OSL: Caroline

by bluedragon

Copyright© 2016 by bluedragon

Romantic Sex Story: Our Adrienne and her Caroline. Their tale's resolution once recorded in another's story. Their affair undefined. Our Adrienne lost to New York. An appetite unbridled, needs still tender. Her Caroline courted a dream; discovered the woman to hold.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic Reluctant Lesbian Vignettes Rough Light Bond Group Sex Orgy First Oral Sex Masturbation Sex Toys Exhibitionism Big Breasts 2nd POV .

The following is a side-story within the Ordinary Sex Life series written by an anonymous author. It takes place concurrently with the events of "An Ordinary College Sex Life 2" and "An Ordinary College Sex Life 3". Familiarity with the series is not required, but helpful in understanding Adrienne Dennis and where she comes from.

I was at my desk the first time I saw you. That first glimpse only that, a glimpse. Your golden blonde hair catching the corner of my eye as you drifted across the doorway. I turned to see.

But you'd already gone.

Were you real? If not, if you were a mere product of my imagination, I missed my calling as an artist. Your golden eyes, your high cheekbones, your perfect luscious body that moved with such confidence and purpose. Years of working within the fashion machine left me numb to stunning beauty rendered routine. You'd reawakened my cynical senses. Simple lust quashed by an unyielding need to worship you.

But you'd already gone.

I'd soon learn your name, as would the world. The inevitability of your ascent making fools of those who still quarrel over the title of The One Who Discovered Adrienne Dennis. Your image graced magazines and catalogues, your glory confined only by lingerie and swimsuits. First as a shining light among the lesser beauties buried in the middle and back. Moments later, featured on covers.

I kept them all.

I stepped from the ladies' room the second time I saw you. The thrill of being in your presence mingled with the humiliation caused by the self-evidence of my business within. Unnoticed beside you stood my editor. Fresh from Sports Illustrated, you'd now grace the pages of Vogue. The honor of arranging your shoot falling to me.

You knew my name.

Days later we met for lunch to confer on our mutual business. Sleep eluded my nights as endless points of inspiration swirled before my eyes. By day I discarded my vision in the burdensome task of making dreams concrete. I had to remind myself to look you in the eyes as I laid out my plans. For your part, I had your full attention.

My eyes rarely your focus.

The shoot went without flaw. If only I could claim credit. Delude myself with the lie that it was my meticulous planning which opened a new dimension of Adrienne Dennis for the world to see. You made magic that day. The heavy makeup and high fashion dress were atypical for this stage of your career. Lingerie, swimsuits, and sex bomb attire had defined your niche. I wished to give you the opportunity to do more. Of course you could. It was easy for you.

You found the sex within.

The shoot matured. The photographer adjusted lenses and themes to match what you were giving him. We broke for lunch. You stripped for your second set of clothes. Expanding your horizons no longer the goal. The back half would be vintage Adrienne Dennis. Your garments light and brief. Spray bottles added an instant sheen. Black and white photography added instant class. Layers came off. Hands became your bra.

Something more was happening.

Your eyes found mine between poses. You caught me enraptured by your grace. Your focus on the camera as you slid into your next stance. You teased me with brief glances at your naked chest. Your demeanor, still intense, took on playful undertones. You allowed the camera to catch it all. You weren't making love to the camera.

You were performing for me.

The photographer called it a day. He could have ended sooner. He would have gone on for hours. The only difficulty choosing which photos to discard. A dinner invitation was extended to thank me. It was still early in the afternoon. The crew looked on with raised eyebrows.

A reputation already preceding you.

We left the building together. A taxi waited outside. You gave directions for your hotel. Within you touched me for the first time. Your fingertips traced my arm. Up and down. Up and down. Sensual and exciting. Gentle and loving.

I was aware of nothing else.

It was in the elevator that you kissed me. No, that is a lie. I kissed you. My tall lean body pinned your voluptuous softness against the wall. My humbled breasts pressed against and eclipsed by yours. I tasted your lips against mine. Surprise filled your golden eyes.

I'd done something unexpected.

You are fantasy made flesh. The faceless shadow I'd dreamed since discovering the beauty of woman as a little girl was given shape the first time I saw you. Your body what I saw as I touched myself late at night. Your face replacing unsatisfying lovers', hurrying me to completion. Entering your room, I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and worship every inch of you.

But you did not wish to be worshipped.

No, my goddess; you wished to take pleasure from my body. And take it you did. The white fire of lust filling your eyes at the sight of my nudity brought forth my first release. How many beyond that is lost forever. I'll never forget that afternoon. Yet there is so much I cannot remember.

How did you know my body so well?

My intentions fell away. Your command of me complete. Your gratification coming only at my point of exhaustion. You directed my pliant mouth to suckle on your physique while I recovered. Prolonging my precious agony your only goal. You took my presumptuous kiss as a challenge.

You took my body as payment.

Rumors of your bottomless sexual appetite. Rumors of your prowess. Rumors of your passion. They floated through the industry air all spring. It was said A.D. didn't stand for Adrienne Dennis. As darkness took me, I sighed one final thought.

"It's true..."

The spray shocked me into full awakening. You'd dragged my half-conscious form in with you to the shower. You held me until I could stand on my own. I held you because I could. The warm water not reaching my soreness. I whimpered as you tried to play one last time.

You giggled at my pain.

You turned me away. You massaged my scalp as you washed my hair. My body lathered up and rinsed free. Your gentleness at odds with the force you displayed in bed. My senses irising into your fingertips. With a moan, I let myself melt into your hands as you pampered me.

You giggled at my pleasure.

I slipped back into clothes for dinner. The hotel's restaurant; your treat. In the elevator, I held you close. In your thrall we continued our mutual caress. The bell of the elevator and doors opening to other patrons woke me to reality. I retreated to the corner of our enclosed box. Whether mindless or mindful of the intruders, of social niceties, of your fame, you retook possession of me with a kiss.

Were you aware of what that did for me?

Seated at our table, I studied the menu. The voice of a young woman asked to serve us. A peek over my menu showed a short, bubbly, curvaceous blonde. My diametric opposite. The knowing look of our waitress confirmation of what I already knew: I wasn't the first. Her lascivious smile conveying that I was being served by one of my predecessors.

Were you aware of what that did to me?

I awoke alone in the unfamiliar suite. If it was disappointing that you'd left me to my slumber, it was not unexpected. You'd warned me as I drifted in your embrace. Your business finished with Vogue, a plane would whisk you off with the morning. Another shoot, another set of professionals hoping to capture your essence, awaiting you at the other end. As I gathered my belongings and completed the checkout a discordant thought noted you were most often seen in New York.

Why a hotel?

The exhilaration of my experience left a feeling that something fundamental had shifted. You were a dream. A dream in which I'd discovered life's solution and everything would forever fit into place. The moment of awakening vivid and, for an instant, everything. Fading to a corner of my memory. Close enough to be aware, but tantalizingly just beyond the edges of conscious thought. Slipping away as I brushed my teeth. As if it never happened.

Yet still called to me.

Weeks passed and normalcy returned with its unsatisfying numbness. My life moved forward. My work continued. I stopped collecting your magazine covers. The point being lost. Women auditioned to hold my hand. Women floated out of my life, their affection not returned.

The point being lost.

A few sought my affection for only a night. These women found their intentions reciprocated. For them, I had use. For a single night, they would be mine. You may not know, but I can be a terribly selfish lover. Always at their place or a hotel, never mine. When finished I left them in their beds and did not turn back.

It was what they wanted.

I found our waitress from that night at a club. The only one I pursued. But still, only for a night. My depravity that evening a source of pride. I did not stop when pleasure blurred into pain. The remembrance of her prurient smile at our table pushed me forward when I should have stopped. She'd never forget that night. It would be I who would haunt her dreams.

Not you.

I tested the limits of her body. Marks were left. Teeth bit into intimate places. When her body finished screaming. When even her moans lacked hope of respite. I stopped. I hadn't kissed her mouth yet. Now compelled forward, curious if I could somehow taste you on her lips. Nothing to be found but my own secretions. I surveyed my conquest as I departed. She cuddled a pillow for comfort to her raw body. Drool and tears did nothing to hide the satisfied smile on her barely conscious face. Disgusted, I left her there.

It was what she wanted.

Nights later another small perky woman shared her warmth. She was not like our waitress. This brunette wanted it soft. I was not soft. She called my name as she climaxed. I had forgotten her name. Or had I ever bothered to learn it? Plucked from the crowd, she a mere fellow traveler on the local indoor track.

Her clandestine charms and willingness my only concern.

At the end of our session I climbed over her body to kiss her as I did our waitress. I would not again be disappointed; this act of intimacy brought with it a revelation. One look into her teary eyes and I saw I'd mistaken her intentions. This wasn't what she wanted.

This one wished to hold my hand.

Shame stayed my exit. I held her as our bodies cooled. I spied her identity from unopened mail while she escaped to her bathroom. Reese was her name. A name I let escape my lips as I gave her the gentle love that she'd asked of me for repayment. When I breathlessly looked into her eyes afterwards, I realized my penance had been much crueler. I saw hope.

Still, I went home.

After Reese, I ceased my predations on our gender. The safety and comfortable numbness their bodies offered stolen from me. The face in the mirror something I could no longer avoid. I reached out to the old friends I'd neglected. I became interested in my coworkers' lives. When women leered at my body, I dismissed them. When I felt a woman's sigh in my presence, I gave them consideration.

That's where I stood when you reentered my life.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen you since that night. You'd been to my office two weeks after our shoot to see the spread and read the print with the crew assigned to you. You were friendly. You were happy to see me. You kissed me on the cheek and paged through the layout. Our meeting would be brief, the changes you sought minor. You had faith in my judgment. With our business was concluded, you left.


This time when I saw you, there was no kiss on the cheek. No happiness at seeing me. I was invisible as you worked the room with the singularity of your charm. You giggled away a friendly chastisement that you'd missed a party thrown by a contributing editor. You were sorry you missed Kerry strike out with another innocent blonde. He asked how you could know, you weren't even there.

"It's the story of every party."

You left soon after. Your purpose another shoot for our magazine, but other models would be involved. It would not be about you. No one would need to work closely with you. You would show up, be professional, and move on to the next set. Your visit was brief out of simplicity.

That's what I believed.

A supermodel cried in the ladies' washroom. You'd made it out of the room, but not out of the building. Could not even make it off the floor. Leaning over the sink, you jumped when I entered. Embarrassed to let others see you in tears. You relaxed as you recognized me as your intruder.

You felt comfortable letting me see ... you.

The woman before me different than the one who'd enthralled the room only minutes prior. Different from the sexual creature in the pages of magazines. Different from the burgeoning legend in the industry. Different from the goddess who seduced me that night.

And yet still the same.

You were Adrienne Dennis. You were in pain. I reached out, the extent of my welcome yet undefined. You embraced my comfort. Laid your head on my shoulder and continued crying. A muffled sob escaped telling me you should be "there". I held you until you stopped. It didn't take long. Your vigilant gaze returning to the door as shortened breaths fought for control.

You always fought for control.

I suggested we move to my office while you composed yourself. You nodded and I checked the hall to see if the route to my office was clear before spiriting you towards it. Hand-in-hand I would lead you to the safety of my private space. As we began our escape I wondered if you remembered the significance of the door we passed through.

This is where we first met.

We talked in my office. Not about the history that left you in your state. I lacked the impudence, if not curiosity, to ask that of you. You would need to pull yourself together for a shoot only hours away and needed distraction. I would be that diversion. Declaring it my lunch hour I sat across from you and ate. You nibbled.

Typical model.

As your distraction, you inquired about my life. I was happy to give you my little biography. You were still pulling yourself together as I told you about my girlhood in Atlanta. My wild days at Mizzou brought a smile to your face. The revelation that we were fellow Tri-Delts brought a moment of sisterhood. The phone buzzed its rude interruption, ruining the story of how I got my dream job straight out of school. I was needed at work.

You no longer needed me.

Composed, you stood in front of me. Your makeup reapplied as my Junior year unfolded. Your shoulders straightened. Puffiness under your eyes the only lingering evidence of your state an hour previous. You thanked me with a kiss on the cheek. Your hazel eyes, ever so full of life, now had a depth to them.

There was a young woman behind the goddess.

Without knocking, my boss slipped into the room. The extra something in your eyes vanished, leaving only the goddess as you turned. You called my boss by his first name and thanked me for lunch as you breezed out of my office and towards the elevator without looking back. Your golden mane and delightful rear attracting eyes as you walked. That glimpse I wondered, the young woman I saw for only a moment. Was she real or imagined?

But you'd already gone.

Your call came as a surprise. Lunch with you at a restaurant down the street as thanks for my help. If it can be believed, I hadn't thought of you much since seeing you the week before. I'd grown reconciled to seeing you flit through the offices. A little ray of sunshine to randomly brighten my days. A perk of my work, but not something to be counted upon. Perhaps someday you might even see me again and take me to your bed.

But not something to could be counted upon.

You were in a corner booth. The clever disguise for your minor celebrity consisting of pulling your hair into a messy bun and slightly less flattering clothing. You hopped up to greet me and relieved any awkwardness at the unexpected turn of my day by blanketing me in small talk and model stories. We had a good time. You kissed me on the cheek and let me go about my day.

Two days later we did it again.

It came to be our irregular routine. Your schedule not allowing you to be around in the early afternoon every day. A couple times a week, the holes in your itinerary let you come to me. Sometimes just to chat, usually to fill my daily break. Always to leave me with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to do it again soon.

I'd have been content to live on those promises.

But everything must progress. You asked if I wished to go to a party with you. I broke out the dress I'd saved and followed you into the night. You introduced me to some of the friends from your stories. Your buoyant introductions easing me into the gorgeous sextet. Some I'd known already. All were friendly.

Some more than friendly.

I let the girls play. I was there for pleasure, their subtle touches quite pleasing. Months had separated me from my misstep with Reese. Letting one of these creatures pamper me for the night sounded lovely. Flirting led to dancing led to bolder displays of affection and dance. When the crystallized euphoria appeared after midnight, I partook. My only indecision being which of your friends to take home.

The Italian beauty Elisabetta won my affection that night.

You were not idle while I molested your friends. Seeing me taken care of, you left me to my fun and sought your own. Always aware of your presence, I watched as you worked the room with ease. Your friends here. Your intimate acquaintances. Your small kingdom represented in this exclusive club.

A brunette by the name of Alessandra hung on your shoulder.

As the night wound down, the question of where to go was raised. My apartment turned out to be closest. Each of us yearning an immediate private sanctuary, in minutes I led us all to my home. A trail of purses, shoes, dresses, but surprisingly few undergarments following us to the bedroom.

Together we tested the limits of my queen bed.

Feminine squeals and scented candles lit my bedroom. Our bodies entangled freely, though we concentrated on our chosen partners. The exception being Alessandra, who either wasn't aware of the unwritten rule of the night or chose to ignore. Her tongue or fingers unfailingly finding my skin at just the right moments. Shrieks and laughter reverberating into Elisabetta's collarbone, my sultry maneuver ruined.

It'd been much too long since this was fun.

We shared only one moment together on that night. Elisabetta pushed me onto my back and disappeared down my body. Alessandra shared the idea and you landed next to me. Our legs crossed as we opened ourselves. For several minutes, we alternated between watching each other cycle through our orgasms. The sight of your release with the aid of my forgotten partner enough to start me on the path to my own which triggered another from you in the most virtuous of cycles. Alessandra reappeared to take your attention.

Your glassy eyes slowly left mine.

You were the last to leave in the morning. The population of my bed dwindling as the lark's song approached. Alessandra sneaking into the night as we slept. Elisabetta stirring me awake as she stretched her morning yawn, your arm still draped around her and reflexively squeezing as you continued your slumber. My whispered offer of breakfast declined in favor of a promise to do this again soon and a cab ride home. Reveling in the weekend's greatest luxury I let myself fall back to sleep.

Naked in the night, with no one now between us.

I opened my eyes to find you watching my slumber. Sometime earlier, my drowsy brain informed me someone (you) reached out and held me. There was something more than lust or friendship in the way you looked at me. I'd caught you unguarded. Terror, blankness, and finally casual mirth settled across your face. You called me "sleepyhead" and bid me awake as you fled to the bathroom. Questions of what it meant on my lips.

But you'd already gone.

The you that was my friend reappeared in my living room. The you that invited me to lunch and brightened my days. That bubbly spirit who charmed everyone made herself at home to my collection of tea. The spirited gossip sat on the loveseat opposite from me and launched into a girl talk retelling of the previous night.

That you I did not want.

Instead I pushed. I remained aloof from your prattle. Letting you run awkwardly out of steam, I stood leaving you confused and alone. Returning with the excuse of fetching a scrunchie, I took my place beside you on the loveseat. My body curled up to yours intimately, I whispered that there were so many more interesting things we could talk about.

Tell me. Tell me about you.

You hesitated. The fear again flashed and was hidden. It took you only a moment to find your escape as I knew it would. You returned my intimate embrace. You closed yourself off to me as you opened your body. The you that was the sex goddess capable of making all my fantasies come true bubbled to the surface.

That you I did not want either.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in to luxuriate in you for the duration of my slow exhale and peeled your hands from my body. Feigned indignity at rejection flashed across your face. As you put on your mask, I controlled mine not to show my own hurt and resent. After weeks of friendship, you would fuck me just to keep me at arm's length.

Then you would be gone.

Those were the stakes of the game I played. I knew this well. If I laid back and accepted you now, you would take me to heaven, then cast me out and bar the gates forever. To allow this would be to protect myself as well. Simple, physical, one more time and I could be left with memories. If memories were what I desired.

Tell me about me.

The topic that produced fear and hope. So many questions. What had brought you into my life? The lunches, the club visit to see your friends? What was it about me that made you notice? I curled against you to soothe your fright and comfort my insecurity.

What did you see when you watched me sleep?

Nothing paramount would pass either of our lips that morning. You were not ready. You would not be ready today. Could you be ready tomorrow? I let you deflect to your safe topics. I stayed near you, unthreatening until it was time for you to go. Standing in my doorway, you reached to give me my customary friendly peck on the cheek.

One last thing to think about.

My cheek did not turn. My lips found yours. You hesitated for just a moment before returning my endearment. I conveyed all. My earlier rebuff not a mystery. The fear in my eyes reflected as I pulled away. The door closed, my intentions exposed.

I want more. I want all.

A week. Sliding to the floor. You were leaving the country tonight. You'd be back by Wednesday. If I didn't hear from you by next Saturday, I wouldn't hear from you. I'd need to go on with my life. Again. Already I regretted my rejection of your offer. At that very moment your lips could have been pressed to mine. I could have felt you in my arms one final time.

And let you go.

Day One, I took a walk in the park to calm my nerves. Day Two, my apartment demanded to be cleaned. Day Three, back to work, I stayed late. Day Four, hours that evening spent composing a text that read, "Happy Birthday!" to be deleted without hitting send, only to be typed again and sent.

The whole of your reply: :)

Day Five ... Wednesday. You were somewhere in New York, or soon would be. I was a teenaged girl waiting by the phone. An adult woman seeking to stand by you as an equal. A worshiping maiden seeking your radiance. A friend seeking to lift you up. A lover hoping to give you all that I am. You had just returned, unlikely to come to me tonight. Three more days in the week I had given you.

Three more days you would not need.

My answer came as I showered. The doorbell chimed barely breaking through the white noise of falling water. Spying through the peephole in my bathrobe, I found you in the hall. Then you were in my living room. Then I was on the floor, my robe as open as the door. You surrounded me.

We christened our new relationship.

In the end we never talked about it. The decision yours to make. You made it as if we'd been on track to this moment since we'd met. As if this welcome back were preordained and we'd both been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes. I should have known. Your decision would be made or not immediately. With full force, powers, and authority, retroactive to when we first started "dating", we were a couple.

A couple in the honeymoon stage.

At daybreak, I called in sick. Raw and, for the moment, satiated, we sprawled enjoying the stolen morn. Testing the shape of our intimacy. Discovering how we fit together as a couple. Hearing each other's softened tone as we talked without the noise of our social selves. Developing the silent codes and inside jokes that would define us as we moved forward.

I lay there happy as I remembered being.

The mention of your mom caught my attention. You'd used the present tense. I knew little of your family, but your mother was gone. Your mother and father had both passed according to the biography you'd given me. The one known within the industry included a brother also marked as deceased. The details were fuzzy, and I'd not pried when your walls came up, but your adult orphan status was no secret. When you referenced a non-existent sister, I turned to you in full confusion.

You greeted my confusion with a smile.

Out poured the true story of your family. You recounted your mother's death. Your father emotionally abandoning you. An empty home where the teenaged you raised yourself. You flinched as I reached for you. You held me tight. Your soul in some other place.

I don't know if you were aware.

I embraced you as you walked the path of your school days. As you became more popular and beautiful and had everything. As your loneliness turned to anger and spite and despair. As you came to despise the perfect vindictive bitch you saw in the mirror. The crusher of other girls' dreams. Breaker of boys' hearts.

And wondered if there was something ... wrong ... with you.

But unabashed warmth filled your being as you transitioned to the new family you now held as your own. The clenched body by my side relaxed as you found my hand. This is where you believed your story truly began. This family that sheltered you and let you grow into the person you'd become before me. Hidden though the topic may be to the world, these secrets you delighted in confiding. The secrets to unravel the mystery of you.

If I'd only understood.

What each person meant to you became its own topic. Baby sisters who'd taken your heart. A slightly younger protégé you'd felt compelled to guide. The big sister you never knew you needed. Parents willing to tell you what you didn't want to hear. I hoped to meet these people someday.

I never would.

Above all the boy. The only of his kind to whom you'd given the power to break your heart. The shadow of confliction crossed your features. You'd broken his heart instead. Left him first for feminine softness and finally to pursue your dreams. Familial bonds holding each of you in the other's orbit.

It was, I would well learn, complicated.

One puzzle piece slipped into place as you finished your story. The morning I'd found you crying. You'd been upset you weren't there for your "brother" when his girlfriend dumped him. I didn't mean to laugh. Your eyes turned to mine in hurt. I let you in on the joke and we both giggled. Of all the things it could have been, I'd never imagined you'd been crying over a boy that morning.

How absurd.

You held this part of yourself in for strangers, acquaintances, and even those you named friend. But there was no denying your relief in unburdening your story to another person. To accept someone into such intimacy was your highest praise and deepest confidence. And I saw you.

For the first time, the real you.

Not through the fog of a veil or a glimpse out the corner of my eye. You lay there before me unguarded. Welcoming and loving, your naked body that of a young girl. Precious and vulnerable in your trust. Yet another layer I didn't expect to find. My goddess found to be a woman, and now a girl.

In some ways, a broken girl.

The birthday you'd passed only yesterday your 21st. No evening spent making lifetime memories with girlfriends celebrating your first taste of non-illicit alcohol. That right of passage left quaint, unconsidered, abandoned. Your days should be spent in class and study groups. Your concerns a grade. Your enemies a grumpy old professor and those damnable Chi Omega sluts. Your summer spent as a thankless intern or lazing away.

Curled up warmly in the bubble separating childhood from adulthood.

On Monday you'd leave again, a six-figure budget expended on three days worth of work. Reputations and family income rested on your giving your best to make them look good. You thrived in this cutthroat world where young innocent beauties slipped into hell. You were no innocent.

You refused to join them.

You were my Adrienne. A trinity of personality. The goddess, the woman, the girl. All mine. All special in turn. All shaded into each other and inflecting into a real person to lay next to me. One remarkable person. And in your laugh, I knew I would love you. And that you would soon love me. It was both remarkable, and, as I now understood, not. You craved love and feared love's vulnerability. You trusted me to love you.

And for the first time, we made love.

Did we fall too fast? We fell too fast. I fell too fast. You stayed with me from that day forward whenever you were in New York. A week would pass in each other's arms before you'd disappear again to beautify some beach or landscape. The lovely agony of anticipation serving as spice for time together.

I took no moment for granted.

On weekends we went out. Your girls became my girls. The lights of the night beckoned as we dipped our toes into depravity reserved only for the elite. Into dens the tabloid culture could not penetrate. Often we left a club or a private party bent over giggling, shrieking, snorting in our inebriated state over what we'd seen.

What we'd done.

It was inevitable your body would wander. My preference to keep you to myself irrelevant and ultimately unstated. No being could appease the goddess's lust. Myself least of all. A line to cross, a changed dynamic on the other side. Would you still be mine? Fears to put aside for your needs. My content abandoned to evolve into the unknown.

I could never deny you.

When on one of our weekend nights you directed my attention to some potential prey, you did so with delighted naughtiness, not shame. 'Twas little more than a game. One to share with me. The innocent morsel you'd chosen undeniably appetizing. The repressed huntress within me stirred.

I made my peace and enjoyed the chase.

You knew her. Had worked with her some weeks back. Had tested her willingness and found her amenable but not yet prepared. Had heightened her curiosity and left her longing. Had wanted her that evening and been forced to defer your gratification. I whispered into your ear and left you to watch me work.

You wanted her, and I would provide.

Your eyes on me, I slowly tempted the naïve runway model. Naïve perhaps, but my mark could not mistake my intent. I performed the dance of seduction for your luxury. Every shift into her personal space. Every coaxed smile. Every flash of skin aimed at you watching her fall to me. I was good, oh so good.

And I would seduce you too.

Our kiss your signal. I offered to take her someplace more comfortable as you approached. Your arrival crumbling the remnants in her resistance. The pleasure we promised so enticing. We followed to her chamber, giving her the night she'd remember as per our unspoken pact. Taking what we could from her until, gasping for breath, her body gave out. Then you turned to me, eyes dilated with lust from my performance.

Still mine.

I'd done well, and so received my reward. Your violent ardor, an expression of your tenderness. Our forgotten plaything stirred beside us. She could never hope to feel everything you could give. Propped up on her elbows, she breathed as we writhed together as one. "So beautiful."

And we truly were. Beautiful.

On weekdays I stayed home. You did not always stay home. You left me many a night. Your girls, our girls, going with you, a pack of models dressed for party and sex and to be seen. The flashes of the paparazzi, denied your exposure in my presence, now properly fed. Known industry moguls often in the frame. 'Networking' your alibi, while you loved every minute of the attention. And came to me late in the night for release.

Always to me.

But the nights were merely a blur. Spent reckless youth. The late afternoons when we came to each other. The evenings when we simply held each other and whispered affirmations into the other's ear. Even cranky mornings spent indulging your child. Your sharp tongue no match for my laugh at your behavior. And I hugged you as you sulked.

Those were the times when I collected memories.

Memories were shared as well as made. Conquests from the past my favorite tales. My own collection of anecdotes impressive, but overshadowed by your sheer diversity. Stories including boys found their way in, but left unwelcome to my ears. The concept utterly foreign beside the male dismissive woman of my daily reality. Told for purpose. The stories I believed designed to titillate.

The desired effect not produced.

A surprise awaited me one afternoon. You weren't supposed to be there. You'd left this morning; another job separating us. It had been cancelled while awaiting a connection out of Miami. A boon with your pay-or-play contract. A few days to yourself, you took the first flight back home. Back to me.

And there you lay waiting for me, draped on the couch.

No, you did not set up a fantasy for when I came home. You did not pose provocatively wearing seductive sleepwear or nothing. You merely napped. Still dressed in the muted incognito clothing you'd worn to LaGuardia this morning. Your hair scattered in odd directions. I rubbed you awake and you turned to me, a wide smile spread across your face upon seeing my own. Still mine.

I fell too fast.

My continuing fall aided by your proposal. For three days your schedule would be clear of all obligations. Enough time, by your thought, to move in together. A change in status from de facto to de jure perhaps. My home your residence in any meaningful sense. But you wished to make it official.

And you were excited.

Oh my, were you excited. I couldn't hope to keep up with you. I gulped for breath at the two hour mark as you jested about calling the girls for reinforcements. Instead you tied me up and continued to have your way with my compliant body. I laid there as your helpless plaything, the full sex goddess unleashed at the thought of living with me. I was content.

Still mine.

Consciousness broke through my slumber. I was having such a pleasant dream. You were there and ... I can't remember. You were there and I wished to hold on to the feeling. To continue riding the pleasant buzz just a bit longer and let my eyes stay closed halfway between awakening and sleep. But I lost the fight and opened my eyes to find you looking back at me. Like magic.

Like having my dreams come true.

Your excitement still burned from last night. Eagerness shone behind your eyes. If upright, you'd be hopping between feet. We would be going apartment hunting this morning. My place suddenly too small and insecure for your needs. I couldn't mind. My apartment was my home. You merely a welcome visitor.

Today we would find our home.

Help had been called. A pretty bespectacled brunette by the name of Charlotte appeared just as I became ready to leave. She whisked us through New York, showing us apartment after apartment, none a waste of our time. Each satisfying all our criteria and affording us something extra which we hadn't thought to ask. Each a lovely nest I hated to cross off the list.

Your excitement increased with every new showing.

The afternoon ripened. Our choices narrowed. Your elation reaching beneath my skin. I squealed as the final decision was made. A fallen starlet's former bachelorette pad strategically placed near both work and play. You signed papers on the spot, I kissed Charlotte on the cheek.

Come tomorrow noon, it would be ours.

You rushed us back home. You were frisky in the cab. My still sore body preparing and longing for a repeat of the previous night. I followed you hand-in-hand into our now temporary domicile. We kissed in the doorway. You brought my hand to your cheek.

Then let it drop.

With a peck on my nose and an apology on your lips, you turned and skipped to the bedroom. You'd love to play, but a flight would be missed. Felicia's apartment needed vacating. The logistics of a permanent move ironed out with your agent. There was so much to do.

You'd get only one night with your family.

Ah, family. Your heat only grew while mine dimmed as you thought of them. That you'd play with them was a given. Of course it was to be this way. I'd come to enjoy if not relish sharing you with other women for the night. Strangers, friends, our transient bedmates had their uses. The experience inexplicably bonding. But always together. Your faithfulness preserved whenever you left me.

Your adopted family revealed as an exception to your peculiar code.

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