The fall leaves in shades of decay blew haphazardly around her as she stood wrapped in a bulky sweater that was almost a bathrobe. The bright sun warmed her skin, but was unable to scorch her flesh like it would have just months before. She could feel the weight of lust calling for her and it settled low in her belly with a twist and groan she couldn’t control. The need burned in her veins and she couldn’t wait any longer. Shoulders squared and settling into her posture of power, she stepped forward into the authority of the task she was born to fulfill. She walked into the coffee shop and the smell of coffee with the thick sounds of burdened metal, heavy, hissing . . . frothing milk couldn’t mask the immediate attention she felt from every person in the small shop with old faded wood and bright blue Fiestaware decor. The smell of the shop masked the smells of the rose oil, fresh marjoram and basil that made her smell like she spent all day in the garden.
She saw him before he saw her. He was sitting alone with a mug of tea in his hands and a day weary slouch that spoke of stress, disappointment and anxieties crashing solidly over and through him. His phone was face down next to him, like he didn’t want to know who would need him, but was too obligated to his duties to disregard his electronic leash entirely. She could see he just ran a race and came out the winner, unaware of what he was running for. There was little value in his accomplishments.
She stood in line to order her coffee. Walking slowly, to see him watching her, she stood at the island and added cream and sugar. He was still watching her with sidelong glances so she made her way to his table and stood before him. He looked up at her, mouth slightly agape, not understanding why she would be right in front of him when there were several empty chairs at lonely tables.
“Do you mind if I join you? There’s something about your face that feels like home and this city feels so . . . “
“Isolating,” he finished.
She ran a hand through her loose auburn curls and said, “yeah, and big. I feel small and sometimes it helps to be next to a solid person instead of isolated in the glass screen of my phone.”
His eyes and a nod gave her permission and she pulled her chair out, settling in and closer to him than the chair originally sat. They enjoyed the silence and she made a show of blowing on her huge mug of coffee that looked like it could have been a small bowl of soup and sipped carefully while he assessed her. She could see his energy rebirthed in the power of her gaze. He was no longer slouching in defeat, but sitting up and thinking of the best way to ask her out. It wasn’t like business. In his office, he is an embodiment of control. He commands it and it’s surrendered easily. This little kitten just wandered over and he was worried about pushing her.
“I’m Charlie,” he said as he leaned toward her.
“The pleasure is mine, Charles.” It was a confession uttered into her cup and it couldn’t mask her blush. That delicious color in her cheeks conjured darker images for poor Charlie and She could sense it. He began to smile stupidly, unaware of the sorrow it brought her.
She rested her mug on the table and curled her right leg under her as she began to flip and twist her hair into a messy bun, feeling his gaze appreciate the press and stretch of her blouse against her breasts. She waited until he was looking at her face, and smiled at him before saying, “I’m Brielle. How cold is your tea?”
“It’s a bit icy. You’re perceptive,” he said. He hadn’t even noticed it had gotten cold on him until just before she stood before him.
“My coffee is too hot, and I really don’t need the caffeine. Were you busy? I wouldn’t mind hanging out and not sipping this over-roasted brew while we do it.”
He looked at her, realizing he didn’t have to ask her out. He finally saw that she had chosen him. He looked at her petite frame and long legs and knew she would follow him to his place. Without a word, he reached for her hand and paused long enough to feel how small it was in his hand before leading her down the street to his house.
Once inside, Brielle slowly removed her sweater and let it fall to the floor. She could see the look on his face shift from an excited little boy, to anticipatory fear. She could feel his emotions flooding through him and he was about to lose his nerve.
“So tell me about what you do when you aren’t sitting in coffee shops, smiling at lonely girls,” she asked. Carefully, she unwound her hair from the bun it was in and set her hair free over her shoulders.
“I’m in finance. Acquisitions,” he shrugged his shoulders and she licked her lips.
“So you play with important things and you take what you want. Sounds fun. I can get into that idea,” she said. She could see his uncertainty shift with the talk of his work and she pressed on. “I bet you’re the one in charge too, aren’t you? I could see you telling people what to do. I could see people eager to please you.” Not here, she thought. “Does it ever get old? Do you ever want to give up that control?” And just as quickly, he was lost in her gaze, not knowing he was losing to her power.
In the moment of his hesitation, she stepped toward him in a kiss of exploration that slowly took more than he gave. His balance shifted and he began to sway in her arms. She wrapped herself around him and her right hand slipped up to run curious fingers through his hair, only to grab a fistful, snapping his head back and exposing his neck for a gentle nip of grazing teeth. Her left hand lightly scratched his shirt in a hungry grasp so she could feel the muscles of his chest. She was grateful for the hair she felt because she couldn't understand the concept of manscaping. She wanted to see his skin and feel the hair all over his body. He was glorious in his response to her.
He stupidly forced her hand to his rising reaction and she stepped back, washing him in the cold of the room without her touching his skin.
"Sorry love, this isn't your board room. You get to pay for your naughtiness here. Hands and knees. I want you to show me you know how to be the dog you are."
He watched her in silent obedience as she kicked off her boots, and slowly unzipped her jeans. She removed her shirt, slowly. . . Button by button, exposing the satin bodysuit she wore underneath.
"Don't look at me. You don't have permission. Not until I make you my bitch." She rested a bare foot between his shoulder blades and the action was met with his sharp intake of breath. She felt powerful.
"This is so hot. I can't believe-"
"Shut up, Charles. No one asked and I really don't care."
She kneeled behind him and mounted his body like a dominant dog, and thrusted him solidly against herself, holding him by the hips. At his moan of acquiescence, she slapped his butt, grabbing a handful before a second slap and stood up. She told him to strip to nothing. He obeyed quickly, nervously.
In his nakedness, she pulled him in for a deeper kiss, unleashing the power of a famished succubus, draining him with each kiss, mounting his body and riding him . . . leaving bite marks and kissing bruises into his flesh before leaving him desiccated and frail, but happy.