Bread

There was bread in her car, she had baked it the night before. Was this even a good idea? He liked her bread, or at least he said he did; but then she wrote that essay that bread was like pieces of her love and if she gave it to him would he read too much into it... and would she be offended if he didn't... or.

No. Stop. Sometimes bread is just bread she thought. She was just going up to have a nice day with her friend.

Friend? Was that the right word? He was always pushing for definitions and labels and what box they should be in... or was that her too?

It was all so complicated until he said it and then it sounded simple until she started thinking about it again.

"Come up," he said, "I just want to spend some time with you"

"Is this a friend date?" she had asked?

"Remember our deal," he said in way she was sure he thought was reassuring. "If you just feel like friends, then we are friends and it doesn't need to be anything more. But if you do, then we can explore than..."

He went on, he always used a hundred words when ten would do, but she got it. There had been misunderstandings. She could see how he always wanted to make sure he was clear.

And sometimes she liked that, she liked to hear him talk. She liked the way he wrote, and the way his voice sounded. Sometimes, like then, she stopped paying attention and just let him talk at her and it felt almost like a hug.

They didn't spend enough time together and she regretted that. He couldn't come down to see her and she had to come up to see him. He was at the mercy of her schedule, and of her paramour. That was his word, but she liked it.

But she missed him and it had been too long and she had baked bread which was totally not a metaphor for anything.

She pulled up into his driveway and was about to text him that she was there, but he was coming out the door.

Was he just waiting for her? She wondered. Was she flattered that he might have been waiting in his kitchen, puttering around as she always imagined him to be doing when they texted and trying not to seem like he was looking for her car.

It felt nice the way he paid attention. His passion could be too much, it could burn too brightly for her, but the way he paid attention was lovely.

He was lovely when he wasn't getting in his own way. He was lovely when he was, just not quite as lovely. He had those eyes that looked into her, and that voice. She felt parts of her melt a little when she thought of them, and maybe of his lips and the way he kissed her.

But it wasn't that kind of date she reminded herself. She was taking him at his word and she wanted a friend date and they were just going to spend some time together.

He was in her car, and she wondered if he could smell the bread. She didn't tell him she baked, it was just a last minute gesture and totally not a metaphor for anything.

She liked the way he smiled at her, she reached out and took his hand.

"Hi" she said her voice soft.

"Hi" he said back. She could tell he was trying to match her tone. It was endearing how he was trying to put her at ease.

Last time he had had his hand down her skirt and his fingers digging into her thigh and it felt amazing, but that wasn't who they were anymore. Her body wasn't as sure and she was becoming decidedly less sure what kind of date this was. Her mind reassured it that they were just friends.

Sure, the soft wet feeling between her legs seemed to say, friends

But he only squeezed her hand and smiled that smile that crinkled his eyes.

"Shall we?" He asked.

"Coffee," she said. There were supposed to be other words, but that was all that came out.

"Coffee," he agreed, "do you remember the way".

"No," she felt embarrassed. She knew it wasn't far, she knew the directions were simple. She knew her phone was right there and she could look it up.

Instead he gave her hand one last squeeze and let go.

And her body was mad he wasn't touching her anymore, didn't he want her? He always said he did. He stacked up all those dumb words like cordwood about how he desired her. Desired, he always used such odd words. Couldn't he talk like a normal person? Except that was part of what she liked about him, how infuriatingly not quite like other people he was.

She knew they were talking. He was saying pleasent things and she was responding, but she was only half paying attention because she was thinking about that parking lot. The one where he had told her to park and he hand his fingers in her as he sucked on her neck. He would amp her up and let her cool down and kept her off base the whole time. It was wonderful and heady and confusing and wonderful and had she just said wonderful twice?

His fingers had filled her and she was so wet he slid in with just the right amount of pain. She was getting wetter than she wanted to admit.

"Do I smell something?" He asked?

"What?" She reddened as asked. Surely he can't smell that. Surely he couldn't know just how turned on he was. Surely he didn't know how much she wanted him to pull her out of the car and use those hands to slap her across the face, to spank her ass, to squeeze and pinch and make her feel so good as he hurt her.

Fuck, she thought. I have to think of something else.

"Oh you know me," she said, "I always have snacks in the car"

He smiled accepting the explanation. Was she insulted he didn't recognize the smell of her bread? Was she insulted that he didn't know how turned on she was. Or maybe he did and that would be just as infuriating.

"You've gone too far", he said.

"I don't know what you are talking about buddy," she chided him for being so presumptuous.

"You missed the Starbucks" he said in a gentle confused way. "You are where we parked before"

"I know," she lied.

"Look," she went on trying to save face, "I know what you said about this date, but it is whatever I say it is, ok?"

"Of course," he was confused and trying to sound reassuring.

"If I want to be the one to just park somewhere quiet and fuck you I can, ok?"

"Do you?" He asked surprised.

Do I? She thought. Why did I say that? Is that what I really want?

Yes! The wetness between her legs said.

No! The brain that was trying to desperately retain control replied.

"Because if you want that, I'm game" he said

"I know dear," she put a little spin on dear to imply she was fed up with his desire, but he was right there. He wasn't trying to take control, he was letting her talk. He wasn't being Mr Big Dom Energy.

And then he took her hand and put it on the hard cock straining to get out of his pants.

She leaned over and kissed him. His lips parted before she reached him and his tongue was soft against hers.

He remembered, she thought. She had been so scared to give him that feedback, but he later said he was grateful

She liked the way hissed her. She liked the way he did a lot of things.

And there was no more deciding, she was rubbing his cock through his pants and he hand his hand under her skirt again, and they were kissing and kissing and kissing.

"Pull those down" she insisted.

"I can do that," he agreed, with a bit of a grin. He wasn't being submissive, just amused and pleased. She was happy he didn't seem offended.

He was far far too eager to pull down his pants and show her that lovely cock, she thought.

She was far far too eager to see it, she replied to herself

Seatbelts came off and she crawled over and climbed on top of him.

Is this why I wore a skirt? She asked herself

This is why you worse the same skirt, a different naughtier part of her replied.

And within a moment he was in her, filling her. God he felt good. Not just that feeling of being stretched open and filled, but he felt good. His cock felt good. Not better than anyone else, just good. It felt like him. Her face was next to his and she could smell his breath, the little sheen of sweat on him, his musk. He smelled like him and she liked it.

We miss this, said something deep inside. She didn't want to think too hard about it. She leaned back and pointed to her cheek.

"Slap me right here," she said

He did.

Hard.

Didn't have to be asked twice, she smiled inwardly.

He was good at it. He had technique. He talked about the skill of causing pain and how to bruise and how to sting. This was more primal though. This was her asking for something and him giving. He wasn't deep in his head trying to figure out what she wanted. She asked, he gave. It felt really good.

It hurt in just the right way, and more wetness than she though was possible flooded down between her legs. The pain focused and intensified everything. It took her out of her body and grounded her into it. It made everything sexual, and amplified everything.

It felt dizzying, like that time on his couch. But that time he Dominated her, now he was more... commanding. There with her, but eager to give her what she needed, while taking what she offered.

He slapped her again and she started to ride him faster. It felt so damned good. He felt so damned good. They were fucking in a car in a parking lot on a Sunday and anyone could see if they just bothered to look... and it was damned good.

He wasn't trying to take control, he was just there with her. He was kissing her and digging his fingers into her ass and biting her lip. He wasn't being a Dom, he wasn't calling her his.

He was just there, fucking her back as she fucked him. He was pulling her hair and squeezing her breast through her blouse.

His forehead was pressed against his and she came back to awareness to look into his eyes. Those blue piercing eyes that she saw every time she pictured him. Those eyes that seemed to consume him. She wanted this, she wanted to keep going, but she wanted to look into his eyes properly. She wanted his eyes on him and seeing all of her and seeing how his body lusted for her. She wanted to see the evidence, and take him into her mouth knowing he would be all too eager to put his between her legs and make that soft tongue hard.

Why weren't they in his house, on his lovely bed, doing this properly? She asked herself when she had a moment of clarity.

Because you wanted him now, she replied to herself.

She stopped and climbed off of him.

"No," she said.

"No?" he asked confused.

"Not here," she continued and he looked relieved.

"Back hom?" he asked?

"Yes," she agreed, "but I need coffee, and we need to talk first."

"That's fine," he reassured her.

"Your face is a bit", he pointed to where he had slapped her, "red." He looked far too pleased with himself. He had that little boy smile that made her heart melt sometimes.

"Let me go in," he went on, "My blood sugar is suddenly a bit low, I'm going to need a pastry or something."

"It's fine," she said taking his hand again.

"I have bread in the back".

They both smiled and she knew why she had baked it