7
He’d turned off the light just
in time, right before the big, fat tears flashed down over her
cheeks. Damn. Her makeup job was not tear-friendly, with all that
coal black eyeliner and mascara. She’d gone with the unpredictable
late-night vixen look, but it was a short step from that to a
dripping raccoon mask. Vixens didn’t cry.
She sniffed the tears back and
gathered her courage. She was shivering, nipples poking out. The
room was dim, just the glow of the halogen heater wavering and
squiggling in her watery vision. Her legs wobbled as she sashayed
toward him. She stopped to kick off the heels. She regretted the
lost height, which she needed with this guy, but it wasn’t worth
taking a tumble.
The glow of the heater would be
flattering for her skim-milk pallor, so she tossed her hair back
and yanked the stretchy black lace shirt off over her head.
Shoulders back. Boobs out, up. Ribcage tilted. Suck in the belly.
Good posture did wonders for breast perkiness.
His eyes glittered. Suddenly the room
seemed almost hot.
Lily kept her eyes open wide, hoping
the tears would evaporate from her eyeballs. She wouldn’t choke up
now. She’d started this, and she would see it through. She
struggled with the zipper on the denim skirt, got a grip, yanked it
down. The skirt flumped ungracefully to the floor, denim studs
clattering, leaving her clad in the black lace thong and the thigh
highs with the rubberized thingies that were supposed to
theoretically hold them up without garters but never quite managed
the job. She hoped the rips and runs enhanced the ragged vixen
effect. It wasn’t just a look. Couldn’t afford new
ones.
He took a step closer. Her lungs
locked. No air going in or out.
“I should take a shower,” he said. “I
smell like frying grease.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “You smell
like coffee. And disap.”
“Dish soap?” He looked rueful. “Wow.
Seductive.”
“It is,” she assured him. And it
was.
He was close enough to touch but
taking his time about it, just vibrating at her, his very body heat
a tender touch. He laid his hands on her shoulders. She gasped. His
hands were so warm. How could they be so warm in this cold? A
penetrating, tingling warmth, full of sparkles. It flowed into her
body, stealing through her like a river of honey.
She’d just started to relax when he
sank to his knees. She seized up again in a sudden panic. His hot
breath tickled her navel. His hands clasped her hips.
“What the hell are you doing?” Her
voice was shrill.
He hooked his pinkies into her thong
and tugged it. “This.”
Oh. That. Like she hadn’t asked,
begged, ordered him to get on with it. And now she was getting all
sissy missy about it.
But she trembled as he pulled the
garment down. It snagged, the crotch locked in the grip of her
clamped, quivering thighs.
“You sure you’re OK?” He tugged
inquisitively at her thong.
Irrational anger gripped her like a
charley horse. OK? What did that word even mean? As if anything in
her fucked-up world could ever be OK again in this lifetime. But it
wasn’t Bruno’s fault. None of it.
And she’d die if he stopped. “I’m
fine,” she squeaked.
“Then relax,” he coaxed.
Yeah. Like it was so easy. He petted
her thighs, long, soothing strokes. She clutched the thick muscles
of his shoulders to steady herself, and her legs unlocked, letting
the gusset of her thong finally go.
He peeled it off one ankle, then the
other, then lifted the scrap of black lace to his face, eyes
crinkling from a hidden grin as he inhaled. He pressed his face
against her navel, nuzzling. Slid down until his mouth rested
against her muff. Just leaning there. The rhythmic swell of his
breath was a subtle caress. “I want to make you come,” he
said.
She tried to laugh. The sound
strangled itself. “So I should hope.”
“No, I mean right now. With my mouth.”
He stroked the sides of her thighs, each caress coaxing her to
relax, let him do his magic thing.
She cleared her throat. “Not now.
Maybe later. If you’re good.”
“I’m very good.” His voice vibrated
deliciously through her groin.
He pulled her down onto the couch and
slid between her legs, cupping her head to pull her close. To kiss
her.
She arched away in panic.
“No!”
He rocked back. It was hard to make
out his expression in the dimness, silhouetted against the heater,
but she could feel puzzlement and frustration coming off him in
waves. “What the fuck?”
She was going to cry again. She didn’t
dare speak. She shook her head, blinking madly. Kissing would crack
her along all the fault lines.
“You don’t want foreplay or kissing?
What the hell do you
want?”
He was angry, and she didn’t blame
him. She was angry at herself. “Turn that thing off,” she said,
gesturing to the heater. “It makes too much light.”
“What’s wrong with light? Who are you
hiding from? You’ll freeze!”
“I won’t freeze.” As if. She felt
feverish. She was going to combust
Bruno gave the switch on the heater an
angry slap. The light faded to a million shades of deep charcoal
gray. He rose to his feet.
She grabbed his hand, terrified that
she’d scared him off. “Where are you going?”
“If you don’t want the heater, we need
a blanket. There are springs coming through. I don’t want you to
get scratched.”
It was so cold without Bruno to
generate heat, but he was back a moment later, his arms full of
fuzzy blanket. He arranged the blanket over the couch, half draped
over the back, half draped over the seat.
He gestured sharply for her to sit.
This was like an anxiety dream, only worse. Stark naked except for
thigh highs, with a very large and volcanically hot sex god, who
she’d cleverly wrangled into a really bad mood, looming over her in
the dark. Nice move, Parr. Very smooth.
She tugged on the bottom of his
jacket. “Won’t you take that off?”
He shrugged the jacket off. Pried off
shoes, socks, sent them flying. Yanked his T-shirt off over his
head. She was transfixed as every sensual promise was abundantly
fulfilled. He was ripped and beautiful, even in the dark. He
wrenched his belt loose, shoved down his jeans. Kicked them off.
Stood there, his cock jutting toward her.
Wow. She’d seen plenty of male sexual
equipment, being as lusty and curious as the next girl, but she’d
never seen anything like this guy. Not that she was a size queen,
or anything. But even so. Oh, my.
He stood silently in that belligerent
pose, legs wide, letting her look. Waiting for her to chicken
out.
“Touch me,” he said. “If you really
want this. Touch my cock.”
“My hands are freezing cold,” she
warned.
“They won’t be for long.”
She lifted her hands, tentatively. He
grabbed them, wrapped them around the shaft of his cock. They
gasped, him at the cold, her at the heat. Delicious, volcanic. The
velvety supple softness, gliding over that hot, hard, urgent pulse
of blood in his shaft. So thick, stiff, and ready. Her thighs
tightened. Her hand barely closed around him.
Her body felt tight. Her skin felt too
small. Bruno flung his head back. She wanted to kiss the taut
tendons in his throat, but she was trapped in his tight grip. His
fists clamped over her hand, guiding the long, squeezing strokes,
the twisting swirls.
It was so quiet, just occasional night
sounds of the city, their harsh breathing, the wet sounds of her
hands moving on him. Rougher than she’d expected. Her lungs were
squeezed small with excitement, thighs clenched around a hot glow.
She pried a hand free and cupped his ass. Dug her nails into the
taut dips and curves of his flanks, pulling him. She wanted to
savor his slick, salty taste.
His hand blocked her face as she
leaned closer. “No.”
She was utterly taken aback. Men never
refused blow jobs. The craving for fellatio was hardwired into
them. “No?” she repeated.
He held her face firmly at a distance.
“If I can’t, you can’t,” he said. “Not unless it’s mutual. It’s my
sexual code of conduct.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Fair’s fair,” he said. “No
compromise. Take me or leave me.”
She squeezed his hot, pulsing rod,
milking it. “I’ll take you.”
“Yeah?” He covered her hands with his
around his cock. “I’m getting a weird feeling. I’ve been letting my
d was the thinking, but even with a nonfunctioning brain, I feel
like you’re messing with me.”
“No.” Panic twisted in her middle.
“No, I’m not. Really.”
“Oh, I’ll still do it,” he assured
her. “I want it. But I’ll tell you right now. If you try to make me
feel bad afterward for having done it, it will piss me off like you
would not believe.”
“I won’t,” she assured
him.
“Yeah? Good. If you have any doubts,
this is your chance to put your clothes on and leave.”
She grabbed his hand, pulling until he
sank to his knees again. “No doubts,” she said, pulling his hand
between her legs. “Feel me.”
His fingers dipped into the slick, hot
moisture that bathed her pussy. Air hissed sharply out of his
mouth.
He shoved her down onto the blanket.
The lumpy cushions gave, aged springs creaking, and she shuddered
with pleasure as he teased her pussy, sliding his fingers inside
while his thumb sought out her clit.
He diddled her, dragging kisses up her
belly that left a trail of wildly overstimulated flesh in their
wake. When he reached her breasts, heat bloomed, unfolding from
inside her chest and swelling helplessly to meet the call of his
hot mouth. She made a shocked sound.
He lifted his head. “What? Don’t tell
me your tits are taboo, too.”
The sour note in his voice made her
giggle. “No.”
“Thank God.” He bent his head to her
breasts again.
She usually got bored with foreplay,
though she always awarded a guy points for the effort. But this was
pleasure on a whole new scale.
She shook, straining, as each slow
thrust caressed her sweet spots. His mouth coaxed her into a
sparkling froth of sensation, until she was writhing, hips jerking,
chest heaving against his hot mouth. “Enough,” she gasped out.
“Please . . . please. I want you.”
“Give me one, first,” he
said.
She blinked in the dark, utterly lost.
“Huh? Give you what?”
“Come for me. Before we do
it.”
She didn’t have enough air in her
lungs to laugh. Like orgasms were so easy to come by. “I can’t do
that on command,” she explained. “It’s not that easy for me to
come, but I’m having a really great time, and you’re doing
everything right, so don’t take it personally if I
can’t—”
“Shhh.” He pressed his fingers to her
lips. “It’ll be OK. Just stop fighting. You’re small. You need to
relax. Trust me.”
Trust him. Hah. She didn’t even know
what it would feel like to trust him, or anyone. He kept doing his
thing, and the pleasure warped out of control, swelling into
something huge, scary, something lethal—
It hit her, slamming her, with
emotion, sensation, who the hell knew. It had no name, no
precedent. It knocked her out.
She floated back after a while, limp
and disoriented. Amazed she was still there at all. Still alive.
Still herself.
Bruno was crouched on the floor,
digging in the pocket of his jacket. A crinkle, the rip of foil.
Good thing he was being responsible. She herself had forgotten all
about that. Shocking. Stupid of her.
Bruno stretched her out on the couch.
She shivered, boneless and soft. So vulnerable. Like a virgin on a
sacrificial altar. He spread her legs wide, poised himself between
them.
He started slowly, pting her slit with
the head of his cock. The up-and-down swipe made her writhe with
ticklish delight, wiggling to take more of him. He leaned back.
Goddamn tease. She arched her back, reaching to grab his ass, pull
him in where he belonged.
His white teeth flashed, and he
swirled himself, lodging the head of his cock inside her, slowing
down at the resistance he found there. Rocking, pushing. She
arched, panting with eagerness. Wow, he was hard, blunt. But she
was ready. Primed to screaming.
His weight bore down, his phallus
driving deep, in a tight, delicious shove. She grabbed as much of
his upper arms as she could wrap her fingers around and pressed
back, arching her back, pulsing her hips against him greedily.
Their eyes locked. His face was tense, all teasing gone. A muscle
pulsing in his locked jaw.
He lowered himself, covering her body
with his heat, his weight. The blanket he’d draped over the back of
the couch fell down, covering his shoulders and the back of his
head, blocking out what light there was. She was swaddled in a
tight, breathless cocoon, with this big, hard, hot man all over
her. Miles inside her.
He stared into her eyes and began to
move. It blazed out of him, as clearly as words. Each lunge into
her body said mine, mine,
mine.
She hadn’t signed up to be his, or
anyone’s, but it was happening anyway. It was too much. It was
killing her, how good it was. Each stroke a hot, liquid lick of
melting pleasure.
She started to fight again, just to
make it back off enough so she could find her separate self again,
but it was like fighting a mountain. His weight pinned her against
the squishy couch. His cock pumped, slick and deep into the well of
delicious sensation between her legs, twisting and swirling,
finding so many madly lit-up sweet spots inside her and stroking
over them, and over them, ah, God, again
. . .
Her legs twined around his, trapping
him deeper. She bucked and wiggled to get him exactly where she
wanted him, and he followed every cue almost before she gave it.
More tears slid out, but she no longer cared about the makeup
mudslide. She whipped her head from side to side, whimpering with
every heavy lunge.
He cupped her head, stared into her
eyes, and kissed her. A kiss to draw her soul out of her body, but
he gave her his own in return. And the possessive, obsessive chorus
of mine, mine, mine with
each frenzied stroke—it was coming from her now, too. He was hers.
All hers.
Things got incoherent after that, yet
never had anything seemed so real, so vivid, so clear. They were
gasping, yelling. The blanket tumbled with them as they slid off
the couch and thudded to the floor, Bruno on the bottom. He slammed
his arm into the coffee table, shoving it out of the way. It
teetered, tipped.
She clawed the blanket off, wanting no
barriers, and rode him hard, clutching his arms, her head flung
back in pounding abandon. She was fever hot, glowing like a coal in
the dark netherworld of that chilly apartment. He jolted upward
against her, his fingers digging into her ass. Every thud of
contact sharpened her wild, driving need.
He flipped her, pinned her, and she
was on the bottom again, his tongue thrusting, twining with hers,
his hips surging, heaving—
Pleasure ripped through them both,
violent, relentless.
It left them a wreck of tangled,
sweat-soaked limbs, gasping for breath. Flattened and limp. Sweet
devastation.
Sometime later, the sweat had cooled.
Bruno moved, feebly, to extricate himself. He slid out, leaving her
collapsed, abandoed, alone.
And suddenly, horribly
sad.
She braced herself for the moment of
truth. What the truth was, she didn’t know, but it was sure to be
anticlimactic.
Bruno dropped his head into his hands.
“Mother of God,” he muttered. “That was . . . what just
happened?”
She pushed herself up onto her knees.
She’d lost a stocking in the frenzy. The other dangled off her
ankle. “I, ah, don’t know.”
“Did I hurt you?” He sounded like he
was holding his breath.
“No,” she said hastily. “God, no. Not
at all. On the contrary.”
He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank
God.”
She was hit by an unexpected wave of
tenderness. Aw. He was an awfully sweet guy, totally apart from the
celestial-sex-god thing. She reached to touch his face. He was so
warm, the skin so supple, the stubble scraping her fingertips. She
pulled away before he had a chance to reject the gesture. Didn’t
want to embarrass the man to death.
He caught her hand, yanked her close,
and suddenly they were kissing again, like horny teenagers in a
backseat. It made something ache and burn in her chest. He clamped
her against him, silently demanding intimacy of a magnitude she’d
never even known existed.
But she knew it now. Like an eye
inside her had opened up, revealing unheard of emotions. Dangers,
too. Like she needed new ones.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop
kissing him. Her arms were around his neck, strangling him, but he
seemed to like it. She could feel his lips smiling as they moved
over hers. “So we got rid of one dumb taboo,” he said. “Want to
take a run at the other one?”
She giggled, like a silly girl. “Um,
ah . . . you mean—”
“Letting me go down on you. You
wouldn’t regret it.”
She hid her red face, her
out-of-control, shaking giggles against his neck, tasting the salt
tang of his sweat. “You better let me catch my breath,” she said.
“That was intense.”
His body stiffened. “Too rough, you
mean.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “Stop
putting words in my mouth.”
The silence sagged with the weight of
all the things that were still too dangerous to say to him, but she
had to find a way.
Her imagination just couldn’t quite
get past this wall.
She took a deep breath. All she could
do was wait for the right moment. God knows, it would be no chore
to stick to him like glue.
“So. Ah. What now?” she asked,
hesitantly.
His hand cupped her breast, lazily
fondling her. The caress made shimmers of light move through her,
sparkling inside her very skin. “I have some ideas,” he said. “It
depends on you.”
“What depends on me?”
“Here’s my proposal. I take you to my
condo. I call in sick to work. We sit together in the Jacuzzi, you
on my lap. Madly tongue kissing.”
She giggled, weakly. “Um. Sounds good
so far.”
“Then, stark naked and fully erect, I
cook you breakfast. An omelet with everything but the kitchen sink,
pan-fried potatoes, sausages, fresh orange juice, cheddar scones,
coffee. We eat and go into the bedroom. Then I spend the rest of
the day making you come.”
“Ah,” she whispered.
“Wow.”
“And we take it from there,” he
concluded cheerfully.
She was smiling like an idiot.
Happiness was bubbling up inside of her, and it scared her. She had
no place to put it. It had nowhere to go, no room to grow. No right
to exist in her life, as it currently was.
It would turn to pain soon enough.
Everything did. But who the fuck cared right now? This might be the
last fabulous time she ever had. Might as well go out on a high
note.
“Sounds like a plan.” Her voice a
breathless squeak.
They dressed quietly, not looking at
each other. Shyness had descended upon them again, and it felt odd,
after such intense intimacy. He lifted an eyebrow as she stuffed
her hair back up under the black wig and perched the cat-eye
glasses back onto her nose.
They walked out onto the landing, and
he took her hand.
She fought the warmth unfurling in her
chest as she trailed him down the shabby, narrow staircase. This
was so wrong, so foolish. She had to sharpen up. Her teeth clenched
so hard, pain shot up her jaw.
Bruno sensed it and glanced back at
her. “You OK?”
She manufactured a smile for him.
“Yeah. Sure.”
He frowned, worried, as he shoved his
shoulder against the outside door. He stepped out backward, opening
his mouth to speak.
She saw the SUV, door gaping. The dark
figures, leaping at them.