Wicked Wednesday Prompt #98 — “Hunger”

I guess I got attached to my characters from last week, because in the middle of trying to write something completely different this story came to me:

She had no idea Paris was rainy, everyone knew it except for her. This trip to Paris was her first, and by herself. Rafe was still in New York, unable to leave his job and join her.

Paris was more than she expected it would be but even so, she was hungry for more: of the city, of life or of something she could not define while studying her alleged grande cafe which had beads of honey on the edge of it from the spoonful she had put in it. Her heel knocked against the wooden leg of her chair.

“Your engagement ring is lovely, you must have quite a love story.”

Eliza looked at the man at the table next to hers, her heel stopped knocking.

“I do,” she said as she would say eventually with Rafe when they married.

Her foot tapped again on the wooden leg of her chair.

“Do you want to tell me?”

She shook her head, and stood up on the high heels that Rafe had encouraged her to be comfortable in.

“It’s a long story.”

His answer was lost in the rush of heat that overcame her, at the sight of the man walking toward the fountain across the street. Eliza put several euros on the table and walked outside in her trench coat. She looked down from both from the rain and not wanting to be seen.

What would she say to him, him to her? She did not know his name, only his body and scent. She had to abide by his rules–no guilt, no names and no questions–because she had none of his details. It felt suddenly as if her heart had moved from her chest to between her legs, she felt her labia twitch in response. The thumping there was so intense, she could barely walk but she did staggering far behind him. He did not seem to have a destination, so it was awkward for her to appear as if she was not following him.

She took a deep breath, and turned in the opposite direction.

The next few days were filled with meetings. Her heart had returned to its rightful place in her chest, and she had nonstop correspondence with Rafe.

After one meeting she saw Angelina, their notorious hot chocolate called to her from what she had read about in guidebooks. The chocolate would be a meal as well since she had not eaten. Waltzed into the grand dining room by the hostess, she immediately ordered a hot chocolate in French, and when the waitress walked away her heart dropped back down between her legs.

He was sitting diagonally across from her, there was no way he would not notice her. She looked down at her napkin until the word Angelina on it became a blur, as she studied it to not look at him. When her hot chocolate arrived, she looked up helplessly and he was staring at her. Only because he was looking at her, did she look back at him. If she had wanted to say anything, he silenced her by putting his fingers over his lips. The thumping increased between her legs, she could barely sit still.

Eliza dipped a spoon into the whipped cream next to her chocolate. She remained silent after a quick merci to her waitress who handed her more napkins. Using peripheral vision, she watched him sign his check and get up. She closed her eyes as she brought the chocolate to her mouth to savor the rich liquid. It was everything she imagined it would be: Paris, the chocolate, but she was empty.

When she opened her eyes, there was a hotel card on the table and she knew he had left it there. She wanted to jump up from her seat, and the reckless way she desired to she would have spilled her thick liquid chocolate all over her lap. Instead she pretended that she was savoring the chocolate that had become flavorless because she was so excited to follow him to the room number written on the card. She licked her upper lip for flavorless whipped cream and chocolate. When she paid her bill and got up, she felt as if she would black out from anticipation.

Relying heavily on the GPS app on her phone to get to the apparently nearby address, Eliza managed to find the hotel which was blocks away. He waited for her. Burping up a little bit of hot chocolate that she had sipped too quickly, she walked over to him. Nervously twisting her engagement ring, she stood in front of him. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, and almost the diamond of her ring.

She became lachrymose. It was not that she was sorry about what she was doing. She had never done anything like this until him, and she wanted to do it again. Wanted to touch him again, wanted him to kiss her again, wanted him to everything again. Her thighs tremored with the heavy thumping between her legs.

She had hungered for him, for what she had had with him in a dark hotel room ever since she had had it. Nothing had been the same since. Even with Rafe which was nice, but it was not this. Rafe fucked her like she was perfect, and she was not perfect.

She wanted to be fucked like an imperfect woman.

They got into the elevator together, Eliza studied his long fingers pressing the buttons for the floor they were going to. This hotel was not like the mirror-filled one where they had met, but she was happy. She did not want to see the lust on her face, just wanted to feel it thumping between her legs.

Inside the hotel room, he kissed her and she gnawed at his lower lip as if it were a meal. She wrapped one leg about him, and he kissed her neck. Offering more of her neck to him, she pressed her head to the wall as he pressed himself to her. And even as between her legs thumped harder with lust, she felt something quench within her.

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photo by f dot leonora

 

18 comments

  1. *smiles* I like this, like it a lot. No words, just base desire taking over, raw, needy, and about to be fulfilled, the ability to convey that desire without needing to vocalise you captured very well. x

      1. Welcome 🙂
        It’s so very flattering to hear you say that, and I think it goes to show that dialogue is not always necessary, that a good piece of fiction can be written without it x

  2. Oh my god, that was beautiful. “She wanted to be fucked like an imperfect woman.” I’m rolling that around in my mind, and I love it no matter which way it turns…

  3. “She wanted to be fucked like an imperfect woman.” I wish I had written this line… this is pure magic…. and I love this story and this character.

    Mollyxxx

  4. “fucked like an imperfect woman” – this is such a hot line and one that I think a lot of submissive women can relate to, I know that my submissive side relates to this.

    Beautifully written!

    ~Mia~ xx

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