The Waters Know Pt. 01

The Waters Know

"Of all the hotels in the world... you had to be staying at this one, didn't you?"

I didn't mean for it to come out like that -- breathless and sharp -- but there he was. Aeneas. Standing under neon lobby lighting like a mirage I hadn't dreamed up, but remembered all too well.

"Well, if it isn't sweet little Mimi," he said, voice smooth and low -- velvet with a jagged edge.

Don't call me little," I replied flatly, forcing steel into my 40-year-old spine. His smile -- that cocky, knowing curve -- was already awakening emotions that needed to stay put. Caged. Forgotten.

"So," I asked, folding my arms, "what are you doing here?"

"Conference," he said, running a hand through his hair like he knew I was watching. "What's your excuse?"

"Yoga retreat," I muttered, clenching my fist at my side. I hated the way he made me feel -- undone, exposed, like he could still fluently read my body language.

He raised one dark eyebrow. "Still flexible?"

I smiled. "Still arrogant?"

"I don't know why you're being so defensive," he murmured, stepping in just close enough to stir the air between us. "But I do know one thing -- we need to meet up. After you've done all your bending over and I've sat through hours of mind-numbing details I'll forget after my second drink."

He winked. The son-of-a-bitch actually winked.

"Have you been to the spa downstairs?" he added casually, like we were just old friends.

"No, not yet," I said. I remembered scrolling through photos of the place on Instagram, practically drooling over that indoor pool -- fantasizing about floating in its silence, alone.

Now I was fantasizing about something else entirely.

"Tell you what," he said, glancing at his phone. "Let's meet downstairs. Ten-ish?"

I hesitated. "The spa closes at ten."

He leaned in. His breath brushed my ear, making the ends of my hair stand on my neck.

"For others. Not for us."

And with that he was gone.

The hours dragged on painfully. Every minute felt like torture.

I tried to focus on my breathing -- on the calming mantras, the chakras, all that bullshit -- but all I could think about was him. Aeneas. His fucking face. That smile. His hands on my body, ripping me open, fucking me harder than anyone ever had.

I shifted onto the mat, trying to adjust, but I couldn't shake the ache between my legs. My pussy was wet, throbbing, desperate. I couldn't stop thinking about him, about the way he used to fuck me all those years ago like he owned me.

I forced myself to focus, get into a proper downward dog position, but then I remembered: the last time we fucked, I was on all fours screaming, his cock buried deep inside me, his hands pulling my hips into his. The sound of skin slapping against skin. His grunts. His voice. Fuck, the way he'd say my name when he came.

I wasn't thinking about chakras anymore.

I was thinking about the way his cock slid in and out of me, about how he'd take me in every position he wanted, making me feel like I was nothing but his fuck toy.

When I met him, I was in my mid-twenties, thinking I had it all figured out. But sex had been nothing until Aeneas.

I'd been with a guy before him -- some safe, predictable guy who wanted to marry me, act like everything was perfect. But the sex? Boring. No passion. No fire. No real fucking.

Then I met Aeneas. A mutual friend introduced us. He had been moonlighting as a DJ at a bar and once he finished his set, we hung out, talking all night. No sex. Just him, his laugh, his voice -- and me, hanging on every word, every touch, every glance.

But when we finally fucked, it wasn't some gentle, tender thing. It was raw.

He fucked me like a man who had waited too long for something he knew he wanted. He made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment.

When 10 p. m. arrived, I walked down to the spa, and everything about the place felt wrong -- but in the best possible way. The lights were dim, the air thick with heat, and the water in the pool rippled softly, but all I could think about was Aeneas (or Neas as I called him) waiting for me.

I'm not sure what I expected from him -- maybe just a drink, a little more conversation -- but the second I saw him, I knew exactly what was going to happen.

He was standing by the pool, his suit jacket thrown over a chair, sleeves rolled up, confidence radiating off him like electricity. His eyes locked with mine, dark, dangerous, hungry.

I knew that look very well -- the look of a man who was ready to take what he wanted, and he wanted me.

"Thought you'd back out," he said, voice low, mocking, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Why? I'm not scared of you," I snapped, my voice coming out shakier than I liked.

He chuckled, stepping closer, the air around us crackling with tension. "Is that so, Mimi?"

Before I could answer, he was on me, hands gripping my arms, pulling me into him. His lips crashed into mine, hard, demanding. I didn't fight it. I was starving for him. My body arched into his, hungry for that touch I'd missed too long.

"You're fucking mine tonight," he growled.

I wanted to play it hard to get and tell him I wasn't some toy, but I couldn't find the words. All I could do was nod as he kissed me again, deeper, harder, his tongue sucking on mine.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, making my stomach twist in anticipation.

I peeled off every item of clothing until I was standing naked in front of him.

He pointed at a lounge chair.

"Lie down and spread your legs," he commanded.

I quickly settled on the lounge chair, meekly spreading my legs. He stepped back for a moment, grabbing the whiskey glass that had been sitting on the ledge of the pool. He swirled it in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light. His eyes remained fixed on my naked body as he took a sip, savoring the burn.

"I told you to spread your legs. Fucking open up for me," he roared, his eyes darkening. "Wider!"

I obeyed, spreading my legs. Then, without hesitation, he spread my pussy folds, slowly pouring the whiskey into my hot pink flesh, the cold sting of the liquid making me gasp. It wasn't the whiskey that made my pussy burn, though. It was the anticipation. The need for his mouth to be right where the whiskey had formed a pool.

"Don't move."

I tried to catch my breath and do as he instructed. I opened my legs wider for him, showing him just how much I needed this. He slid his fingers into me, slowly at first, but then harder, deeper. My body arched into his touch, desperate for more.

His fingers worked me like he had all the time in the world, pushing me to the edge, the whiskey making everything feel sharp, intoxicating, and raw. I could feel the pressure building, my walls tightening around his fingers.

Then he pulled his fingers out, and I whimpered, begging him to slide them back in me. But he didn't. Instead, he positioned himself between my legs, lowering his head, and I felt the heat of his mouth on me. His tongue flicked against my clit, teasing, drawing circles that had me trembling with ecstasy.

He didn't stop. He licked me like he was tasting every inch of my skin, every drop of me. The sensation was overwhelming, my body shaking, my mind spinning. His tongue flicked harder, faster, and then, just as I was about to come, he spilled the remaining contents of the glass over my wet folds and began drinking the whiskey straight out of my pussy, the taste of it mingling with me, his mouth pulling at me, sucking every drop until I was coming apart. My body jerked as I came in his mouth, the force of it making me gasp and cry out.

I didn't know if I was screaming, but I didn't care. I was lost -- lost in the way he devoured me, like he couldn't get enough.

He stood up, looking down at me, his lips stained with whiskey and my cum. I was still panting as he pulled me upright into a sitting position and muttered, "Your turn, Mimi."

I didn't need any instruction. I moved quickly, tearing off his clothes, sucking softly on the tip of his cock just before wrapping my lips around it, taking him deep into my mouth. He groaned, his hand threading into my hair as he started to fuck my mouth. I gagged, but it only made him harder. The sounds of him in my throat -- the wet, slick sounds -- had my pussy fucking dripping all over again. Gently massaging his balls, I tasted his pre-cum, sucking him until his cock was poking the back of my throat.

"Stop!" He growled, pulling his cock out of my mouth and softly slapping me in the face with it. "Get in the water. Now."

I walked toward the pool, my legs trembling with apprehension. The warm water prickled my skin, but it was nothing compared to what was coming. I felt his presence behind me, and then his hands were on my waist, pulling me back into him.

"You want it, don't you?" he whispered, his lips grazing my ear.

"I want it," I breathed, not caring that my dignity was out the window.

He pushed me against the edge of the pool, the water lapping against us as his cock pressed between my thighs.

"Then take it." He positioned himself behind me, and with one brutal thrust, he was inside me. Deep. Hard.

I gasped at the abruptness, my hands slamming against the edge of the pool as he fucked my pussy from behind. He pulled my hair back, his mouth on my neck, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as his hips slammed into mine, his cock hitting me in places that made my whole body shake.

He started moving, violently and fast, not giving me a chance to catch my breath. His hands gripped my hips, his thrusts deepening as if he were punishing me. Every stroke sent a shock through me, his cock crashing into me, his balls slapping against my ass. I couldn't hold back the moans as this unspeakable desire dangerously tiptoed between the threshold of pleasure and pain.

"Tell me you want me, Mimi," he snarled, his lips brushing my ear as he fucked me harder. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Neas," I gasped, barely able to speak, my body trembling, on the edge.

He didn't stop. Even as I cried out his name. He was relentless, taking me, using me like a whore, and I couldn't get enough. Every thrust felt like he was claiming me -- marking me.

I was his, and he and I both knew it.

And then, just as he was working my clit and G-spot, I lost it. My body went stiff as the orgasm flooded over me, my pussy clenching around him. I screamed out, my voice echoing in the empty pool area.

Aeneas showed no signs of slowing down. He kept fucking me through my orgasm, through my screams, his pace increasing, the water splashing around our bodies. Finally, with one last, deep thrust, he buried his head in my neck and came, his cock twitching inside me, filling me with everything I'd been craving.

He pulled out slowly, kissing the back of my neck, my body still trembling as he nuzzled against my ear.

"You're fucking mine," he whispered. And in that moment, I didn't need to argue. He was right.

I was his and his alone.