Finding It - Sex Stories

Finding It

... stroking my chin with his thumb. “How’s life in Hong Kong?” I ask with curiosity, trying to distract the conversation. Even with my ABC roots, I have never been. My heart drops as his smile falters slightly. “Honestly, it’s really lonely." “Really?” I mumble, trying to ignore the fact that he comes closer towards me. “The truth is, I miss you,” he murmurs but his endearing tone touches a nerve inside me. “Don’t, Mark,” I say, my smile dropping. “What? Tell the truth? It’s me you’re talking to.” His gentle coaxing riles me up, causing me to look him square in the eye. “That is precisely why I am being this way,” I almost snap. His warm smile also disappears, only to be replaced with a look of frustration. Running his hand through his hair, he fidgets with his tie to loosen his knot and I begin to feel warm. It is indeed deja vu. He catches my eye and something about me must have given it away. Drinking the slither of liquor left in his glass, he takes a deep breath. “Beth…can we go back to my place? I want to talk,” he asks, putting a hand softly on my elbow. “I don’t think dredging up the past is very wise,” I start, trying to move away but Mark tightens his hold to keep me close to him. “Please? I just want to be with you for a little while,” he pleads, moving his hand to cup my face so I am looking into his eyes. I wanted to avoid this, the awkwardness of a reunion that seemed too good to be true. But Mark knows me so well and no matter how hard I try and remind myself ...

... that he was the one who broke us up, I cannot resist. “Okay,” I nod. **************** Mark’s studio apartment surprises me. A converted warehouse, his place is surrounded by exposed brick and it is minimally decorated. A white sofa faces a flat-screen TV on the wall, while behind it is a huge, king-sized bed with white sheets with a thin curtain of muslin acting as a separator. Looking around, I see the kitchen to the side of the bed and the bathroom behind it. “How come you didn’t stay with your parents?” I say as he heads off to the kitchen. “As much as I love them, I didn't want to face the constant questions,” he replies. “Questions?" “You know, 'have I met anyone?' 'When are you coming home?' 'Are you eating enough?’ The usual stuff.” “No, I mean - why do you have your own place if you live in another country?” I ask, curious. Mark turns to me as he shrugs off his tie I cannot hide the loud swallow from my throat at the sight. “Dunno, investment, I guess,” he shrugs. Crinkling my eyebrows at his comment, I take off my heels and feel the heated, laminated floor underneath my feet and glance up to see Mark taking off his tie and jacket and placing them on an armchair by the bed. Everything seems like a twisted memory come to life. Is Mark trying to relive prom night? His voice distracts me. “Would you like some wine? I have rosé,” he asks, knowing that I preferred that to white or red wines. “Please,” I reply, heading to the window where there is a small balcony. I open the ...