Then he was gone, I assumed off to my bathroom, a fact that was confirmed when I heard the water turn on. A few moments later, he returned with a wet cloth in hand and proceeded to clean me. But even after every trace of him was gone, I still felt him against my skin, replayed the erotic image of me touching him, every pant, every breath, every drop of his hot seed hitting me sending my desire higher.
But then something occurred to me.
“Umm, you, ah, finished. So I guess…”
“Finished?” he asked, to which I nodded. “I haven’t started.”
His words again set my blood on fire with need, and I watched with anticipation as he removed the remainder of his clothes, quickly got me out of mine, and then pulled me into an embrace, his muscles against my softer form creating an amazing sensation.
Then, sweet and gentle but with an undeniable passion, he laid me on the bed and then lay behind me, snuggling close to me, though our closeness only served to emphasize the smallness of the mattress.
“I’ll get you a bigger bed,” he said.
Part of me was elated at the words and the implication that we would be spending more time in bed together, but the other put a damper on my good mood, reminded me that us doing so was unlikely.
But for the moment, I focused on this, the feel of the solid bands of his arms around me, his hard chest against my back, soft cock nestled between my ass cheeks as if it belonged.
“Now,” he whispered, his chest heaving with his words, “where were we?”
I laughed despite myself, but the sound was cut off when he grazed his lips against my neck, then dropped lower to kiss my shoulder. His grip wasn’t punishing, was anything but, but he held me firmly, allowing me little room to move. I was at his mercy, could only lie there and receive whatever pleasure he chose to give.
And give he did.
One arm was locked around my waist, hand splayed against my stomach to hold me to him. But the other was free and he used it, seemingly touching me everywhere at once, hand not staying still long enough to give me the satisfaction that I craved. Rough fingertips grazed down my side, over my thighs, then back up again to my collarbones, and after that, a leisurely exploration of my breasts, where he touched everything but my nipples, which were hard little points of desire that stood erect, begging for his attention.
I grabbed his wrist, tried to pull his hand toward the aching tips of my breasts, but he simply chuckled and pulled away.
My protest died in my throat, though, when he skimmed his fingers down my body fast and buried his big hand between my thighs. There was a moment of shyness. I hadn’t yet gotten used to someone, him, touching me so intimately, especially not as he watched me with his rich, dark eyes, leaving no doubt that he was aware of my every reaction as he stroked me.
But the shyness scattered to the wind with the brush of his finger against my clit. Then he edged one thick finger inside me, another, stretching me until I was almost but not quite uncomfortably full.
“So tight,” he whispered as he began to move in and out.
My thighs fell open, and I groped for him, wrapping my fingers around his wrist, and began to rock my hips in time with strokes, eliciting low, panted moans that I only belatedly realized were mine. He moved a little harder, a little faster, but not hard enough for my liking.
I tried to get closer, but he latched his hand onto my hip and held me in place. I thought I would scream from frustration, the pleasure gathering inside me but just out of reach. And then it wasn’t, my body breaking out in heated shivers that built and built until I screamed out my climax, the sensations shooting through me like bolts of lightning.
He kept his pace until I calmed, and I looked at him through hooded eyes, some of the shyness returning. When he pulled his fingers out of me, I sighed and then sighed again when he placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. Then, he sat back, eyes meeting mine.
“So, um, are you finished now?” I asked.
He moved forward, pushing me back with his broad body until I lay flat, him floating over me.
“I haven’t even started,” he whispered as he sheathed himself quickly and then began to slide inside me.
Fourteen
Anton
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
I grabbed her hand, entwined my fingers with hers, and held our hands up in the semidarkness of the new night.
“Yes. I have…work,” I replied.
She looked at me then, her eyes dark, and she nodded. “I’ll see you later?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Then I kissed her, stood, and dressed quickly, wanting to linger but not allowing myself to do so. I left her apartment without looking back, but I stood outside until I heard the door lock snap and then went to my car. She’d put on a convincing enough face, but something about that scene with Christoph nagged at me. He was my next stop.