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He slipped his free hand under her thigh and lifted her slightly and pressed himself into her, losing himself in her molten heat. He could feel her stretching to accommodate him and he set a rhythm that would have matched the pulsating beat of the music at the club. He tasted and teased all the skin he could reach with his mouth as they flexed together. He knew he was being rough and bruising, but the look of bliss on her face let him know she was enjoying it. He also knew that he wasn’t going to be able to survive for long, too many hours of visual foreplay had had him on the edge all night.
He could feel her tightening around him and she was moaning out demands of more and harder, things he was more than happy to oblige. A high pitched tone over took her voice and she screamed his name as the orgasm ripped through her body. The feeling was incredible and all he could do was ride the wave and watch. And ride he did. And watch. He watched as the pleasure that was so acute that it bordered on pain made her skin flush and her eyes glaze and roll back, and made her lips keep forming his name long after she lost the ability to speak.
He could feel his release building; his whole body was tensing and straining to reach it. She turned her head slightly and breathed fired in his ear as she tormented him further by telling him that it was her turn to watch. He bruised her mouth with a fierce kiss silencing her and his hand holding up her arms stretched her higher, changing all of the angles and making her gasp for breath. His hand on her thigh was leaving marks but neither of them cared. He gripped that soft flesh roughly and took what he wanted, he pushed and stretched her.
And when his body exploded he was looking directly in her eyes. Because he wanted to watch her watch him.
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After that first time, it didn’t become something they did all of the time. But occasionally he would catch a gleam in her eyes as she swayed along to the obnoxious music blaring from the cd player near her desk or she would catch a glimmer in his eye as he admired the view she presented in her barely-there skirt of the day. And their eyes would meet and a tiny nod of acknowledgment would confirm that game was on for that night.
It wasn’t always the same club, but they had their favorites. And no one questioned the silver-haired man in sunglasses sipping his bourbon and watching the dance floor like he owned the place. And no one questioned when he would give a little jerk of his head and they would meet in a dark corner of the club and he would pin her to the wall to remind her who she was going home with, no matter whose hands were on her as she danced.
She learned after the first night and started keeping a change of clothes at his house because his discovery of her particular hidden kink had left her panties unwearable on the floor of his front hall and she had decided that she would sacrifice her entire wardrobe as an offering to him if he would just do it again. And again.
His and hers, complimentary kinks. Hidden, unless you knew were to look. Where to watch.
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Finishing off his drink he crooked a finger to his prey on the dance floor and headed for the balcony stairs. They had a cab to catch.
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The End.
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