A strange thrill soars through me when he moves from my mouth, his lips trailing down my jaw line, finding my neck. He kisses and licks, his teeth grazing the skin, as his hands hike up my dress, shoving it to my waist.
I barely have time to think, to agonize over the fact that I'm pretty sure I'm wearing plain white cotton panties that are probably not sexy at all, when his hand slips beneath the flimsy fabric, fingertips grazing my clit. My back arches involuntarily as a gasp escapes my throat, the jolt of pleasure tearing through my insides, the first lightning strike of an oncoming storm.
I'm caught in a whirlwind. There's no other way to describe it, no way to explain it, except that I've been swept up so fast that I can no longer even see the ground. His hands are all over me, tearing off clothes, as his lips seek out every stitch of exposed skin.
The dress is yanked off and flung across the room, barely hitting the floor before he's leaving a searing trail of kisses down my stomach. Slipping his hands beneath me, he makes speedy work of my bra, tearing it off.
He grasps the sides of my panties, and I lift up instinctively when he tugs them down. My knees find one another, drawn together like magnets, as my hands cover my breasts, timidly shielding my naked body from his view as he sits back. He regards me warily, seeming to hesitate for a fraction of a second when he sees how I'm laying there, but it doesn't deter him from pulling his shirt off. His hands make work of his pants, unbuckling the belt and unzipping them, the sound seeming to echo through the quiet room.
It makes my heart race faster than before, so frenzied my vision blurs when he pulls them off along with his boxers, leaving him just as naked as I am.
I can't look.
I can't look.
I can't help it.
I look.
I have to.
He pries my legs apart and moves to the space between them. My eyes are drawn down his broad chest, following the trail of shadowy hair along his toned stomach, straight to his cock. My eyes widened when I catch sight of it.
He plans to fit that thing inside of me?
I only get a brief glimpse, a murky silhouette in the darkness as he grasps ahold of his cock and strokes it, before I feel it pressing against me. My eyes drift closed as he rubs the head of it against my clit, sending those tiny jolts of electricity through me.
"I'll take it easy on you," he says as he pushes inside of me for the first time, moving slowly, covering my body with his.
Don't, a part of me screams, the animal inside trying to claw its way out, but I swallow the word down, almost terrified to verbalize it. I don't know what he means, and I'm already in way, way over my head as it is. I feel like a virgin all over again, except I wasn't nearly as nervous back then. I was just handing over my body then, letting them caress my skin, but I have a feeling this man's planning to go much deeper than that with me.
He pulls out before pushing back in again, moving agonizingly slow, letting my body adjust, but I don't think that's possible. I don't think I can ever get used to him.
"If you want me to stop, just tell me," he says, "and I will."
"Should we … " My voice is a strained whisper. "I mean, should I have a safe word or something?"
I've watched movies, I've read books, and I'm not sure how kinky this man gets.
He stalls mid-thrust, pulling back to look at me, his eyebrow curving. I can see the twinkle in his eyes, amusement, the monster intrigued by my question. "Do you want one?"
"I, uh … do I need one?"
He seems to consider that for a moment, halfway inside of me, before shaking his head and pushing into me, a little harder this time, making my breath hitch.
"Not this time," he says, fighting off a smile. "Just relax, Karissa."
I try.
Dammit, I try.
But as soon as I start to relax, Naz finds his rhythm, hiking my legs up to fill me deeply. I gasp, my hands running through his hair, the slight curls surprisingly soft, as he leans down to kiss me. With his lips on mine, he thrusts hard, so hard he nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. Unnatural noises escape my throat that he greedily swallows with his kiss, increasing his pace, eliciting more of the sounds from me.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I suspected it, from his earlier question, but it isn't until he's inside of me, pounding against me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe, fucking me so hard I can barely think, that I realize just how much I've been missing. Everything before this moment was child's play, but this man is the major league.
He fucks me like he means it, like he needs it, like being inside of me is more important than anything inside of him, and every cell in my body calls out to him, craving more of it. His hands work magic on my skin, slipping between us to stroke my clit. The mere touch sends sparks through me. He rubs circles around it, as my body grows taut. I can feel it, building and building, the pressure filling me up until I'm about to burst.
The pleasure explodes inside of me, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. I squeeze my eyes shut. It's like fireworks all around me when all I've ever seen before were measly sparklers. I cry out, arching my back, my breasts flush against his chest. I can feel myself convulsing around him, squeezing his cock for a second before it's gone. He pulls out, pulls away from me just as I start to come. I'm momentarily stunned by the absence of everything-I feel nothing but coldness, air all around me. No warmth. No him.
No nothing.
My orgasm fades away as soon as it hits, the fireworks a dud that fizzle and fade into the night sky.
Oh, God. No. No. No. Don't do this to me.
My eyes snap open as the bed shifts, and I barely have time to glance over when he pushes my legs apart wider, his tongue softly grazing my clit.
Oh, God. Wait. Yes. Yes. Yes.
He licks and sucks, pumping his fingers inside of me, his head between my thighs. Gasping, I run my hands through his hair, grasping ahold of the locks, as I shudder. It takes a few seconds for the fading pleasure to sweep back through me, somehow even more intense, swaddling my entire body in heat.
Orgasm rocks me, and I let out a shriek, arching my back as I convulse. He doesn't let up, doesn't stop, his tongue running circles around my clit before he sucks on it, his fingers deep inside of me.
I relax back into the bed, panting when the sensation subsides, but I don't have time to catch my breath. He's inside of me again, thrusting deep, as his lips find mine. I don't even think about it, don't hesitate, kissing him deeply as he laughs against my mouth.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice strained, like he can't quite catch his breath. "Can you taste yourself?"
I'm embarrassed for a second, long enough for my face to heat, as he kisses me again, and again. I can taste myself, but I don't have a chance to dwell on it, because he's fucking me just as frenzied as before. His hips slam into mine, noises escaping my throat that he continues to smother with his kiss. I can feel his breath coming out in pants as he thrusts mercilessly, desperately.
And then he's off of me again, pulling out. This time he sits back on his knees and grasps his cock, stroking it as he tilts his head back, eyes closed. I stare at him in the moonlight, stunned by the sight of him coming, a mix of agony and pleasure seeming to twist his features as he grunts. He slows his strokes, stilling his hand, and just sits there, his chest falling and rising as he breathes deeply.
It's beautiful.
I don't know how else to describe it.
Naz is a work of art, confident in every aspect, and it's certainly warranted. I just lay there, my body made of jelly, while he towers above me like fortified steel. I'm suddenly weak and helpless, oh-so-vulnerable and at his mercy, at his disposal, and he's not dented even the slightest bit.
I'm fucked.
Literally.
Figuratively.
The man has fucked me in every sense of the word.
I'm no longer a charity case.
I'm a glorified prostitute.
The alcohol is fading from my system. I'm sweaty, and sticky, an ache between my thighs intensifying as clarity seeps in. Every cell in my body yearned for this earlier, yearned for him, except for the ones in my head.
Stupid brain cells.
They'd been lost in a champagne-induced haze, but now they want to come back around and throw a wrench in my moment with their damn common sense.
Anxiety fuels a touch of sickness, sickness that I fight to swallow down, but it burns the back of my throat, the coppery bitter tang on my tongue like I'd stuck it to the end of a battery.