The Perfect Storm

He could not focus. He put his work away, and lay there for an hour, watching her slumber beside him.

+++

The next day, each of them came to a decision, separately and on their own. This situation could not continue. Something had to be done.

For Patrick, it was while he was in his morning shower.

He'd slept badly. He kept waking up every hour or so, to roll over and look at Karen, and then slowly fall back asleep. His alarm had gotten him up at an ungodly hour, just as the hot sun was peeking pink rays into the cloud-soaked sky. He'd woken up with a raging, painful erection.

In the shower, he felt himself getting pissed off. Enough was enough. He had 12 long hours ahead of him and he must, MUST get his head straight.

By the time his town car was cruising towards downtown, he thought he had solved the problem.

+++

When Karen woke up, feeling nice and refreshed, he was gone, but she saw a note by the door. It was full of some tasks and calls she needed to make, but at the bottom he'd written:

Please make a reservation for dinner downstairs at 8:00. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.

Have a good day,

Patrick

That was unusual. They always just ordered room service. Had she pissed him off, messed up in some way?

But, what could she do? These worries were tossed to the side, for the day.

She spent some time looking over the amenities in the hotel, not sure they were all in service, because when she looked outside, she saw massive, huge cumulous clouds piling up as far as the eye could see. There was not a drop in the sky, it was dry as a bone, which made it all seem that much more menacing. Something was building, all right.

In the corridors, the hotel was eerily quiet. The hustle and bustle of yesterday was entirely gone. Only a few people were milling about to check the weather reports. She saw stranded travelers, businessmen, families.

She went up and spoke to the clerk from the day before. "Hi. So will the restaurant be open tonight?"

"Yes, it should be. We're keeping our staff here tonight."

"What about the spa? Can I get time for a massage?"

"Yes, but it will close early, at 2:00. Would you like me to book an appointment for you?"

"Oh, yes."

After a long, incredible massage, she had nothing to do, so she changed into her black bikini and headed to the beach.

Giant waves were now beating on the shore, signaling the approach of the hurricane from not far off. Karen sat and listened to them, thinking of California and the days she and Brian would spend surfing and laughing and kissing on the beach, knowing they would soon go back to their apartment and get in bed. She felt a powerful nostalgia and it made her take out her phone and flip through her contacts. She'd never erased Brian's name and number. It was still there, with the Atlanta area code. She traced it with her fingertips, wanting so badly just to hear his voice.

Then just like that, she pushed "Delete."

She sat there for a long, long time, as the storm built up, until she finally felt huge fat drops of rain. She stood up to go. Her mind was made up. She knew what she wanted. Not just for tonight, but the rest of the foreseeable future.

+++

It was dusk, and she lay on the bed in their room, waiting for Patrick.

She hadn't heard from him, and was starting to get worried, because it was now raging outside. She heard torrential rains. A monsoon was just drenching everything in sight.

She'd taken a lot of care getting ready, because tonight, she wanted Patrick to notice her. She was wearing a short, white tank dress, very simple but sexy, with high, strappy sandals that showed off bare feet and long legs. It was perfect for Miami. Her short dark hair was curling around her face and the nape of her neck from the heat, framing her dark brown eyes nicely. She was ready and waiting.

Finally, she heard the door open, and a whirlwind came in.

Patrick was absolutely drenched, from head to toe, in his nicest suit. He was angry and swearing. He threw his briefcase on the bed, and kept swearing as he started ripping off his clothes. She could only make out "Jones . . . changed her testimony . . . lied . . . wouldn't answer my questions . . . wasted trip . . . " She had never seen him lose control like this. He was tugging violently at his wet shirt, couldn't get it off, yelling out, "Would you help me with this FUCKING tie?"

She immediately went over and stood in front of him, and he finally seemed to see her. Heat and raindrops and anger were just pouring out of him. He was looking at her with rage, he was fuming, seething. His eyes burned into hers as she reached out and tugged at his tie, which was all knotted up from the rain. He quieted down, but was still breathing very hard as she struggled with it. His chest was shaking, his hands in tight fists. She was so close to him, soft and dry and warm. Finally she got the damn thing undone, and he just ripped his shirt off, threw it on the floor and stood there glaring at her, noticing how she looked and taking in her body with his eyes. He saw her, she knew he did, but it only seemed to anger him more. He growled out, "Did you make that reservation?" and headed into the bathroom.

When he came out, he was toweling his hair, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Karen, I'm sorry. It has been a HORRIBLE day."

She shrugged. "It's ok."

"No, it's not. I apologize."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he sighed. "We are so fucked." He lay back on the bed. "Nothing's going on tomorrow. We'll have to come back. This entire city is shutting down."

She didn't know what to say.

"I need to sleep. I have got to just shut my goddamned eyes for ten minutes. Can you wake me when it's time to go?"

He was asleep in a matter of minutes, flat on his back.

She lay curled up on the couch, watching him and listening to the storm. It was very pleasant.

She usually kept her attraction to him in check, but not tonight. Sitting on the beach, thinking over her life, she'd made a decision. She was quitting her job, the minute she got back to New York. She was going to move back to California, and pick up her life where she'd left it.

And knowing that, well, there no longer seemed any reason to hold back.

She looked at Patrick thinking, "Who the fuck was I kidding? He IS Brian, incarnate. I must have known it from the beginning."

They were both men with integrity, driven, obsessed and inaccessible, really, in the end. Men for whom women were a vulnerability and a weakness.

She couldn't help it. Right or wrong, good or bad, this was her "thing"—the conflicted desire and reluctant lust of a brilliant man. It turned her on way more than a guy desperate to have his dick sucked by the first available mouth.

She stared at him, at his perfect body, made chiseled and hard by all those hours at the gym, and she knew what was going to happen tonight. She was perfectly sure of it. He was going to take her out to dinner, give her some bullshit sob story about how he couldn't sleep with her, he was her boss, it wasn't right. And by the end of the night, they were going to be fucking their brains out on this very bed.

Well, it didn't happen exactly like that . . .

+++

"Karen, I need to talk to you about something."

A couple of hours later, they'd had dinner, a long business dinner to go over the details of the case, and were now having coffee. She smiled to herself. Here it comes.

"Well, uh . . . I don't know if you are aware that I was married once."

Oh! She was not expecting this. He had never been this personal with her.

"Yes, I do know that."

"Well, uh, I was very young and I . . . loved my wife very much." He was finding it hard to speak. She saw and felt huge powerful emotions come into his face. "And well, I was just starting out at the firm, I was working constantly."

She could tell it was very hard for him to talk about this.

"And my wife . . . Linda . . . we started fighting about it, about the hours I was putting in."

He looked right at her, directly getting to the point.

"I can't do both, Karen. I just can't. My work is too important to me. It demands too much of me."

GodDAMN. She heard what he was saying but this glimpse into his emotions was like pouring gasoline onto a smoldering fire—it just exploded her desire for him, enflaming it, making it hard to breathe. She had not expected this part of the story. She had not expected him to have admitted to himself that he wanted her, and she had not expected to see him so vulnerable.

She managed to say, "What happened with your wife, with—Linda?"

He looked down at his plate, crumpled up a napkin with a tense hand, looked up at her with eyes full of pain and resentment. "She left me."

At first she thought, cynically, "Join the fucking club." But then, "He's exactly like me. He's been through exactly the same thing," and it just made her want him more.

He reached out and held her hand. "You are. . .so beautiful. But I need you. I mean . . . for work. I depend on you. I don't want to lose you."

"So I don't think we should . . . be together. It wouldn't be fair to you."

To HER? This really pissed her off. He was framing it like he was doing her a favor, when he had no clue she had already decided to leave him. He was denying himself his own desire while pushing it all on her.

It was a different, more plaintive sob story than the one she had been expecting, but it was still a lot of "blah, blah, blah" that interested her for only one reason: he was confessing how bad he wanted her. He was so afraid of it he was already thinking how much it could hurt him and destroy his life, which meant it must be damn fucking powerful, and THAT is what she'd wanted to hear.

She didn't say all of this of course, just "It's ok, Patrick. I understand. Thank you for letting me know."

He got an enormous look of relief on his face, like Thank God that's over and out of the way.

Karen was sick of it. "Should we go to bed now?"

+++

In the room, they didn't talk. Karen went into the bathroom first, and this time put on a tighter, tinier little white t, which came right below her waist, showing a pair of white, string bikini underwear, almost a thong. She tweaked her nipples, got them hard, put on some amazing smelling cream. Now she was the one who was angry. She was fed up with him, and with men in general. She walked right out, barely glancing at him, and lay down on one side of the bed, propped up on one elbow, so he can see a tiny string wrapping around a smooth, aggressively curving hip. She saw him go and stand at the window, to get away from the sight of her. She said "I'm going to read for a while."

Eventually, she heard him get in bed. She knew he was not tired. She heard him take out his laptop. Her ass was deliberately right in his line of sight, and she made a point of rounding it a little towards him as he worked.

By this time, the winds were really picking up. At one point the lights were flickering, and still they didn't talk. The rain was beating against the patio window. When Karen got tired, she turned off her light, and said "Patrick, please turn that off." She heard the sound of his computer shutting down, heard him flick off his light, and roll away from her without a word.

+++

A little while later, Patrick was awoken by howling winds. The storm was really here now. He was wide awake, and raging hard—in fact this is what had really woken him up. He immediately rolled over and looked at Karen.

She was sleeping peacefully, facing him on her side, both hands tucked under her cheek. He stared and stared and stared at her, and then, as if in some sort of waking dream, he saw his arm reaching out to touch her and caress her hip. He couldn't stop it. It was as if someone else was doing it.

This man, this stranger—was it him?—slid to the bottom of the bed and he saw the man reach up and tug at the tiny strings of her panties, saw him pull them down, and spread her legs. And then all thought left him completely as he brought her to his mouth.

+++

Some minutes later, it was Karen waking up, disoriented. She heard moans, and knew they were not coming from her. She heard wet, sucking sounds. What was going on? She was so confused, and at the same time she realized she was throbbing, that big waves of pleasure were radiating from her lower body. Suddenly there was a big strike of lightning, and it gave her enough time to see Patrick, at the foot of the bed, one hand on each of her thighs, his face buried between her legs. But she barely had time to register this amazing sight before she felt, coming over her, the crashing wave of a huge orgasm. Oh FUCK!!! This is what had really woken her up—she was about to come! She leaned back on her elbows, arched her back, threw her head back and moaned out loud as her hips bucked against his mouth. The deep pleasure just continued, would not stop, and she knew this had not been the first time. How many times had she already come in her sleep?!

She flicked on a little night light. She had to see him. She had to see what he looked like, what he was doing. She heard wet, muffled, buried moans and grunts as he licked and sucked her like a famished man. Oh GOD! She'd known this was going to happen, somehow, she just hadn't known it would be this. She saw his head moving between her legs, felt his tongue plunging into her, licking, moaning, sucking, kissing and tasting. He didn't seem to notice or care that she was awake. He grasped her thighs tighter, pulled her closer, desperate to get as much of her into his mouth as he could.

She lay back on her elbows again, panting once more, so overwhelmed with the feelings shooting through her body, radiating out from between her legs. God, god, god! She was astounded, stunned, and shocked. THIS was what she had wanted, what she had craved from him, and had truly known only once before—greedy, male, animal lust, absolutely pure and unaffected, and it set her on fire, made her respond like a volcano, unable to stop her hips from grinding back at his insistent mouth, helping him, feeding herself to his lips. She felt his tongue traveling up, felt him use his hands to spread her wider, open her thighs to expose her throbbing, aching clit. He attacked it with his tongue and lips, pulled at it, swirled his tongue around, sucked it into his hot, moaning mouth.

She loved it, but she had to stop him, she was getting too sensitive. She whispered frantically "Patrick! Patrick! What are you doing?" He ignored her completely. He made a pathetic sounding moan and pulled her thighs and hips even tighter towards his face. But she held them apart, reached down and tried to pull him away. "Patrick, honey, what are you doing?"

Finally he made a painful sound, a moan of unhappiness, pulled away and looked up at her. The look on his face, which was absolutely slathered with her glistening wetness, was almost too much for her to take. It was the hottest thing she had ever seen in her life. His eyes were dazed with lust and pleasure, as if he didn't know who he was or who she was. Above all, they were desperate. They were pleading with her, begging her not to make him stop, not to take this away from him. So she said, "Shh, it's ok, it's ok," and pulled his face back to her, squeezed her thighs together, lay back and let him finish.

After a while he seemed to finally come back to himself. He pulled himself away, pushed himself up to her, moaning as he grasped her hair tightly and pulled her into him. His entire body was shaking, very violently. He held onto her with his strong, trembling arms. She could tell he was willing himself not to fuck her now, and trying to gain some control back, and yet he could not let her go. He folded her tightly in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world, folding his arms across her chest, pulling her in, getting one strong leg over her hips. She just let him hold her, as much as he needed, like a child. Soon they both fell asleep.

+++

It was morning, or so Karen thought. It was hard to tell, because it was so dark outside. They were really in the thick of it now. The hurricane was HERE, raging right outside the window. She was alone, or at least, she didn't see him. It took about a minute before she remember what had happened . . . the sheets were all tangled, her hair was a mess, her thighs were all sticky, but none of that bothered her. She was more concerned about the fact that she had called him "honey" than anything else. She prayed he wouldn't remember it.

She get up, stretched. No, he was not here, but she did see a note on the pillow. It said:

Went to get breakfast.

--P.

Oh dear god. Even those few words made her nipples ache and her pussy throb. She headed into the shower. She was in there about ten minutes when she heard the door outside quietly open and close, then someone walking around.

When she came out, with damp hair, naked and a white towel wrapped around her, the wind was blowing in because he was standing by the balcony, smoking. He had no shirt on, just pajama bottoms with a drawstring, and bare feet. He was leaning back against a desk and he looked stressed. Anguished was more like it. She glanced down and could see that he was hard. His cock was straining up against his thin pants, ready to burst. He was glaring at her with the same look he had had the day before, coming in from the rain.

She walked over and stood in front of him. They did not talk, but as soon as she looked at his face, she knew they were both remembering the last time they had looked into each other's eyes, his face buried between her legs, begging and pleading with her not to make him stop.

So holding his gaze, Karen shrugged out of her towel, let it drop right there on the floor. She just stood there naked, with the wind blowing in, looking at him. He stared, and in seconds he was next to her. She saw him throw his lit cigarette out the window and stride towards her, and just as a wild crack of thunder shattered the space, he was half carrying, half pushing her to the bed.

+++

He pushed her down, spread her legs, got on top of her and held her face, his eyes burning into hers. He was angry. He did not like to lose control, and he resented her power over him. He grabbed her face, growled as he looked into her eyes, "What are you doing to me?!" She shook her head frantically as if to say "I don't know!" She had no more control over it than he did.

He stared into her eyes, fisted her hair, and just gave in to the violent passion tearing through his body. He leaned down and kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, and sucking hers into his own. He let his hands find her breasts, those perfect firm breasts that drove him wild, now panting and arching towards his hands.

Karen found herself reaching for his pajamas, desperately trying to find that drawstring, tugging at them, finally hissing "Take these off!" He stopped what he was doing and pulled back on his knees, and she reached up to yank at the string. Even these few seconds annoyed them. She reached up and pulled them roughly down, and then he just held himself there for a second—his taut, gym-toned thighs straining, his abs pulled back, every muscle tensing up as he was finally, finally naked before her eyes. He looked down at her as she gazed at the glorious sight of his huge, engorged cock. Years of forbidden, pent-up desire converged on this moment; Patrick watched Karen's face fill with amazement and need, and it pushed him to act.

He grabbed her head, brought her face towards him and held her mouth inches from his cock. He had fantasized about her many times, but he had never let himself go beyond this point. It had not seemed right. But now, he moaned "Oh god, Karen!" and pushed himself into her mouth, desperate to feel her lips on him. He groaned loudly, painfully, and could not stop himself from holding her head roughly as he pushed in hard and deep.