase that will lead me back downstairs. When I reach the top of the stairs I can see our scattered clothes still lie where they fell. I go into the living room to find my underwear, but only find my bra. I snap it on and then pull on my skirt before picking up my shoes. I’d hate to make a noise in my heels before I managed to make my clean-cut exit. I snatch up my blouse and button it up, tucking it into my skirt. I snatch up my handbag last and then look about me.

 

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