WARNING; this story contains explicit sex. If you want the T-rated version, avoid chapters 1, 3, 5, 7 and 9. While there's mention of sex in the other chapters, there's nothing explicit in those. The plot also doesn't suffer if you take away the smut. The smut does add to it, though.
"Take off your clothes."
The softly spoken words make me freeze.
Am I dreaming again?
He's still standing there. Watching. Waiting.
Slowly, I bring up my arms and pull off my top. The sound of it hitting the floor is almost too loud in the now heavy silence. Goosebumps erupt all over. It isn't from the chill. I can feel his eyes trace my body, even as he stays hidden in the shadows.
This is really happening.
The thought strikes like lightning, making a giddy smile rise. I straighten my back, every uncertainty falling away. My thumbs come up to play with the waist of my shorts. Slipping my thumbs beneath the hem, I pull it down, just a little.
He shifts without a sound, the movement more felt than seen. My smile grows sultry.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I push down the fabric, shimmying my hips. I turn around as they fall down the floor, step out of them and throw a heady look over my shoulder as I stand there clad in nothing but my panties.
Is that a sigh I hear?
I close my eyes, tilting back my head. If this is happening, I'm going to make it good.
My hands caress my neck, sliding down, feather light touches. My breath hitches as I add a hint of nails, the barest of bites.
That is most definitely a sigh. My smile grows.
I glide down my hands until they're resting just above my panties. My fingers slip underneath the fabric, stroking, caressing, dipping inside. I moan. It would almost be embarrassing how wet I am if it wasn't so hot.
"Take it off." His voice is lower now, more rough. I toy with the edges of the fabric, drawing it out. The tension rises even higher.
Finally, I push them down and step out of them. I don't look back. I don't need to. His gaze is so intense it warms my body in the most delicious of ways.
"Turn around."
Mischievousness rises at his command. I look back over my shoulder while bring up a finger still moist with my own desire. I suck it clean.
"Make me."
A blur, too fast to track. Hard armor is pressed against my back and a gloved hand holds both my wrists captive. His other covers my throat, the cool leather a sensual contrast against my heated skin. He could snap my neck so easily. The hint of danger only adds to the excitement. I shiver.
A push, his arms turning me around, my back against the wall as he forces my hands up high. Moonlight illuminates the harsh lines of his bleached mask.
He doesn't make another move.
My eyes close as I feel him look over every inch of me. It makes me feel exposed.
It turns me on. Almost ridiculously so.
Then he's touching me, gloved fingers caressing my throat. I can't help but gasp, another shiver running through me.
His hand moves lower, gliding over my breasts. My breathing deepens further.
His touch goes lower, lower, lower.
He stops, right where I want him to. And he doesn't move. My eyes snap open. There are only shadows where his own should be. Somehow the sight is more alluring than anything I've ever experienced before.
I want.
Moaning, I shift my hips, needing him to just touch me.
He pulls back.
A strangled sound escapes me, frustration spiking. That bastard.
"Touch me, damn you," I order. The low laugh he lets out in return is almost as good as a caress. Almost.
"Make me," he taunts.
I narrow my eyes and take a moment to gather my scattered thoughts, deciding on what to do. Then I lift my leg, hook it around his waist and pull.
Sweet pressure, pure bliss. I shift my hips, needing to be closer, so much closer.
A shudder passes through him. My wrists are released and his hands tangles through my hair, tilting back my head. His other pulls me even closer, increasing that sweet, sweet pressure.
Yes.
I reach for him, grab his own hair and clutch at his shoulder. The proof of his desire pushes against me, exquisite heat even through fabric, fitting so perfectly. Then he rolls his hips.
A broken sound escapes me, my nails biting into unyielding armor and pulling at soft hair. More, I need more.
A too fast movement, my surroundings blurring, pushed down the bed with my wrists held captive once more.
I whine.
Then smooth leather finally touches me. I let my legs fall open, arch my back as those nimble fingers speed up. Stroking, petting, flicking, slipping inside, a harsh twist, straddling the line between pleasure and pain so perfectly and everything is tensing, tightening, so close.
He stops. No!
Letting out a strangled sound, my eyes snap open and I glare at the complete and utter bastard.
"I will hurt you so much," I swear, meaning every word. He lets out another low laugh, making another shiver run through me.
"I'd like to see you try."
I struggle to get free but I'm held down effortlessly. It increases both my anger and lust, the line between rage and passion blurred. I feel him shift and hear the sounds of moving cloth. My mind is too muddled to understand what that means, all my focus still on trying to get free. I just need him to touch me!
His hips snap forward without warning, filling me completely.
Yes, yes, yes!
Broken sobs, so full, so hot, harder, yes, more, don't stop!
He stops.
My shriek is captured by his hand. I glare at the shadows of his eyes. The blankness of his mask is mocking me.
Move. Move!
He moves.
Eyes closing, shivering, tensing, tightening, more, I need more!
Wrists suddenly free, voice released, desperately gasping for breath, moaning, screaming, blindly clutching at something, anything because his fingers are right there, stroking and caressing, yes, don't stop!
Back arching, stars exploding, oh god, yes, yes.
Silence.
Breathing heavily, sated and spent. Shivering as he pulls out. Lazily watching him as he gets off the bed, no energy left.
Wow.
I blink and he's gone.
Wow.
We have got to do that again.