It’s a couple weeks before we have bathroom sex.
“I know what you should do you should quit your job and be a full-time writer.” He says, on a video call.
Then he apologizes for using the word “should” and telling me what to do.
“I love it when you tell me what to do.” I reply, sexily.
Usually this is a line I give him in response to his commands when we are working together and I try to take it dirty.
“Act professional.” he’ll say, smirking.
“I love it when you tell me what to do.” I retort.
But I do, love it. And in this case, I hadn’t gotten that far in my thinking.. I was still living into being a millionaire, and hadn’t gotten to “what would you do if someone gave you a million dollars”. I was enjoying the feeling. Savoring the freedom of being out of debt and over responsibility.
I mean, my parents just died. Not at all thinking about change. Until he said that and of course I instantly realized he was right.
And that it made absolutely no sense to do anything else. He had logiced out the path to its conclusion on my behalf, and then bashfully apologized for it.
That’s him. The Hot Bulgarian Coworker. His powerful mind and his open heart.
I want to touch him. All the time. I want to cling to him. Can see though that it’s not for him. Thinking about the way he says things to me and the questions he asks me makes me wet and makes my clit tingle. I fucking love this guy. Absolutely.
And when I tell him the honest truth about why I’m in Barcelona, again, he doesn’t balk. I was supposed to be here for my favorite lover. But that relationship has ended and now I am still stuck with expensive plane tickets and visiting a city that spells his name to me. I want to get the taste of him out of my mouth, and I invite my Hot Bulgarian Coworker with benefits to share time and the rental with me, finally, he accepts.
I do not quit my job and pursue writing full time. Not yet. But I do take the week off. So does he.
I note that when we are not coworkers, we have a different dynamic. It’s more free and broader, and I like it for that. But it’s not as “naughty” to be hooking up with him when we’re not actively both being in the same work environment, so it takes some of the steam off the sexual tension, for me, at least.
Certainly he’s still hot.
Homeboy is legit worried about messing up the sharp, white sheets. Everything in the place we are staying is white.
I, on the other hand, would be just as happy to turn it into a crime scene – even though it is my information they have on file.
We indirectly discuss it for a while before laying down to share a bed for sleep. We tried to sleep together once or twice in Bulgaria, but never quite went the full night. He’s a thrasher. He does everything loud in sleep that one could. Grinds his teeth. Thrashes. Talks. Moans. He is not a good sleeper.
But now we will try, sweetly and innocently, to snuggle up to one another and fall asleep. I throw my leg over his. Place my head on his chest. We lie there silently. Aiming for sleep.
My hips move outside of my control. Caressing him with each breath. I haven’t seen him in weeks and the magnetism is thick and powerful. I try to calm down, and do. He lies stick still.
Minutes go by.
“Do you want to have sex in the bathroom?” he asks.
I consider bathroom sex for a moment. I’m annoyed at the control he has. I want him to tear my clothes off and cover the room with bloody handprints. I want him to snack on my pussy like raw meat. He isn’t that way. He’s often looking for a reason to hold back. Perhaps if he didn’t he’d explode into psychosis. Who am I to judge?
I am judging. But I’m also dripping wet and feel my pussy throbbing with need. Bathroom sex?
A devastatingly gorgeous Slavic man more than fifteen years my junior is so hot for me that he still wants me even though I’m bleeding hard and he is uncomfortable with that. My expectations of him are too high. He wants me. This is enough.
“Yes.” I consent to bathroom sex.
We run for the bathroom, pulling the blanket onto the floor and knocking over the lamp on our way.
It’s a small, narrow space. A toilet at one end, a sink in the middle, a shower at the other. There isn’t much to work with here. We throw off our clothes. I feel exposed. The lights are harsh on the white tiles. I am shy and scared he won’t like what he sees, but try not to show it.
Before he was trepidation and caution. Now that’s lost. He grabs me powerfully and pulls me to him for deep kisses. His tongue snaking into my mouth, filling me. Breath pushed out of us, I feel faint and relax into him, his rock solid arms supporting my weight. One hand cupping my ass. I reach for his broad shoulders, kneading them until his grip loosens. I need him.
Crossing my legs I whip myself around facing away from him and bend forward. He catches my intent forthwith and tears open a condom with his mouth, unrolling it onto himself. I buck my hips into him to back him up further so I can bend lower as he thrusts into me from behind.
I expect him to do what most men would during bathroom sex. Look at the ceiling while placing their hand on my lower spine. Pound me quick and hard while pretending I am someone else and that they are somewhere else.
He bends forward over me. His tight chest on my back. Long arms around me. Everything hangs in front of me. My breasts. My belly. Loose and soft. He gathers me. Grabs handfuls. Scoops my front, shaping me, squeezing me, plying me. Armfuls of softness and his dick throbs inside me. It is intimate and close.
My back arches, head thrown back, cheek to cheek with him. Breath syncs, dogged and ragged. He bites my jawline, pulling the flesh from me. He’s anything but a tease. I have no idea if he will break skin. If he will hurt me.
I love this about him. Deep trust in him, but I’m never sure if his lust is murderous or sexual. Or both.
He makes love with presence, yet he’s a fucking savage.
My balance suffers. I put one hand on the edge of the sink, cool porcelain, the other bracing against the glass door of the shower. Try to buck back into him, hard and fast. I’m numbed out by my period and need extra to feel him. He won’t have it, his arms pulling me closer and tighter to prevent me from driving into him. He swivels his cock into me, twisting slightly in his stroke.
I squeeze his cock with all my might. A surprised laugh escapes him. My pussy is puffy and full. Of him. Of blood. Inside and outside. Splattering the tile and coating his dick. His hands and arms part in front of me, one of them wrapping around my hips, the other my ribcage. He lifts me into his cock. Slowly. Precisely. Rhythmically pushing me against him and himself into me.
I feel used and acknowledged at the same time. It’s fucking hot. I hallucinate. I hear drums. Chanting. The crack of lightning.
His head turns to the side and rests against me. I can feel pricks of his stubble between my shoulder blades.
“I’m coming.” he gasps, without breaking his stride. No last minute desperate thrusts. No awkward faces, just his breath. And mine.
Everything disappears as I feel him twitching inside of me through the walls of my cunt into my clit. He lets out a grunt which sounds distinctly Bulgarian to me and I shiver with desire and pleasure.
He pulls out and sees just how bloody I got him.
“Wow.” he says, looking down, and chuckles, pulling me into the shower. We clean up from bathroom sex and are off to bed. For the first time I’ve witnessed, he sleeps calmly and long.