“So beautiful…” he whispered.
I looked up then, met his gaze, and my chest squeezed tight at the sight of his desire.
He closed the distance between us, and wrapped his strong arms around my waist, his forearms against my back searing me with his strength.
He kissed me again, this time the caress more ragged, untamed, driven by what I hoped was his desire for me. As he kissed me, he touched me. One big hand was centered on my back, while the other roamed freely, tracing the curve of my waist, then around to knead my breast.
“Anton…” I said on a breathy whisper, the sound a desperate plea for something I could not name.
He met my eyes, seeking, and seeming to accept whatever he saw there. He stepped back, lifted both hands to my pants. He’d lowered his head, and now his dark hair was lit by the sun, face in shadows, demonic, angelic, and so desirable.
He made quick work of my pants, opening them and pushing them down with my panties before he turned to my bra. That too was removed and discarded in two efficient movements, and then I was left standing before him.
“Lie down,” he said, and I moved quickly to comply, anxious for whatever he had in store for me.
After I lay down, I watched him as he removed his shoes and then his pants, my eyes riveted to him as I watched his body move, the fascination only increasing when he tucked his fingers in his underwear and pulled, first revealing a thatch of dark hair and then his thick, veined shaft.
I was faintly aware of him walking toward me, but I didn’t lift my eyes, was mesmerized by the sight of his hardness jutting from his body.
When he stood at the end of the bed, I watched as he opened the foil packet, the throb between my thighs intensifying as he smoothed the latex down, his movements still sure and true.
But I dropped my head back against my pillow and slammed my eyes shut. So I felt and heard rather than saw his approach, felt the warmth of his skin against mine, the crisp hair on his stomach and chest scraping against my thighs, my stomach, and then my breasts as he made his way up my body. His warm breath against my face told me he now watched me, and I opened my eyes, met his.
I then noticed his hot, heavy hand at my hip, then lower as he caressed the outside of my thigh and stroked in. I stiffened and then sighed at his touch, the unfamiliar sensation of his hand on the inside of my thigh falling away as he moved up, stroked his fingers against my sex.
My thighs dropped open, seemingly of their own volition, and I glanced up at him, saw how my eagerness satisfied him. Then he moved so that he hovered above me, his heavy legs trapping mine, his latex-covered cock prodding me.
He closed his lips over mine, his body heavy and warm above me, his heart pounding. My heartbeat mirrored his when he stroked his fingers down my thigh and then back up to rest at the apex of my legs. I lifted my hips, responding to a call I couldn’t name and couldn’t ignore. Bucked against him again when he brushed his fingers against my outer lips and then pushed one finger between them, spreading me open.
A distant thought entered my mind that I should be embarrassed by the way I held on to him, but the hot wetness that seeped from me freely to coat my thighs only confirmed that there was nothing else I could do, not in the face of need so intense it squeezed my lungs and rattled my heart. There was no room for embarrassment, no room for thought. There was only room for Anton and what he was doing to me, his fingers touching my most intimate place and stirring the most maddening need.
I rocked against him, my hips moving in a natural rhythm, my muscles clenching down hard around nothing, the ache inside me sweet torture that I knew only he could relieve.
“You’re ready for me, iubită?” he whispered, the low rumble of his voice making my womb clench tighter.
“Yes,” I said, not recognizing the passion-filled voice that came out of my throat, hardly recognizing the woman who lay beneath him, stuck on the ragged edge of need.
At the first touch of his blunt, latex-covered head at my opening, I let my eyes slam shut and lifted my hips again, offering myself to him.
He accepted, began pushing inside me, slow at first but then with increasing speed and force as if he couldn’t wait any longer.
The first searing pain intensified into a cry that I could not suppress when he slammed himself the last bit of the way.
I kept my eyes closed, tried to breathe around the receding ache and focus on the pleasure that was building underneath, focus on the feeling of his skin against my hands, his breath fanning my face.
But he stilled, and I opened my eyes, met his gaze, still searing but now with confusion and anger. After a moment, the confusion was gone, leaving only anger in its place.
And then Anton was gone.