2. I’m Not A Weirdo

An email notification flashed on her screen, diverting her attention from the documentation she was working on. Just as the alert slid out of view, her brain processed the subject line. She sensed a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She tried hard not to think too much about that morning. It had been some weeks since it happened. Her face flushed.

She was a control freak and the experience had been so out of character for her that she felt uneasy. She didn’t need or particularly want anyone in her life, so why was he always popping into her head when she least expected it? It was a mind-blowing fuck, but she didn’t know if she should chalk it up as a fantastic one-off and let it lie or see if there was more to it.

Her nerves quickly subsided to quiet anger with ticker-tape thoughts dashing through her mind. Not now… Don’t let him into your head now… You need to focus on work… How the hell does he have this email address?

She clicked into her emails.

Subject: Room 210

Hi.

Your admin desk gave me your email address. I said I was a client needing to get in touch but I’d lost your details. They really should be more careful about providing information without confirming a few things first – they told me you were in the office for the next few days so easily contactable.

I’ve been thinking about you constantly. I wake up and you’re there in my head. It’s not something I’m used to and I wanted to see whether the same was happening to you.

It’s ok if I’ve misunderstood. You don’t have to reply. But I don’t think I’m wrong. I think we share something. Not necessarily something in the conventional sense. I think we are the same, you and I, and I’d like to see you again to find out if you feel it too.

I’ve booked a room at The Crown Hotel – room 9. It’s close to your office. I’ll be there from 6pm tonight.

Regards,

A

She stared at the screen, her heart pumping faster as she read his message again, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. He was going to be here, in this town, and he wanted to see her. She noticed her hands trembling.

She slammed the lid of her laptop down, grabbed her phone and cigarettes and walked outside for a smoke. She paced along the footpath, inhaling the smoke deep into her lungs. She slowed, allowing the brief nicotine buzz to settle her.

Taking another drag of her cigarette, she thought about him waking up this morning with her on his mind. Was he lying next to someone else at the time, trying to conceal a dirty secret? Or was he there on his own, at liberty to let his mind wander back over her soft curves and undulations?

She stubbed out the cigarette and scrolled back through the text messages on her phone to find the one from the night they met. She deftly typed out a message to him and hit send.

I’ve read your email. Don’t use that address again. It should not have been given to you and I’m cross about that. Contact me by phone or text in future. I’ll let you know later if I’ll meet you.

She walked back to the office feeling self-conscious, wondering if anything about her demeanour would give away the illicit tryst that she was considering.

She tried to refocus on her work that afternoon but found her mind racing. He hadn’t replied, yet all she could think about was him. The way he made her feel with his strong hands on her skin. Her nipples were erect and she had that familiar tingle between her legs. Was she losing control? It certainly felt like she could lose it with him. She typed out another message.

How do I know you’re not some kind of weirdo wanting to kill me?

She sent it, but immediately felt stupid. As if he would tell her if he was going to do anything bad to her! In a reckless moment she had revealed herself as vulnerable and that she had been thinking about him.  His reply came back quickly.

I’m not a weirdo and I don’t want to kill you. I have a few kinks, but that doesn’t make me weird. You could also be a weirdo and end up killing me. All I want to do is fuck you.

She repeated the words in her head. All I want to do is fuck you. She crossed her legs, noticing that she was becoming wet with anticipation.

Another message pinged onto the phone screen.

I want to feel you quiver on my lips as I explore your darkest places. I need to dive deep into you whilst you weave yourself around me. I can feel myself parting your waves as you feast on me, warm and throbbing as I grasp your hair and scratch into your flesh. I want to taste you again and again. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I want every single part of you. I must have you.

She looked at the time. It was 5.15pm. She typed out her reply.

I’ll be there at 6.15pm, room 9.

 

 

Read Part 1: Room 210 here 

© All rights reserved. CLR at theitchthatneeds.wordpress.com 2016

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4 thoughts on “2. I’m Not A Weirdo

  1. Pingback: 1. Room 210 | The Itch That Needs...

  2. Pingback: 3. Room 9 | The Itch That Needs...

  3. Pingback: Room 9 – edited | The Itch That Needs...

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