She stood exactly where He had asked her to. The light had leached out of the day, yet the glow from the Lincoln Memorial washed around her, casting a nimbus around her.
She was breathtaking. She stood, still, silent, eyes closed, holding her little basket.
He was reminded, suddenly, of Little Red Riding Hood. Well, no cloak, nor hood, but the innocence was there. He’d thought her a tasty morsel the first time He’d seen her, alone at the Club. He’d found out about her of course; DC was nothing if not a welter of information about people.
He’d been honest with her in His email, that He’d seen her, wanted to play, but she’d gone from the Club before He could catch up to her. Damned Darla, hanging on Him like some kind of lust-leech. She sucked the life right out of a man, with her constant whining, constant demands. Part time sub, full-time pain in the ass, he mused with a grimace. And no longer His problem. He pushed that aside, and took in the beauty and grace standing poised. Waiting. Wanting. Just as He had waited, and wanted for some time.
This girl, this woman connected to Him. How, He wasn’t sure. Perhaps a short romp with her would appease His inexplicable wanting. He liked new. He liked different. She was both.
His shoes made no sound as He approached her, yet her head rose fractionally, and her nose flared. He watched the deepening of her breath, the rapid rise and fall of tits.
Fucking grade A tits, at that. Not always the first thing He noticed in a sub, but, it was hard not to with this one.
Her ass was nicely rounded too. He really enjoyed a woman with some meat on her bones. Not for Him the emaciated bird-women from television. Oh, they were pretty, and caught the eye, for a moment. But He really enjoyed laying on a woman’s soft and curvy body, feeling the flesh yield under His hardness.
He drew one finger across her shoulder, down her arm.
No words, not yet. Just this small touch. To let her know she was no longer alone, had been spotted as prey, and was about to be consumed. His mouth watered. Her scent was pure woman. Her hair curled enchantingly down her back, and His fingers yearned to bury deeply into the curling mass, pull back her head, bare her throat to His hunger.
He was always about timing. The time was not yet met for this. He chose to build the anticipation, the want, rather than simply diving headfirst into her. He wanted to raise her need. He wanted to anticipate His.
He pressed against her back, slipping His left arm around her waist, pressing His palm against her belly, pressing her back into Him. Her butt pressed into His groin, goading His cock to life. Her little gasp informed Him that she felt His rising ardor.
Yet He spoke not a word to her. Not yet ready to exchange voice. Not yet ready to press onward. Not yet.
His right hand slipped into His pocket, withdrew the small package, and deftly slipped it into her basket. He encircled her then, His arms full around her, hugging her against Him, His head resting against the top of hers. He drew in her scent, again and again, holding silence as purposely as He held her.
And then He released her. Stepped away, and slipped off into the night.