A/N; I'm not sure what this is. Sometimes I hear a song or watch something and my mind just runs with it.
This is NOT the typical, very happy ending fic that I usually write, so please take this as a warning that this one is a bit different.
At first, this was going to be all about crazily insane Ally, but I don't know, it somehow turned into sort of sad porn instead. Sorry. I think.
This will be a three-shot, eventually.
I hope you guys enjoy this first part.
The very spacious room was loud, and crowded, unsurprisingly jam-packed with men in overly expensive suits, along with very beautiful women in too fancy cocktail dresses.
There was no doubt in his mind that each and every one of those dresses possibly, probably, were worth more than him, and he was equally sure that none of them would ever be worn again.
He hadn't been there for very long, perhaps half an hour or so, making his way throughout the large crowd, chatting for a minute here, a minute there, relaying on his charm to work as a distractor for people not to ask too many or too personal questions.
He was hoping and praying that he wouldn't stand out, yet instinctively knew that he probably did, most likely like a giraffe at a gathering meant for hyenas (and not just because of his height), as this was definitely not his usual hunting grounds.
He frequented bars, low-key hang-outs where the beers were served in plastic cups, and the food, if any, was micro-waved in the all but clean, back-kitchen, then served on a paper plate, at best, and decidedly not on a silver platter like the small bites of culinary heaven that he was currently devouring by the probably too many mouthfuls.
Had these people even heard of disposable utensils?
Probably not.
Come to think of it, there seemed to be a fairly high ratio of people born with silver spoons in their mouths in his current setting.
He was trying to calculate how many of the small appetizers (was it chicken? Fish? He didn't know and he really didn't care) he would need to eat to actually feel satisfied (why were they so fucking small?) all while looking around the huge space.
To call the venue a mansion would probably be an insulting understatement, as large castle seemed to be more accurate, and he had to admit that he hadn't really thought that people actually lived like that. At least not in this day and age.
Oh, the life of the rich and the famous.
He was pretty sure that he would never understand it, and entirely sure that he really didn't want to. Wealth seemed to complicate things.
Dez had somehow managed to get him on the guest list to the exclusive get-together. He didn't know how, and he didn't care, as he was since long passed the point of trying to understand how Dez operated. Sometimes he questioned how his best friend even managed to get out of bed in the morning, but as ditsy as the redhead could be, he also knew how to get things done when it really mattered.
He was at the party slash function slash gala, he couldn't remember exactly what the redhead had told him, to make some much needed industry connections, to meet the right people, something that seemed to be necessary in order for him to finally find a way to put his music out there, and to be able to move it from its current status of "hobby" to "profession".
Ah, he couldn't wait.
The prospect of failure wasn't a possibility, neither in his mind nor in reality, because he knew, just knew, that he could make it, that he would make it.
All he needed was a little bit of help and a big bit of luck.
Ah, he needed his big break to come already.
It would allow him to get his dad off of his back, and get himself off of his back.
Literally.
Part of his responsibilities of working at his dad's mattress store included test laying all the beds.
On a daily basis.
No kidding.
His aim wasn't to get rich and famous, but heck, making enough money not to need to worry about paying rent, and to be able to travel, and maybe perhaps get season court-side tickets to the Heat games, didn't sound completely horrible.
But that was it.
Nothing too crazy, nothing too extravagant.
He was pretty certain that money couldn't buy the things he wanted in life, anyways, although his parents would clearly and loudly disagree.
He grabbed another drink, from one of the many caterers that constantly passed him by, at what seemed to be some sort of never interrupted, timed-and-short-interval frequency.
They reminded him of some sort of robots.
He wasn't completely sure that he had ever had champagne before, at least not the real kind, the expensive kind, and he had definitely not had it served from the crystal flutes that he would probably have to take out a loan to pay for, if he was unfortunate enough to break one.
Not that he was planning to.
He was on the thirdish glass already.
Was it just him, or did all the other party guests seem kind of...boring? There was free food, and free alcohol, yet absolutely no free spirit, as everyone seemed kind of...uptight.
They were all wearing different outfits, different, elaborate hair styles, different expensive watches, but yet they were all the same.
No variety, no fun, and absolutely nothing unexpected.
He had had more fun playing video games in Dez's basement the night before.
Even though he had lost.
Repeatedly.
He looked around, feeling like a lost kid in a too expensive candy store, a store where he was allowed to look but not touch, a store that he had been thrown into in some sort of social experiment, perhaps with the purpose of practicing some much needed self-control.
The funny thing was, though, that although he loved sweets, he wasn't in the mood, he didn't have the craving, almost as if he instinctively knew that nothing in the store was meant for him.
And then he saw her.
One candy, one sweet candy, although it, she, was probably anything but, the candy, a candy that made his mouth almost literally water, as it was tempting, nicely packaged, and, of course, in the perfect mouthful size.
Her wrapper, her dress, the dress that he wasn't entirely sure that he could really recall the color of, was seemingly painted onto her body, yet managed to leave a lot to the imagination, oh so much imagination.
He could almost taste her from where he stood, the envisioned sweetness of her skin tickling his taste buds even from yards away.
He shouldn't have a taste, he couldn't have a taste, because he knew it would cost him, probably much more than he could ever afford.
But he wanted to anyways.
Just a taste, just one lick, just a few bites, run his nose against her neck that he was positive would smell like heaven, cotton candy, and probably, if he was to be more realistic, expensive perfume.
She hadn't noticed him, why would she, but he couldn't look away, as if she was some sort of mesmerizing and magnetizing planet, and his eyes were two small globes circulating her, helplessly drawn to and trapped in her force field, spinning around without a will of their own.
She made both his eyes and his head spin.
Some time passed, perhaps a few minutes of maybe an hour, and there were people, everywhere, and yet, somehow, all he could see was her, almost like the two of them were playing out a scene of a movie, where everything else was blurred but they were in screaming color.
After the first wave of insane attraction had subsided, or at least a little, he realized that she looked slightly familiar, although it took a couple of minutes for him to place her.
Right.
She was Ally Dawson.
He had heard about her, of course he had, who in the large city of Miami, or quite possibly the world, hadn't?
She was a princess, or perhaps a queen, although not technically so, and he was currently standing in her castle. Literally.
From what he knew, she was the spitting opposite of what he needed and pretty much everything he didn't want.
He was still surprised, though, as she was not nearly as tantalizing by rumor as she was in person.
Well, not really in person.
He was watching her, observing her, some may even call it almost stalking, but from a semi-far comfortable distance, although he was getting less and less comfortable by the minute.
He had forgotten why he was there, he had forgotten how he had gotten there, and he could no longer recall who the important people that he was hoping to meet were.
He should probably have left already, it was getting late, and he had to get up early, too early, to slave away at the god-forgotten mattress store.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
Their eyes finally met, fleetingly at first and then again and again, until he knew that it was no longer by coincident.
He grabbed yet another champagne flute from the good-looking caterer, ignoring her smile that was clearly flirtatious. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, because she was, but she was merely a Hershey's kiss in a confection store where the specialty was decadent, expensive and exclusive chocolate.
Said specialty was still in the room, still tempting him, but also infuriating him.
The way she was playing with her long hair while unashamedly and openly flirting with each and every one of her numerous and too many admirers drove him slightly insane.
He wanted to tug on that hair, pull on it, make her scream his name while...
Focus.
As if he could.
She was desire, appeal, sensuality, and it was as if she was exuding it, not necessarily on purpose, but as if sexiness was something she couldn't hide even if she had tried.
Not that she looked as if she was trying to, though, or at least not very hard.
But he was.
All he could imagine was her perfect cherry lips running over his body, down his chest, surrounding the head of his...
Their eyes met, again, by now for the infinieth time, lingering for too long once again, and this time, she smiled while running her perfectly manicured pointer finger down the front of her too-close-standing suitor's impeccable suit, without breaking eye contact with him for even a split second. Fuck, she was a tease, and she knew it, and she enjoyed it, he knew she did, it was obvious, as if she felt accomplished by the fact that she was able to drive him, and most likely everyone else in the room, crazy.
What was wrong with him? Maybe he was allergic to the champagne or something.
Generally, he really didn't have a type, but spoiled rich, daddy's girls were usually and automatically in the no-can-do category. Literally.
They came with too much drama, they were too high-strung, they required too much and too high-maintenance, and on top of that, they often brought too much emotional luggage that he really wasn't willing to carry.
And she, she wasn't just rich, she was a freaking socialite, and therefore bound to have more problems than money, and he was pretty certain that her stack of both were hugenormous.
Her luggage probably had to be shipped separately.
Simple.
He liked to keep his life simple.
One suitcase.
Preferably of the rolling type.
She seemed to be ignoring him now, perhaps she was bored of him already, and he was contemplating to leave, as his pants were too tight and it was getting hard to hide it, and although he didn't know anybody there, he really didn't want to be remembered as the creep with the enormous boner.
That was it.
He should leave, before he made a move that he would most likely regret, go home and spend the night with his hand and his now vivid fantasies, and then forget all about her.
He turned around, finally determined to head for the nicely decorated exit, when he almost knocked something, someone, over.
Her dress was blue, he could see it now, as he had a much better view of her from up close, and suddenly the room felt small, and there was apparently a shortage of oxygen, and he was pretty sure that his hand was almost shaking a little.
What was wrong with him? Was he...nervous?
She smiled, a not at all innocent one, straight at him, and he realized he had been wrong, she wasn't a planet, she was the sun, blinding him, scorching hot, and if he touched her, he would probably get burned.
She seemed smaller up close, more delicate, her brunette hair in starch contrast to his own probably too blond mop.
Short, tall, brunette, blond.
Opposites.
The sun to his Moon.
"Nice to meet you, where you been?" Her voice was softer than he had anticipated, feminine, floating like a sensual whisper into his suddenly sensitive ears, caressing his brain in an intimate hug, although he knew she was probably simultaneously poisoning it as well.
She was a beautiful snake, a temptation that made no secret of its risks, but was good at distracting its prey before going in for the unavoidable kill.
His instinct was to run, but for some weird reason he also wanted to try to tame the reptile, domesticate it, play around with it for a bit despite its clear and present danger.
He looked around, confused, not sure that she was really and actually addressing him, although she was still looking straight at him, into him, with the teasing smile still beautifully painted onto her way too pretty face.
"Me?" He knew his voice was a pitch too high, most likely due to the adrenaline currently running through him, courtesy of her few words that were now echoing in the loud hall, or quite possibly just in his too jumbled head.
She nodded, slowly, almost condescendingly, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows a bit as he failed to speak for a minute.
He cleared his throat, not without effort. "Do you...do you know me?"
She shrugged while she shook her head, the pretty sculpted curls bouncing off of her chest.
Oh, her chest...
"Not yet...but you look like my next mistake."
And with that, she walked away, slowly turning to wink at him over her left shoulder, and he couldn't move, because the pants were no longer just tight but about to suffocate his fucking dick, and it was almost physically painful.
He didn't believe in love at first sight (who the fuck did), and even maybe not at all, but he had never, ever, never, experienced such strong attraction towards someone he had shared no more than a handful of flirtatious looks and a total of what, four? verbal exchanges with.
He grabbed another champagne flute from another Hershey's, once again ignoring the by now routine, suggestive smile, as he was in a state of shock or trance or maybe just an extreme level of hornyness, his mind being controlled by a craving, a craving that only the right type of treat could still.
She was already talking, possibly flirting, with some other poor (but probably rich) bastard and he was just standing there, awkwardly, as he didn't know what to do next.
He should go.
He couldn't move.
He somehow lost track of her, until a few minutes later, when he caught sight of her by what seemed to be an almost hidden, side glass door. Had it not been for her standing next to it he wouldn't have noticed it, but as she did, it became impossible not to.
He had absolutely no clue as to where it lead, perhaps to a secret garden, oh, he wanted to explore her secret garden, alright. With his own private stick.
She was scanning the room from where she was standing, as if she was looking for someone, and she smiled when she finally noticed that he was looking right at her, even though it really shouldn't come as a surprise.
"Come." Or was it "cum"? She was mounting the single word while moving her pointer finger in a slow motion towards herself, as if she was calling over a well-trained dog, but was too polite to whistle or maybe knowing that it wouldn't be needed.
It seemed accurate enough, though, as he was practically wagging his very own version of a tail as he started to walk up towards her.
Woff.
He was about halfway there when she disappeared, swift(ly), as if vanishing into thin air, and for a few panic-stricken moments, he thought that perhaps she was just an illusion, made out of hopes or perhaps dreams, a dream that he was now hopelessly chasing, much like all his other ones.
He exited the still semi-cracked open door, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the almost darkness, before he spotted her, almost all the way across a large courtyard.
It looked as if she was floating above the ground, and he was once again wondering if perhaps she was simply an imaginary product of his intoxicated state, before he realized that she had kicked off her shoes and was now tiptoeing across the square, vast bricks, most likely in an effort not to get her dress dirty.
It didn't take very long for him to catch up to her, as he was, after all, almost twice her height, or at least it felt like it, and even more so as she was now barefoot.
She glanced at him once he reached her, briefly, while smiling, almost ponderously, much like someone who had just caught an unusual fish and was trying to decide what to do with it, and while she was picking between cooking him or throwing him back in the water, where he belonged, she was leaving him dangling on her hook, gasping for air.
She continued to walk a couple of steps in front of him through the sparsely lit up and almost eerily quiet (considering the large and not very distant party) courtyard, her literally leading the way into the dark unknown, and he couldn't recall ever being more scared or excited.
She didn't say anything until they reached a seemingly large beach, empty, and most likely private.
It made sense that she would have one.
What mansion-castle owner worth her name didn't.
She stopped and smiled at him, again, a mischievous one this time around.
He liked it, as it made her look younger, less serious, less full of secrets.
"Catch me if you can."
She threw the fancy shoes that she had been dangling in her hand off to the side, the high-heeled pair soon bouncing off of the uneven ground, nonchalantly, as if she knew that someone else would pick them up, or perhaps as if she had hundreds of them and didn't need them anymore.
She let go of her dress, the hem of the long, luxurious material soon dragging over the soft sand as she started to speed towards the close-by ocean, the ocean he could hear but not yet really see.
She was faster than he had expected, almost as if she was used to running away.
He followed her, slowly, and it felt as if they were engaging in an improvised game of cat and mouse, but although he was the one doing the chasing, he wasn't entirely sure of who was who.
It was warm, and the beach was dark, and he could feel the small grains of sand seeping into his well-polished dress shoes as he was slowly running after her, and he had absolutely no idea of where they were going or what they were doing there, but he didn't really fell the need to question it, he felt no need to slow down, but instead he continued to speed right into the darkness.
She came to a standstill a few yards away from to the slow-rolling water, and he caught up to her while she was still catching her breath.
The half moon above was reflecting in her brown hair, making it look golden, like a treasure, or perhaps fool's gold, while the small breeze was playing with said hair, and her dress, and maybe his heart.
She was staring off out into the water, as if she was thinking of something.
"What was that?" He was still catching his breath, as well.
She shrugged as she turned towards him. "Fun. Or at least more fun than that so called party."
He had to agree with that.
They stood there for a minute, in complete silence, before he suddenly remembered something.
He reached out, lightly tapping her bare shoulder, letting his finger momentarily run against her soft skin, and the slight body contact was brief, but nice, very nice.
"I caught you."
She laughed, almost as if that was an impossibility.
"I'm Ally."
She didn't extend her hand.
He hadn't expected her to.
Good.
He didn't need any more body contact, as her still semi-heavy breathing did literally nothing to calm him down.
"Austin. And I know." He was surprised that he was able to speak, and even more so that he was able to actually string words together.
She shook her head, almost sadly. "Ain't it funny how rumors fly."
He shrugged. "I try not to pay attention to gossip."
She shook her head again. "Whatever, it's not like it matters, I know you heard about me." He couldn't determine whether she sounded pleased or upset or maybe both.
He shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant. "I guess."
"So tell me what you think you know." It almost sounded as if she was challenging him.
"You're filthy rich." It was the first thing that came to mind, and quite honestly the nicest thing he had heard about her.
She laughed. "Sure that's all you've heard. And I'm not, my dad is."
He could identify with that, the need for a clear separation from a parent, the need for being your own individual, the need not to live your dad's dream but your own and...
She interrupted his mental jargon.
"That party was as dry as my dad's latest wife."
"Does he have them often? The parties, I mean."
She giggled and shrugged at the same time. "Too often."
"Must be tough."
She laughed, as if she could sense his sarcasm.
He liked it. Her.
"I guess it could be worse. But enough chit-chat, now sing something."
"What?" He wasn't entirely sure that he had heard her correctly.
"You're a singer, aren't you? Isn't that why you're at my dad's fundraiser?"
Fundraiser. Right. That's what it was. As if he had any money to donate.
And right. That's why he was there. Industry. Connections. Making it big.
Over the past hour or so, he had forgotten why he was there and had instead started to think that the sole purpose of the night was for him to run into and after her. Literally.
"What...what do you want me to sing?"
"Something that turns you on."
Oh, so pretty much anything would do. Or at least it would as long as he was in her presence.
It took him a minute, as all he could think of was various ways of making her sing, and then he started to slowly, hesitantly, sing the first few lines of his latest song, as it was the first one that came to mind. He couldn't really remember the lyrics, although he had written them all by himself, but it was something about stopping the world and freezing a moment in time, and it seemed fitting, and although his memory was currently slightly dysfunctional, it seemed as if his mouth was auto-piloting his mind, as his voice was soon loudly ringing out over the open beach.
She smiled before she started to move, or sway, slightly, as if her body was dancing in the wind, treating him to some type of personal dance, and although she wasn't great at it, it was the best performance he had ever seen.
The removal of the first strap of her dress took him by surprise, as she slowly slid it off of her paleish shoulder before reaching behind her back and undoing the dress zipper, but the removal of the second one almost kicked him into cardiac arrest, and he wasn't sure he was even breathing for the rest of the improvised striptease that was playing out in front if him, like something out of a classy porno.
(He wasn't sure that was a thing. He was pretty sure it should be a thing).
The top of her dress was down, and she was not wearing a bra, her nipples immediately hardening in the small wind, and he had to fist his hand in his dress pant pocket to prevent himself from reaching out and touch her.
She stepped out of the dress, the material spreading out like a beautiful silk flower, misplaced in the sand, and then she was in her underwear, the pathetic, lacey excuse for underwear, the underwear that he wanted to rip apart with his teeth, but he didn't even get the chance to finish his fantasy before she stepped out of them, as well, letting the light material run over her legs before they met the same destiny as her dress.
He was still singing, somehow, and he had just finished one of his favorite lines, something about it doesn't get better than this, when she walked up to him, now completely nude, and if his eyes had been magnetized to her earlier they were practically superglued to her now.
"Done."
He almost was, too, and as he wasn't sure whether her word was a comment or an instruction, he stopped singing, just in case.
"You have a nice voice." It sounded like she was being sincere, but it also sounded foreign, like she wasn't used to saying nice things.
He had to clear his throat as he was almost literally drooling. "You have a nice...everything."
She laughed. "I have a nice outside."
And with that, she moved him close to her, pulling him roughly by the tie, almost like it was a leash, and he swallowed hard as she immediately started to undress him, too, first removing said tie, then pulling off his jacket before quickly untucking his shirt, only to slowly unbuttoning each of the small circles of his now sweaty dress shirt with minuscule precision.
He was pretty sure he was about to die. Or maybe he already had.
"Take off your shoes."
His naked feet soon intermixed with the grainy sand, and she continued, making her way down, as his now bare nipples, too, hardened in the wind, or from her touch, soon unbuckling his belt and he thought he might explode, her hands not even making skin contact and yet he was about to completely blow up.
She shook her head, ever so slightly, as to indicate that he was being way too impatient, before she let her fingers run over his chest, his stomach, across his abs, outlining them, marking them with her nails while the moonlight was kissing her naked skin in places where he wanted to.
She pulled down his pants, soon having him down to his underwear, his truck printed underwear, his for the night incredibly tight underwear, the underwear that he had never been embarrassed about before but suddenly was extremely self-conscious about.
She didn't seem to notice, or maybe she did and didn't care, as she just simply pulled them down, almost hurriedly so, and then he was naked, too, their bodies not touching but the space in between them somehow shrinking further with each passing second.
"What...are we doing?" Yep. It was weird, but he was nervous.
"Skinny dipping". She said it as if it was obvious, and as if she had done it countless of times before, and it hit him that perhaps she had.
She pulled him by the hand, with no difficulty whatsoever, walking them across the sand and then into the water, and the ocean wasn't cold, but nice, maybe even refreshing.
She waited until they got in waist deep before she let go of him, diving underneath the surface, resurfacing a few seconds later and a few yards away, with a few water drops running down her face, and for some odd reason, they reminded him of tears.
He wanted to dry them, keep them from coming, while making other things cum.
Again and again.
She approached him again, not at all slowly, as if she suddenly remembered why they were there (although he still didn't really know), jumping up and soon wrapping her legs around him, around his waist, her naked body almost oddly light in the water.
He could no longer stop himself from letting his hands run over her back and his tongue run across her neck, tasting her collarbone(r), her breasts...
He could feel her breath speed up as she leaned in to his ear, semi-whispering something.
"I can show you incredible things."
He didn't doubt that, not for a second, but for some reason his excitement was also mixed with fear, because she was a delicious shot, one with a guaranteed, horrendous, lengthy hungover, and yet he wanted to drink.
Preferably the whole fucking bottle.
They were so close, nose to nose, and she was swallowing his almost non-existent breath, as if she was hungry, and that made him hungry, and suddenly they were kissing, intensely, in the moonlight.
She tasted sweet, like the confection he had envisioned her as the whole fucking evening, but even more decadent, the perfect balance of expensive ingredients, and as any good candy, it didn't leave him satisfied but instead craving more.
His tongue was in her mouth, exploring, tasting, hesitantly at first, like a customer that had been allowed a sample and now wanted the whole thing, but wasn't sure if he was allowed to.
Her body was rubbing up all over his, her hard nipples tickling his chest, her tongue exploring, tasting him, too, and that, that was it, the social experiment was over, he had not self-control left.
"What...are...?"
She put her finger over his lips to interrupt him.
"We're young and were reckless, we'll take this way too far."
Her body was still wrapped around him, like he was now the candy, her hips rolling in towards him, and he was fisting her hair, wrapping it around his little finger, just like she seemingly already had him wrapped around hers, as they continued to kiss as if they were both drowning in the water that was simultaneously embracing and carrying them.
He knew he was right on the edge of losing it, and he had thought that she had been driving him insane earlier but that, that was nothing, that was just a pre-test, a test run.
He decided to make a move and carried her out of the water, his wet feet immediately covered in sand, looking around almost desperately in an effort to find something to put he down on, oh, he wanted to go down, and the only thing he could find was his haphazardly discarded suit.
He put her down, on top of it, flat on her back, and it didn't take more than a couple of seconds before she pulled him down on top of her, impatiently, his much longer body completely covering hers, yet somehow they were almost a perfect match, perfectly aligned despite their height difference.
"Touch me." It was another order.
He started by her shoulder, the tip of his fingers outlining her skin, everywhere, his tongue following its tracks.
Her body tasted as good as the rest of her, she was clearly made out of solid chocolate, and he lingered around her breast, sucking on her nipples while his hand traveled south, like a bird looking for a new home, and soon finding its warm nest in between her legs.
Oh, he was ready to move in.
He rubbed her, deliberately slow despite her small noises of complaints, speeding up ever so slightly before pushing one of his long fingers into her, into her wetness, soon moving in and out of her. Her back was arching off of the suit, meeting his finger thrusts, eagerly, unashamedly, her moans getting louder with each of his moves, her body pressing into the jacket, into the sand, his body pressing onto hers, into hers, and he couldn't stop, and he really fucking didn't want to, and then he felt her fingers on him, grabbing him slowly stroking him, pumping him, making him even fucking harder somehow.
His whole body now seemed to be working on auto-pilot, telling him to put other things inside of her, but he was still waiting for some type of signal, some type of go ahead, as he was still in slight disbelief that this was actually happening.
"Fuck me."
That was pretty much as clear of a signal that he could ever ask for.
He pushed into her, in one quick, deep thrust, resting some of his weight on his arms on each side of her petite body, literally screaming out loud as the sensation of filling her overtook him as he was fulfilling her wishes and her, fucking her hard on top of the suit, the suit that he had borrowed from his dad without the elderly man's knowledge, while quietly praying that he wouldn't need dry cleaning, but shit, it really didn't matter, it would be worth it, crap, he would even buy the old man a brand new suit if needed. A new entire closet.
Her pussy was tight, and her hands were running down his back, her nails digging into his skin, and it hurt and yet it felt so fucking good, bad and good, just like her, although he wasn't yet sure of her allotted ratio.
He got lost in sensations and the contrasts of the night, her skin light underneath him in the darkness, the wind cold against his naked back but her warm underneath him.
Her pussy was squeezing him as tightly as her arms, his ass moving in more and more disorganized shoves as his cock continued to take her, over and over, filling her, repeatedly, relentlessly, her moans ringing louder and louder in his ear, until she grabbed his hand, putting his fingers in her mouth, moving them in and out of it, him biting her neck, her collarbone, while she tasted his finger tips.
He suddenly found himself whispering something into her ear, as he was practically thinking out loud, and perhaps it was because he wasn't completely sober or because the whole night felt unreal, or because being inside of her was every bit as amazing as he had imagined and more.
"Are you a dream?" Even as he said it, he wasn't sure of whether he was speaking to her or to himself.
She removed his fingers and laughed against his ear, while still running her nails down his back, scratching him even a little bit harder as she responded.
"Darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream."
The way she said it sounded so real, and so cynical, as if she really, truly believed that about herself.
He sped up, almost involuntarily, as if he somehow wanted to prove to himself that she wasn't a dream while simultaneously proving to her that she was, and before he knew it, she was cumming undone around him, vibrating, shaking, and although he didn't want it to end, he couldn't stop himself from letting go, soon, too soon, erupting inside her tightness, providing her with a treat for once, harshly biting her neck while screaming out his orgasm into it.
Not a minute had passed and he was still breathing hard as she nudged his shoulder, as if telling him to get off of her, and he rolled over, on his back, into a defeat position, like the obedient dog that he was.
She rose and got dressed, and not necessarily slowly so, some of the sand running down the beautiful dress as she pulled it back on, and he couldn't help but notice that she almost looked uncomfortable.
He laughed. "Are you in a hurry or something?"
She looked at him as if he was a nuisance, unimportant. "I don't really like the beach."
"Why?" After what had just happened, he couldn't think of a place he liked more.
She waited for a second, as if she really didn't want to talk to him. "Ugh, sand is getting everywhere." She sounded bored as she wiped another few grains off of her arm, as if trying to make her point, and as he got up and started to get redressed himself, he had to admit she had a good one.
She moved closer to him where he stood, half dressed, the dress already teasingly draping her body once again. "Give me a hand."
He already had, and plenty of other things too, but he didn't say anything, as he could sense that she didn't want to talk.
He reached down and pulled up the back zipper, slowly, as if he knew that he was closing up a box, or perhaps a chapter, one that he didn't want to end, running his finger along the bare skin of her spine while doing so, and he could see the goosebumps form, everywhere, although he knew she probably wouldn't admit it.
He finished and she took off, without a word, while he was still buttoning his pants, walking in front of him, again, as if she was above keeping him company, or perhaps as if she had already gotten what she wanted from him and had absolutely no interest in prolonging their interaction for longer than necessary.
He didn't know what he had expected, but he did know that it bothered him.
He caught up to her right as she returned to the big courtyard.
"Why me? Out of all the men in there..." (he nodded towards the now close-by entrance) "..that wanted you, wants you, why did you pick me?"
She didn't hesitate. "You looked like you would be a good..." It seemed like she was having a difficult time finding the right words, or perhaps like she was trying to chose them carefully.
"Lover?" He sounded hopeful.
"Fucker." She sounded correcting, and she wouldn't stop walking.
He just knew she was leaving, walking out of his life as quickly as she had walked into it, and he wasn't ready, like at all, so he grabbed her, not hard but firmly.
He could tell that it, he, surprised her, perhaps for the first time of the night, and he was finally in control, although he now had none, his gun already loaded again.
He took the lead, pulling her towards and pushing her into the hard, nearby wall, and this time around he did not even bother to remove her dress, but simply pulled it up over her waist, letting his hands encircle her tiny waist while lifting her up, his mouth back on her neck, soon getting sugar-high off of her, before ripping off her underwear and pushing his dick back deep inside of her, taking her again, roughly, up against the hard wall, her pussy squeezing him tight, her moans growing increasingly louder along with the speed of his thrusts, him hitting her hard and roughly and over and over, while desperately hoping that they didn't have security cameras, although something told him they probably did, but it wasn't as if that would stop him, anyways, he was pretty sure nothing would.
He knew none of them would last long, or at least he wouldn't, so he stopped moving, his cock buried deep inside of her while he reached down and started to rub her into bliss, her pussy moving around him while her arms were almost helplessly wrapped around his neck. He waited until she was cumming undone before he started to move, then slamming his cock into her over and over as she was finishing up, before releasing inside of her for the second time of the night.
He put her down, and she simply pulled her dress down, the material slightly wrinkled but barely noticeably so.
"Well, this was fun." She said it as if she meant it, and yet she sounded cold, distant, like an ice queen who was soon to return to her palace.
He was leaning against the brick wall, trying to once again button up his pants with his still shaky hands, when she walked up to him and kissed him again, but it was a different kiss this time, a definite one, a goodbye one, and he didn't like it nearly as much as the other ones, as it wasn't sweet and perhaps even bitter.
She started to walk away, without turning around as much as once, and he felt almost a desperate need to stop her.
He ran after her, again, soon literally blocking her way.
He wasn't completely sure of why, maybe it was because the memory of being inside of her was still so fresh in his mind, or maybe because of the light flush on her cheek, or maybe because he was literally crazy, but he couldn't think of anything else he wanted more than to see her again.
"Do you want to...I don't know, grab a beer, get some food, catch a movie?" He sounded less confident than he wanted to but more confident than he thought he would.
She scrunched her nose, and for a brief second she once again reminded him of something he could only imagine to be a younger or perhaps truer version of herself.
He was looking at her, probably expectantly, and she started to laugh, as it he had been telling a funny joke, although she was clearly laughing at him and not with him.
"Oh, you're serious. That's...cute, but I don't make the same mistake twice. No matter how good it felt making them." She nudged him a little.
He wanted to take her up against the wall again.
He fought the urge to tell her that she had, in fact, already made the same 'mistake' twice, but he bit his tongue.
Something told him that she was neither used to nor liked being corrected.
"What's the big deal?" He usually didn't beg, but tonight he was a dog and he was clearly still hungry for treats.
"Look, Alex, you seem...nice. You should move on and have a good life."
He should. Even he knew that.
But he didn't want to.
And the way she said, as if she wouldn't be good enough for him or something, as if she would mess him up and that she was protecting him somehow by letting him go, really bothered him, almost more than her obvious reluctance to seeing him again.
"Austin."
"Huh?"
"It's Austin. Like the city in Texas."
She shook her head as if it didn't matter. "I'm not very good at geography."
At least they had something in common.
He continued to just stand there, in her way, while giving her the almost famous puppy eyes, not knowing what else to say.
This was new to him.
Girls that he had just fucked generally couldn't wait to see him again.
But then again, they usually remembered his name, too.
"Look, Austin, I have a long list of ex lovers..."
That didn't surprise him.
"I really don't care." He didn't.
"They'll tell you I'm insane."
"Why is that?" Not that he really cared about that either.
She smiled. "Because I am."
He knew she was probably right.
If anything, the night they had just shared probably proved that.
But he didn't mind.
And suddenly, just like that, crazy was the new simple.
"I don't care."
She looked at him, for maybe a full minute, quietly, as if she was evaluating him, or maybe re-evaluating him, weighing his pros and cons right in front of him before making a decision.
"You know what, why not? You're cute. Let's be...friends. I'm dying to see how this one ends."
He smiled. "Maybe it won't end." He couldn't help himself.
She smiled, too, bad almost sadly so. "Trust me, it's not a question of if but when. Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you."
She moved and walked around him, and this time he didn't move or stop her.
"Call me." It sounded like yet another order.
"I don't have your number."
She stopped for a very brief second. "You managed to get into a high-security party without an invitation, I'm sure you can find a way to get my number."
Damn it.
He thought he had been doing so well.
"How...how did you know I wasn't invited?"
She was shaking her head, almost like she couldn't believe that he would think she was so naive. "New money, suit and tie, I can read you like a magazine."
And with that she walked away, only turning around once she had made it almost all the way over to the old mansion-castle-whatever, waving her fingers in a nonchalant goodbye.
"See you. Maybe."
And then she was gone.