The Red Lace in Which Marco Finally Saw Me

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with my heart pounding against my ribs. The red lace cinched my waist and, for the first time in my life, what I saw reflected looked like what I felt inside.

I had kept those clothes hidden at the back of the closet for weeks, beneath the old sheets, as though they were a secret that could contaminate the rest of my life if I left them in plain sight. But that night was not like any other.

I smoothed down the leather pencil skirt, letting the cool fabric cling to my hips. My fingers trembled when I brushed the white satin blouse, soft as water beneath my hands.

The wig fell in a cascading mass of chestnut waves that framed my face and softened my features. I looked at my lips, painted a deep crimson, and curled them into a nervous smile.

This is me. This is who I always wanted to be.

My name was Andrea when I was alone. It was a name I had repeated in a whisper so many times that it already sounded more like mine than the other one, the one on my documents.

I put on my heels and stumbled for a moment before finding my balance. Would Marco like me? The question spun through my head as I grabbed a small purse and stepped into the hallway.

The journey to his building felt endless. Every step rang out with a new sound, that dry tapping of heels against the sidewalk that drew glances I wasn't sure I wanted. But there was no turning back now.

When I reached his door, I hesitated. I raised my hand to knock, and it hung suspended in the air, trembling. Before I could make up my mind, the door flew open.

Marco was there, tall and imposing, with those dark eyes that traveled over me from head to toe with an intensity that stole my breath.

Oh my God, I thought, feeling my cheeks burn.

He wore a fitted black shirt and dress pants that hugged his body in all the right places. His gaze lingered on my clothes, my face, and for a moment neither of us said anything. His eyes dropped to the crotch of my leather skirt, and although beneath it I was wearing the lace restraint, squeezing my cock tightly against my pubis, I felt that he already knew everything underneath—and that he liked it.

“You look…” he began, his voice low and rough. He reached out and brushed my cheek with his fingers. “Incredible.”

My heart lurched at that touch.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice coming out more fragile than I would have liked.

I stepped inside, feeling the heat of his body as I passed him. The apartment was dimly lit; candles flickered on a table set for two. The soft light cast dancing shadows across the walls and created an intimacy that tightened my throat.

Marco led me to the table and pulled out my chair with a chivalry that turned my stomach upside down.

***

Dinner was a blur. Something delicious I couldn't concentrate on for even a second. All my attention was absorbed by him, by the way he never took his eyes off me, by how his voice seemed to caress every word before releasing it.

We talked about everything and nothing. The conversation flowed with a strange ease, despite the tension pulsing beneath every sentence, waiting.

When we cleared the plates, Marco leaned back in his chair and fixed me with his stare.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

I swallowed. The question set my mind racing. Trust him? It was a loaded question, the kind that opened doors. But I looked him in the eyes and nodded.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

He stood and held out his hand.

“Come here.”

I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. We ended up close, almost pressed together, and I felt the heat radiating from his body. My breath caught when his free hand rose to my face and his thumb brushed my lower lip.

“You're beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

My heart pounded, my whole body trembling with anticipation.

“Wanted… what?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He didn't answer with words. He leaned in and closed the distance between us. His lips found mine in a kiss that began softly, tentatively, and deepened quickly.

I gasped against his mouth. My hands instinctively clutched his shoulders as our lips sought each other. The kiss was everything I had imagined, and more. Passionate, hungry, dominant.

His tongue brushed mine, sending a shiver down my spine. His big hands slid over my back and pulled me close until our bodies were completely joined. I felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing into my hip through his pants, and that pressure alone made the tip of my cock grow wet inside the lace.

I moaned softly, my knees weak, as his lips descended along my neck, leaving a trail of fire.

“Marco,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He drew back slightly, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

“Tell me what you want,” he said in a low, authoritative tone.

I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing. Was I really going to be able to say it? Would I be able to put into words the desires that had haunted me for so long?

“I want… I want you to kiss me again,” I whispered, my cheeks blazing.

Marco smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made my heart race.

“Good,” he murmured, before capturing my mouth again.

***

The second kiss was more intense than the first. His hands traveled over my body, exploring every curve through the fabric. One slipped beneath the hem of my blouse and brushed the sensitive skin of my stomach with his fingertips. I gasped and arched my back into his touch.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with need. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

My head spun, my entire body buzzing. I had never felt like this, so desired, so seen.

The way his hands moved over me, possessive yet careful, sent currents through my veins. I let out a soft moan when his hand moved a little higher and brushed the edge of my bra, a gesture both provocative and deliberate.

My breathing faltered, halfway between fear and surrender.

This is real, I thought, my heart beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. This is what I dreamed of so many nights.

The leather skirt hugged my hips, cool against my hot skin, but it was his closeness that made me feel truly exposed. Every brush of his fingers, every movement of our pressed-together bodies, sent waves of desire through me that I didn't know how to contain. My cock, trapped beneath the restraint, throbbed against the fabric and dampened the lace with threads of pre-cum.

I parted my lips, a silent plea for more, and leaned toward him.

His mouth returned to my throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses down to the hollow at the base of my neck.

“You're gorgeous,” he murmured. “So gorgeous.”

His words soothed all my insecurities, confirming the woman it had taken me so long to let out. I felt seen not as a man in borrowed clothes, but as someone new, someone who deserved to be desired.

My hands, still trembling, gripped his shoulders, and I held on to him as my knees gave way. I slid one hand down his chest to his fly and squeezed his cock through his pants. It was thick, hard, long. My mouth watered just from feeling it.

“God,” he murmured with a growl that rose from his chest. “Keep touching it like that.”

I squeezed him again, tracing the shape of his glans through the fabric, and felt a pulse run along his entire length. He reached for the back of my neck and pressed his mouth to mine more urgently, biting my lip, while I opened his belt with clumsy fingers.

The way his fingers played with the edge of the lace, barely brushing it, was maddening. I wanted—no, needed—more.

“Please,” I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it. It sounded raw, vulnerable, unfiltered, and made Marco pull back slightly to seek my gaze.

His dark eyes were filled with a longing that mirrored my own.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, with a deep growl that raised goose bumps along my back. The order was gentle but firm, leaving no room for doubt.

I hesitated, my cheeks burning, but his gaze gave me courage.

“I want to suck you,” I blurted, my voice coming out hoarse, almost foreign. “I want to suck you until you come in my mouth.”

It was all I could say, all I could think. I left the rest unspoken, trusting him to understand. And from the way his lips curved, I knew he had.

“On your knees,” he told me, his voice thick.

I lowered myself slowly, taking care not to let the leather skirt ride up suddenly, and finished opening his fly. I tugged down the elastic of his underwear, and his cock sprang free, hard and thick, a prominent vein running beneath the skin and the tip already shining. A moan escaped me as soon as I saw it. It was beautiful. It was exactly what I had been imagining for months, shut away in my room, touching myself with a pillow between my thighs.

I grasped it with both hands, weighing it, and ran my tongue along the entire vein, from the base to the glans. Marco threw his head back and let out a long “fuck.” Emboldened, I sealed my lips around the tip and lowered myself slowly, letting it slide in as far as I could, feeling his pulse beating against my palate.

“That's it, Andrea,” he said, and hearing my name made me shudder all over. “That's it, beautiful. Suck all of me.”

I began moving my head, sucking gently at first, then with more eagerness, letting saliva run from the corner of my mouth and wet his balls. When I went down, I squeezed the base with my hand; when I came up, I swirled my tongue around his glans until he buried his fingers in the hair of my wig and pushed me back down.

“Look at me,” he panted.

I raised my eyes without taking his cock from my mouth. Seeing him from down there, looking at me as if I were the most exciting thing he had ever seen, completely undid me. My cock hardened painfully against the lace. I sucked more hungrily, taking him deep, gagging each time he pushed himself down my throat.

“Stop,” he suddenly groaned, grabbing my chin to pull me off. “Stop or I'll come now, and I don't want to come yet.”

I stayed on my knees, panting, my lips swollen and a strand of saliva hanging from them to the tip of my cock. He looked at me for a long second, then bent down and lifted me by the armpits as if I weighed nothing.

“Is this okay?” he asked, drawing back just enough to look me in the eyes.

I nodded without speaking, too overwhelmed for words. His fingers slid beneath the lace and held my breast with a gentleness that undid me. My nipples had grown so hard they hurt, and he pinched them lightly, drawing a muffled cry from me.

I shuddered all over, breathing unevenly.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, brushing me with his thumb in a slow, measured motion that made me tremble.

His voice was low and possessive, and every word dripped with an intensity that weakened my legs.

His fingers stayed there, tracing the sensitive skin with a touch that was tender and electric at once. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a soft sound that seemed to echo through the silence of the apartment.

His other hand moved down my back, grabbed my ass over the leather, and pulled me against him. The heat between us was palpable, and I could feel his cock, still out, wet with my saliva, pressing into my stomach.

A sharp pulse ran through me, leaving me breathless.

This isn't a fantasy anymore, I thought, my pulse fluttering like a trapped bird in my chest.

“Do you like it?” Marco asked, his voice hoarse, while he caressed me with just enough pressure to make me gasp.

His dark eyes searched my face for the truth. I nodded, unable to articulate anything, my lips parted in a silent plea.

He smiled smugly, that slow, knowing curve that set me on fire inside.

“Good,” he murmured, his warm breath against my ear. “Because I can't get enough of you. And I haven't even put it inside you yet.”

***

His lips returned to my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses along my throat, each one a spark of pleasure racing through me. He backed me toward the couch without stopping his bites on my shoulder, and in two movements he hiked my leather skirt up to my waist. Underneath, I wore a red lace thong matching my bra, with the restraint and my cock hidden against my pubis, and when he saw it, he let out a low gasp.

“Look at this,” he murmured, running a finger over the fabric soaked with pre-cum. “Look at you.”

My legs trembled. He sat me on the back of the couch and opened my thighs with both hands, unhurriedly, as if arranging something that belonged to him. He removed the restraint and freed my cock, which sprang out hard and dripping. He took it in his warm hand and began stroking me slowly, his thumb swirling over the glans, while his other hand searched lower.

“I'm going to do everything to you,” he warned, his voice thick. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, everything.”

His hands kept exploring: one held my breast over the lace while the other moved lower, passed behind me, and caressed my ass, finding my entrance above the thong. He brushed it with his fingertip, applying barely any pressure, and I arched toward him. Feeling him so firm, so certain of what he was doing, made my head spin.

I felt possessed, cherished, and completely lost in the moment.

“You're gorgeous,” he repeated against my skin, his voice heavy with desire. Again the words fell over my fears like a balm, confirming that part of me I had hidden for so long.

I pressed my nails gently into his shirt, clinging to him, while he bent down, moved my thong aside, and took my entire cock into his mouth. The cry that escaped me was not human. Marco sucked hungrily and noisily, looking up at me as if he were eating the best thing in the world, while a finger wet with saliva began circling my hole.

“God, Marco,” I panted, grabbing his hair. “I can't take that, I'm going to come.”

He pulled my cock from his mouth with a wet pop and smiled at me, his chin shining.

“Not yet,” he said. “You still have more to give.”

He turned me around against the back of the couch, pushing me with an open palm in the middle of my back until I was braced facing it. He pulled my thong to one side, and I felt his tongue travel down the cleft of my ass, warm, wet, insistent. I let out a long, anguished moan as he spread me with his thumbs and ate my hole with a patience that brought tears to my eyes.

“Please,” I babbled. “Marco, please…”

“What do you want?” he asked, biting my buttock. “Say it.”

“I want you to put it in me,” I gasped. “Fuck me, Marco, please, fuck me.”

I heard the crinkle of the little packet, the slick snap of gel between his fingers, and then two fingers entering me slowly, opening me, turning inside until they found the spot that made me see white. When he turned me over again and pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, I was already trembling all over.

He pushed slowly, inch by inch, looking into my eyes the whole time. I filled with him as if my body had been waiting for this all its life. It burned a little, and then the burning became a thick, full pressure that stole my breath.

“Andrea,” he panted when he was finally buried all the way inside. “You feel incredible.”

He began to move. Long withdrawals, hard thrusts, a rhythm that made me strike the back of the couch with every drive. With each thrust, my cock bounced against my stomach and spurted pre-cum across my belly. Marco gripped my waist with both hands and drove deeper, biting my shoulder, seeking my mouth.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered without stopping. “Touch yourself for me.”

I obeyed. I grabbed my cock and began stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts, trembling all over. Having him inside me while touching myself outside took me to the edge in seconds.

“Marco, I'm coming,” I moaned. “I'm coming, I'm coming…”

“Come,” he growled, speeding up. “Come with my cock inside you.”

The orgasm struck me like a wave. I felt my insides clench around his cock, felt my own hot, thick cum leap across my belly, my hand, and the white satin blouse that was already being stained white. Marco groaned loudly when he felt me tighten around him and sped up even more, thrusting into me two, three, four times deeper, until he buried himself to the root and stayed there, trembling, emptying inside me with a hoarse groan pressed against my ear.

We stayed like that for a long while, pressed together, sweaty, breathing unevenly.

When we finally separated, we were both breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine and searched my face with those dark eyes that no longer frightened me.

“You're perfect,” he said softly. “Everything I imagined.”

My cheeks burned when I heard him. Not from embarrassment this time, but from something cleaner, newer. For the first time in my life, someone had looked at me and seen exactly the person I needed to be.

Before I could answer, Marco leaned in again, and I let the night go on writing itself, among the candles and the red lace that, this time, I did not have to hide at the back of any closet.