He pumped his hips mercilessly, almost wildly, for so long that it felt for ever, thrusting into the woman's body hard and fast, relentlessly. He was no longer covering her mouth and, in the midst of his alcohol haze, he could hear her scream. He smirked, because, as alien as females seemed to him, he could still tell pain from pleasure in a woman's cries.
¡Oh gods, she was wet ...! he wondered at her response to him when he expected her to feel nothing but disgust. Perhaps he was as good as any in the dark, though, even better than some, as he was young and hard as iron. Maybe she thought he was not too bad, as long as he kept his ruined face hidden.
'Piss on her, piss on them all' he thought. He wished he no longer needed anyone, either male or female, in this shitty world. He was brimming with anger, despising himself for his need, hating her because he needed the likes of her while they hated his guts.
He Keep on holding her hips with iron fingers that would surely leave marks on her skin come the morrow. She had a luscious body, with rounded hips and heavy breasts, and she was responding to his thrusts with wanton little cries. What else could he ask for? And still, he needed more. It was madness but he wanted more. As he struggled hopelessly to find release, he knew that, although he could not face her blue-eyed gaze, he needed to feel her arms around him, her body clinging to his while he took her.
The girl gasped in surprise when she felt him pull away from her, still rock hard and pulsing as he was. Then, he turned her round, so that she was facing him, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Now he was holding her against his body, relishing the feel of her breasts against his bare chest. His skin was clammy with sweat and his muscles flexed as she grabbed his shoulders for leverage while she wrapped her legs round his waist.
His touch seemed surprisingly gentle compared to their rough rutting mere seconds earlier. He let her body slide downward against his until he was inside her again, then she heard him moan as he started rocking his hips in a slow motion, taking her so deep and slow, with so much care, that she thought he had forgotten who she was and what she was. She was sure that, in his mind, now he was embracing his lady love, not fucking a nameless whore in a dark alcove.
She could not remember the last time a man had held her thus, as if she was his lifeline. He had hidden his face in the crook of her neck, always avoiding her eyes, and with a rhythm unfailing and steady like the tide, he went on and on, making love to the woman in his dreams with everything he had, with everything he was.
Thus, they clung to each other some more time, avoiding each other' s eyes, but locked in an impossible lover's embrace.
He made her remember who she used to be and let her forget, if only for an instant, what she had become: a whore, just another whore in that strange city, and not that reckless girl, too pretty for her own good, who lost her way somehow, somewhere along the way. So, she clung to him a bit longer, marking his skin with her nails, gripping his waist with her thighs , holding on to him with all her strength until ,eventually, she let herself go, coming for the first time after so long that she could not remember when it had happened last.
When he sensed that unknown girl's pleasure contracting around him, with his eyes still tightly closed, he could pretend he was a man and not a battered dog nobody wanted.
He was approaching his release; he felt it so close that he bit his lower lip until he drew blood, to prevent that forbidden name from escaping his mouth. He spent himself inside a stranger's body and, it was all he could do not to turn his face searching for her lips to lock with his as he emptied himself inside her. He was so desperate that he craved a woman's kiss, any woman's kiss, it seemed. Apparently, he was pathetic when he was not brutish, and that was hardly an improvement.
In a heartbeat, the moment was gone. Now he noticed the chill of the dank corridor and became aware of his weary limbs, the pain in his wounded arm and the weight of the woman's body resting against his. He felt himself softening at last. He was sweaty, cold and tired but he felt calm, his physical need now satisfied, at least for a while.
He lifted his head and looked to his left, still holding the whore's body in his arms, their groins still joined. His eyes wandered down the corridor until they saw something unexpected, something impossible in that usually deserted corridor. He saw the slim form of a young lady garbed in ivory silk and Myrish lace; long auburn hair fell over her shoulders and her gaze was a deep shade of blue.
He could not really see the colour of her hair and her eyes in the dark but he knew them by heart.
Damn his luck! Why did she have to be there in that deserted corridor?
Fuck! It was her, his little bird.
He did not know how long she had been there watching him, but there was something he did know: She had been there for far too long. She held his gaze for an instant and then turned round and started running down the corridor, her hair fanning out behind her like a shiny fall.