After working my pants around my cock and down, I got into the shower, hoping it would cool me.
It did not.
Thoughts of her full lips had me lifting my hand. Thoughts of the long column of her neck, the soft-looking skin there had me closing my hand around my shaft. And thoughts of the bounty of her body laid out before me, a near-endless series of curves and valleys to explore had me sliding my hand down for the first stroke.
Would she be tentative, shy, when I touched her, or would she touch me back? My cock leaked precum furiously, my own fluid mixing with the cold spray of the shower and slicking my hand as I stroked myself harder and then harder, imagining Fawn’s warm body under mine, her wide eyes looking up at me as I pounded into her.
My orgasm hit hard and fast, cum shooting out of me on a rush of gut-wrenching pleasure. I leaned against the cool tile and rode out my climax. Once I finally regained conscious thought, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.
Nine
Fawn
* * *
“Do you like it?”
I waited by the stove, watching him intently as he sat at his table, the shadows created by the falling darkness making his always inscrutable face even more so.
He murmured a few low, indecipherable words and then took another bite, not looking at me, focused on the plate I had anxiously set in front of him minutes ago.
“I can make something else,” I said, nerves springing up in my stomach.
“It’s fine.” His voice was flat, as icy as it had been that first day, and my nerves redoubled.
Twisting my hands together, I drifted closer to where he sat at the table and speaking around the building tightness in my throat, I said, “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I made this, but I can—”
Green eyes as hard as shards of crystal silenced me. “I said it was fine.”
His lips were a flat line, the thunderous expression on his face making me huff out a harsh breath, my lungs growing tight with fear. I’d done something, and I racked my brain trying to figure out what it was and what I needed to do to fix it.
Vasile stood and carried his plate to the kitchen sink, his big body coiled tight with tension. I didn’t move, wished that I could sink into the floor to escape the intensity—and fear—of this moment. He turned then and walked toward me, eyes still icy cold, and for reasons I couldn’t articulate, I stepped back again and again until I could go no farther.
As he pierced me with his stare, I thought I might explode from the tension, and when he finally spoke, a shriek slipped out before I could stop it.
“Are you afraid of me, Fawn?” he asked, face close to mine, voice low, dangerous, arousing.
I met his gaze and lied. “No.”
“You should be.”
Not even a breath passed before he closed the scant distance between us, his lips so close to mine that the faintest movement would have made our mouths touch. But he stayed back, mouth millimeters from mine, his warm breath sparking a wave of shivers. His expression was still harsh, but this close, his lips were surprisingly soft-looking, and the thought of him touching me with them left me light-headed with desire, which contrasted with the fear that had ebbed but was still there.
I twisted my head, and my cheek brushed against his mouth. It was a light touch, barely a caress, but that simple touch was enough to capture me. His power had never been in question, but that contact with his skin made me want to give all of myself to him, to give in to the pull that had been there from my very first glimpse of him.
As if of their own volition, my hands crept up, the touch of his hard biceps against my palms, the sizzle of his smooth, hot skin making me suck in a quick breath. He turned his eyes to meet mine, and I dropped my hands.
He stared at me, his eyes icy, his face twisted cruelly, but his breath coming out harshly. Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked it down my cheek, across the column of my throat, down the middle of my chest to rest between my breasts, his hard, heavy hand flat against me. He pushed me gently until I was flush against the wall and then kept his hand there.
I wondered if he felt my heart pounding against his hand, and then all thought fled when he moved again, sliding his hand down my stomach to rest on my waistband. Eyes still on mine, he lifted his other hand and deftly opened my pants and pushed them down to midthigh. On instinct, I tried to widen my stance but my pants held me hostage, as did the almost chiding look that sparked in his eye.
I went still and waited, breath hanging as I watched him, wondering what he would do. That fear and uncertainty remained, but more, I wanted him to touch me.
Badly.
And when he finally did, I cried out, the deep, throaty moan that bubbled from me only giving a hint of the desperate desire that seemed to intensify with each passing second. His rough fingers against my pussy sparked pleasure, and I couldn’t stop the ripple that rushed through me or the low, frenzied moans that poured from my throat.