It hurts. But the way I like it.

When I first met Tom, I was extremely underwhelmed.

I’d decided to see him on a last-minute whim after we’d exchanged small talk on a dating app while bored one Sunday afternoon. According to his profile, he was a beachy 29 year-old plumber with ash-blond hair, a tall athletic frame, and cloudy hazel eyes; more or less the opposite of my type.

Nevertheless, I resolved to give myself a chance to get to know him, and headed for the bar he’d suggested we meet at.

It became painfully obvious in the first few minutes of conversation that Tom and I had little in common. The entire date felt like an awkward job interview as he nervously shot off banal questions and vainly attempted to fill every silence by shooting me an expectant look, punctuated by a goofy “Soooo….”. His own conversational responses were rarely longer than a few words, and delivered so dryly I found myself discreetly checking the time on my phone on several occasions to see if it was acceptable to leave yet. The date ended without so much as a kiss, and I mentally checked it off as a fail.

But a day later when my phone lit up with a sweetly worded text from him asking to see me again, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps nerves had gotten the better of him and he deserved a second shot. Before I had time to process it, my thumb had already typed as much, and I found myself staring back at the details of our next date. He’d planned for us to go surfing, something I’d never normally agree to do, given my aversion to sand, salt water and outdoorsy activities, but I was so impressed by the effort he’d gone to, making our second meeting unique and adventurous, I couldn’t bring myself to back out.

Thankfully the waves on our surf date crashed as spectacularly in the sea as they did in the chemistry brewing between us. In his element on the beach, Tom seemed somehow emboldened – a more outgoing, hedonistic version of the meek, dull guy I’d met at the bar.

He grabbed me roughly in both arms as we fell onto the sand, still wet from our surf lesson, and catching our breath, cradled my face in his hands and kissed me deeply and passionately, as if he’d known my lips for years. His mouth was soft and tasted like salt water. His hands had the reassuring roughness of someone who wasn’t afraid to get dirty.

Suddenly I found myself feeling attracted to him.

Then, mid-kiss, he took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down forcefully until I winced out loud in pain.

“Hey! Not so rough!” I laughed, pulling back and nursing my swollen lip between my index finger and thumb.

“You didn’t like that?” he asked, a devilish smile spreading across his face.

“Well, no…I did. It’s just, you nearly bit my lip off!” I joked back.

Tom pulled me in again and buried his face into the nape of my neck, this time using his tongue to caress the little groove of skin just above my shoulder blade. My skin prickled with delight, sending an unexpected shiver chasing over me.

“Ah, you like that, huh?” he smirked self-assuredly, sensing he’d discovered my sexual kryptonite.

“Perhaps…” I teased, struggling to conceal the contented smile pushing my cheeks high.

From then on, Tom continued to surprise and impress me.

On our third date, he invited me to his apartment to win me over with his culinary skills, appearing unexpectedly sexy tossing a stir-fry in a tight white tank embossed with the outlines of his muscular body, and a pair of old jeans that hung low enough to reveal the band of his Calvin Klein underwear.

Noticing me appreciating him from the other side of the kitchen, he balanced the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot and turned his attention to me, sliding his arms around my waist and kissing me deeply – once again using his teeth as a vice around my bottom lip before scooping me up onto the bench and wrapping my legs around his torso so I was straddled around him.

I involuntarily moaned in pleasure as I felt the heat course up through my body.

He reciprocated, clamping his teeth down harder into my lip until I tasted blood.

I winced, but didn’t pull away.

There was a darkness to Tom I couldn’t quite put my finger on; a rough forcefulness in the way he touched me. It was as if he wanted me to know he could overpower me – that I would be completely helpless if he wanted me to be. Perhaps it was the fact I was a control freak in a high pressure job where the onus was perpetually on me to tell other people what to do; but I found myself strangely drawn to it.

It was a week before I heard from him again after that. He’d had to leave town to visit family for an annual get-together and had texted me once while away to ask what I was up to. During our time apart, I found my thoughts regularly circling back to the idea of uncorking the bottle with his dark energy brewing inside. I wanted to know what he was capable of, and if his unexpected flashes of dominance in our physical interactions had hinted at something more.

Enjoy! ;)

Enjoy ;)