#katyeol

You look around the restaurant, trying to keep the motion natural so as not to show the nerves you feel. The diamond teardrop earrings, classic red lip, and subtle black dress, your calm expression and serene smile, make you look to the rest of the world like a woman waiting for her boyfriend. But underneath the table your crumpled napkin tells a different story.

He’s late. By a lot. You sigh in frustration and move the napkin to the top of the table, smoothing it out over and over. This was such a mistake you think, picking up your water glass and taking a steadying sip. The cool water is the final push you need to abandon this attempt.

Why you ever agreed to a blind date is beyond you. The fact that its in public just makes it so much worse. Pulling your phone from your purse you stare at the last text you sent.

Perfect, see you there! - sent hours ago while you were covertly hiding your phone under the table during a long meeting, the last of the day. The excitement that had run down your spine at the prospect of meeting him now exists as bitter disappointment low in your gut.

Stephanie in the office had thought you guys would be ‘a perfect fit!’ given your shared interests in art house films and expensive sushi. For weeks she’d regaled you with tales of this Brian; building him up to be some Colossus, and for weeks you’d resisted looking him up online to get a peek.

You drop your glass back to the table with more force than you intend, watching with disinterest as some liquid spills down the side. One more minute, you tell yourself.

You’ll give him one more minute to arrive and then you’re more than ready to leave. Frustration rises in your for a second, thoughts swirling. About never being chosen, about no one making the effort, yet again. Not even a text to say he wasn’t coming. All at once the fight drains out of you, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

Abruptly a man slides into the seat across from you. He’s dressed far more casually than you’d have expected for such a classy restaurant – longer black jacket, light jeans, his hair soft and messy on his forehead. You regard him with confusion, taking in the half-full glass of amber liquid he carries, the exuberant yet awkward way he sits down, the look on his face that is at once both sheepish and determined.

‘Are you Brian?’ you ask in a rush, torn between amusement and disbelief.

‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘But I’ve been watching you from the bar for almost half an hour and I can’t take it any more. Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you. And I’m more than ready to correct his grave error and have dinner with a beautiful woman,’ he says, his words tumbling out, his low voice igniting the extinguished spark of hope inside you.

‘If you’ll have me, that is,’ he adds, a token acknowledgement to the fact that you might belong to someone else despite his need to claim you as his.

You inhale deeply, your mind trying to absorb this new reality. Where a moment ago there existed only empty space, the broken promise of something that was supposed to be - now there sits this man. His energy is barely contained in his form as he watches you with a mischievous glint in his eye, waiting for your answer. As if his whole world waits on this axis, depending on your choice.

A wave of something that feels like destiny rises in you and you look around the restaurant once more. This time you look because you want to commit every detail to memory. You want to remember every square inch of the moment you felt your life change.

The miniscule chip in the finger nail polish on your thumb. The waitress at the table next to you, reciting the night’s specials in a pleasant voice. The lower lip of the man across from you, basking in the fact that you know in your bones you’ll have the pleasure of tasting it, maybe even tonight.

‘All right then,’ you say meeting his eyes. ‘What should I call you, stranger?’

His mouth pulls into a smug smile, a flash of triumph warming his irises. But there’s nothing arrogant about the look he’s giving you, no hint that he assumed you’d say yes. Only a wonder and an excitement that you did. 

‘My name is Chanyeol, but I’m hoping you’ll call me yours,” he says with a grin.

The surprised laugh that erupted from you at his statement is one he’s drawn from you dozens, hundreds, of times over the ensuing six years.

On your second date the following day when he pulled out a comically oversized bouquet of flowers from behind his back; the riot of colors delighting you. 

The day he proposed, down on one knee on the wet sandy beach in the early morning light; your breathless, giddy laugh in the face of an impossible dream coming true.

The last time was two days ago, when you’d woke up at three in the morning, bleary-eyed with exhaustion. In the dim light from the baby monitor you saw that your tiny bundle of love was still sleeping soundly, just like your tree of a husband. 

He’d fallen asleep on top of you, inside you, you’d realized with a laugh. You’d clapped your hand over your mouth to muffle your giggle, which had quickly turned to a yawn. 

The baby had blessedly, finally gone down for a nap in the other room and you’d stumbled into bed to find him hard and ready and desperate for you after long weeks filled with diaper changes, baby food, and sneaking scraps of sleep where you could. Crawling in beside him his hands had found you instantly, retracing familiar territory, aching to become reacquainted.

Thinking back through the haze of sleep you remembered that he’d pulled you under him, stripped off your leggings and frantically swirled his fingers around your clit. You’d clung to him, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, just as desperate as he was to find connection, release – a moment of delicious pleasure in the midst of this domestic marathon of the early days of being a family of three.

After fumbling for a condom he’d trust in, wild, needy the second you were ready; his groan in your ear nearly sending you over the edge then and there. Ten strokes was all it took. Ten strokes and his hand hastily working itself in circles and you both fell over the edge with a sigh. He’d pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before you both had apparently fallen asleep from exhaustion.

You’d woken him up with a stifled laugh, giggling together under the covers and agreeing that you needed a real date night. Your best friend was more than happy to watch your son for a night so the two of you could have some time to yourselves. You both missed him terribly, but the sight of your husband in his button down shirt across from you, his hair swept off his forehead, was easing the ache considerably.

You fall into an easy conversation borne from years of honesty and mutual interest after ordering drinks. For five minutes you do your best to pretend that all either of you can think about isn’t fucking each other and wondering how far you’d get on the table before you got thrown out.

His hand finds you under the tablecloth and strokes broad circles around your kneecap, his fingers dipping behind to tease the skin behind your knees. You glare at him, laughing when you realize you should have known he’d go right for the jugular at the first opportunity. In hindsight you’re impressed you made it all the way to the restaurant without fucking in the car.

In retaliation you take exaggerated sips of your drink, winking at him as the liquid slides down your throat, his eyes glued to your swallow. His grip on your knee tightens and he begins looking for a place, anywhere he can take you. Spying something behind you his eyes go wide before narrowing in anticipation.

He leans over across the table to you, watching you through his lashes. ‘Meet me in the family restroom in two minutes,’ he orders, putting his napkin on the table. ‘Be ready for me.’

He stands abruptly, smoothing his hand over the front of his suit, trying his best to hide his arousal. Once he’s behind you he drops a hand to your shoulder and bends down to speak in your ear.

‘I can’t wait to stretch that tight cunt until you’re screaming into my hand,’ he growls. With a breathy laugh that sends a rush of hot air to the delicate skin behind your ear, he leaves.

You stagger in the weight of his absence, clutching the edge of your chair to ground yourself. Closing your eyes you can’t help but get flashes of what will happen in just 120 seconds. You squeeze your thighs together, almost moaning audibly when you think of how long it’s been since he’s been inside you for a satisfying amount of time.

Memories flash in front of your closed lids as you sit there, counting the seconds. 

The first time you fucked, hastily in the back of his car two nights after you met. 

Your wedding night, bent over a fancy hotel sink, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave fingerprints in your skin. 

The night you got pregnant. If you’re right, it was the time he fucked you against the dining table, your legs over his shoulders, your fingers reaching desperately for any surface to hold onto.

Moisture gathers at your core, distracting you from the rest of the scene of the restaurant. You’re ready to spring from your seat, counting down the last few seconds until you can join him. Just when you’re about to stand up you hear a pleasant male voice.

‘Are you ready to order or do you want to wait for your companion?’ he asks, and you fling your eyes open to look at the young man waiting patiently, his pencil poised.

Fuck, you think. You hastily pick up a menu, eyes glazing over as you imagine Chanyeol waiting in the bathroom for you, already hard and needing to be buried inside you. You rattle off something about chicken and a steak and the second he leaves you bolt from the table and head off on unsteady legs in search of the bathrooms.

You find it at the back, past the men’s and women’s rooms, and hurtle towards the black door like it’s the antidote to a poison in your veins. You throw open the handle and feel him on you before you’re even completely inside.

‘What took you so long?’ he demands, burying his face in your neck, his hands reaching impatiently for your hips.

He slams the door shut, frantically reaching behind him to lock it. In the dim light of the fancy restroom all you can see is his mass in front of you. Your hands grab desperately for his shoulders while he presses you against the door, his lips finding your neck.

‘The waiter came just when I was getting up,’ you manage to get out, hands pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

‘I was just about to come out there and grab you by the hair to drag you in here. I need you, woman,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Now.’

A moan works its way out of your throat as he presses his hips against yours, his erection digging into your sensitive core. In this moment you feel powerful. Alive. Reborn in the wake of his desire after so many weeks and months of thinking only of this other being you were literally creating. Now that your body feels like yours again all you want to do is give it to him; any way he wants.

‘God, I need to get lost in you,’ you say, voice high and needy. ‘Please.’

He breaks from you for a beat to rip off his jacket, pulling back to cup your face in his hands. The look on his face ignites a ferocity in you that you haven’t felt in months. His need matches yours, as it always has.

‘Tonight I’m going to remind you you’re mine,’ he manages to get out, his voice so thick with desire you’re amazed he can speak.

You almost weep with relief, digging your fingers into him as you grip the backs of his arms to bring his lips to yours. He presses closer, dropping his hands to grip your hips, holding you so firmly against the door you can hardly move. But it’s been far too long since he took everything you have to give, and it’s still not close enough for you.

His mouth sears against yours, the heat between your lips starting a wildfire low in you. You whine into his open mouth, insistent, needing to be pressed against every inch of him you can reach. Knowing your tell after so many years he catches on immediately, reaching his hands to cup the globes of your ass, pulling you up into his arms.

Instinctively you wrap your legs around his waist, your dress riding up and exposing you to him. Your head falls back as his hardness meets the wetness at your core, even through the thin layer of your underwear. He groans against you, resting his forehead on yours and pulling your lower lip into his mouth to suck possessively.

Holding you flush against him, he walks over to the sink, depositing you onto the wide porcelain surface. His broad hands spread your legs wide and he steps between them. You lean back on your hands, bracing yourself as his mouth trails along your jaw, nipping at the skin there and making you mewl.

You rock your hips into him, ankles digging into the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. Both of you are breathing deeply, pupils blown so wide there’s almost no color left. After feeling bereft of him for so long you whine in relief, the strangled sound echoing in the small room and you smirk at it.

He drops his lips even further, tongue darting out to lick along your collar bone. His hand moves to your lower back, tipping you towards him at just the right angle for your clit to hit his hardness as it strains through his slacks.

‘I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk. Can’t breathe. Can’t think of anything but me and my dick inside you. The only thing I want on your lips for the rest of my life is my name,’ he breathes into your sternum, the vibrations against your skin sending a wave of arousal straight to your core.

‘Do it then,’ you tease. The two of you never pass up an opportunity to play with fire, whipping each other into a frenzy that can only be extinguished by the release of your completion. You tilt your head back to meet his eyes, a moan falling from you at the wild look in his eyes. ‘Now.’

He nods, a strangled noise of satisfaction caught in his chest. He steps back an inch so he can tear at his belt buckle. You help him, untucking his shirt, fingers toying with the sensitive skin at his happy trail. With a grunt he shoves the material of his pants and his briefs to his ankles, hands greedily reaching for you.

His grip tears the fabric of your underwear so suddenly you gasp, far more aroused than you’d thought for such a barbaric action. But when it comes to him, the more he wants you, the more desperate you are for him. The more you want his touch on every inch of your body like a brand. You want him to live inside your skin, to feel his heart beating inside yours, to feel him inside you every waking moment.

Finally free of any barriers between you he lifts you, pulling you to the edge of the counter, positioning himself at your entrance with one hand while his other wraps hotly around your lower back. You brace your hands on the back of the sink, wrists cramping as you prepare yourself for the pressure they’ll exert shortly.

‘Say my name,’ he demands, thrusting into you in one motion, burying himself to the hilt.

You gasp, an incoherent noise of pleasure leaving you as your eyes screw shut. He feels so good you can hardly think, can hardly even recognize yourself as a human anymore. He pulls out, achingly slow, and thrusts back in just as rough, drawing another cry from you.

‘Say my name,’ he repeats harshly, pulling back so only his tip is inside of you.

You bite your lip around a wide grin, shaking your head. ‘Fuck me harder,’ you tease, gasping in a breath.

He drops his head to your shoulder, pulling back his lips to sink his teeth softly into the flesh there and you tighten around him, desperate for him to shove back into you. You buck your hips forward, trying to sheath him inside of you again but he pulls away, leaning back to give you a knowing look.

‘Say my name and I’ll fuck you harder than you ever thought possible,’ he promises and you feel yourself give way.

Any pride you had at not caving first vanishes at the thought of how hard you’ll come. You know he’s always given you everything you need, pushing you beyond any edges you’d ever believed yourself to have. The idea that there’s something more, some animalistic part of him you haven’t yet seen, lights a fire at the base of your spine.

You lift a hand and fist it in the hair at the base of his neck, pulling him back to look you dead in the eye. His gaze swims with desire, but after a beat he focuses on you, his mouth open against the frantic breaths he’s sucking in.

‘Chanyeol,’ you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips. An invocation of the holiest word that’s ever been on your tongue.

He grunts and spurs into action, both hands sinking into your hips as he pulls himself against you, sliding so deep within you its almost painful. You gasp and reach for him, moving your hands into his shirt and grasping for purchase. The hard edge of the counter digs into your ass as he tilts you to meet him, holding you balanced as he thrusts into you with precision. Relentlessly slamming into you.

Your moans turn desperate after only seconds, his length hitting that spot deep within you neither of you have paid much attention to in the past, always stopping and lingering at other pleasure points. Desperate pleas leave you as he fucks you into the counter so hard you’re sure you’ll crack the stone with the force.

‘Who do you belong to? Who owns this pussy?’ he grits out in time with the snap of his hips into you. ‘If you don’t say my name again in three seconds I’m not letting you come for a week,’ he challenges.

You clutch him as you do your best to meet his thrusts unable to gain much purchase in this position, but needing to match him. ‘Chanyeol,’ you repeat over and over, gasping in breaths.

You squeeze your thighs on him, taking him deeper than you ever thought possible, a brutal orgasm building in you as he hits your cervix with precision. He pulls you against his chest, your torsos molding together as he fucks into you over and over. Both of you are making incoherent noises, already so lost in feeling you don’t care who hears.

‘I’ve got you, baby. One hand on your clit until you come. One hand on your mouth so no one hears you but me,’ he commands, wildly fucking into you as his own orgasm threatens to knock him off his feet.

You obey immediately, sealing your palm against your open mouth, smothering your needy cries. At the first swirl of your fingers around the aching numb your orgasm bursts forth, throwing you out of your body as explosion of pleasure tears through your veins. He finds his release at the same time, a strained ‘fuck’ the only sound he makes as he bucks wildly into you, riding out his own high.

You collapse against each other, his hands barely able to lift you back up onto the ledge of the sink before he slumps, spent. You rest against him, nuzzling into his shirt as the aftershocks of your orgasm work through you. You grin weakly, sliding your hands to hold onto his back, pressing him against you.

‘Everything all right in there?’ you hear a muffled male voice call out following a knock.