Notes: Please skip this chapter if you're offended by, or too young to read, graphic adult content. The story will still make sense, I promise.

3

He had a car but was clearly too drunk to drive; I'd already arranged to have a cab pick me up at one a.m. When it arrived, he held the door open like a gentleman, then slid in after me. We sat close, pressed together shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and I could feel a flush of desire at our contact. I still held his hand, rubbing my thumb gently at the base of his wrist, feeling his pulse slowly climb and hearing his breathing match it, but we didn't touch in any other way. There was no mindless groping, not that I would have said no. It just seemed unnecessary somehow, and maybe a bit cheap. One night stands aren't exactly sacred, but I knew I wanted this to be more than a quick fuck in the backseat of a cab (in OHIO, for chrissake). There was so much potential energy between us, too much to waste on something so brief and unsatisfying.

The cab took us the short distance to my mother's house, my former childhood home, and now my burden. It was convenient anyway, considering that there was no hotel in Lima that could have handled the type of security I usually required when I traveled. But as he paid the fare (again, like a gentleman) and I searched for the house keys with only slightly clumsy fingers, I was thankful that he was there with me. He was a stranger, yes, but I did not want to be in this mausoleum of a house without company. Too many memories, too many ghosts.

I consciously kept them all at bay as I led him up the stairs, consciously pushed all thoughts of the night I'd stormed down them and out the door and my mother had told me never to come back from my mind. Instead I concentrated on him, gripping his hand hard enough that it might have been painful, except that he gripped me back with just as much strength. We were both tightly coiled, tightly wound, and I imagined what this night would be like when we both came undone. The tension between us made me realize that something that had started as a kind of game was now completely serious. Again I was afraid, not of him, not of violence, but of myself, not that it stopped me. Passing the doors to my old room, which was now used for storage, and my mother's room, which was now… Empty, I brought him to the guest room at the end of the hall. It was decently furnished and completely impersonal, almost like a hotel room, and that made it perfect. Besides, I knew I'd ever be able to set foot into the other two rooms again.

The second the door closed behind us we were in each other's arms, his embrace tight and enveloping, his mouth hot and insistent on mine. I was somewhat shorter than him, and pushed myself up on my tiptoes to get some leverage, to force my lips even harder against his. Our mouths opened at the same time, as if by agreement, and we invaded each other with our tongues, nipped at each other with our teeth. It was almost violent, the way we were kissing, almost like we were some ravenous devouring things. Cannibals might kiss like that; I never had, but tonight it felt right, necessary even. His mouth was all silky heat and sharp, desperate flavor, and it was intoxicating.

He dragged a hand through my hair, sending shivers down my spine, and my hat fell to the ground, not that I much cared. Then he buried his fingers in the waves at the base of my neck, angling my head to better consume me, holding me firm against him. It was dark and exciting, the strength with which he was controlling me, the mingled pleasure and pain of what our lips were doing together. I certainly wasn't passive, kissing him as deeply as he was kissing me, grabbing at his shirt as though I could literally rip it off, and believe me I wanted to. But I settled for yanking at the buttons, jerking them through their button holes with the same violence that characterized our kiss. When I was finished, he released his hold on me and removed his mouth from mine so that I could push the fabric down his well-toned arms and to the floor. His undershirt followed immediately thereafter.

It was dark in the guest room, the only light coming through the window courtesy of a streetlight outside, but there was enough of it to see the details and contours of his body. His chest was lightly muscled and covered with a sheen of sweat, rising and falling quickly, his body trim like a dancer's but with each muscle very clearly defined, and I ran my hands along him, exploring the smooth skin and the hard flesh beneath, reveling in the different textures. He growled low in his throat as I scraped my nails across his nipples and gripped my wrists, using his superior strength to push me toward the bed.

The backs of my legs made contact with its edge, and he forced me down on it, pinning me beneath him. I could feel the hardness between his legs and ground myself against him, recognizing the bare beginnings of pleasure from that point of contact and moaning softly as he pressed his lips to my ear, kissing and licking and sucking. "Don't make me wait," he rasped, and the combination of his husky voice, roughened with desire, and the puffs of air that accompanied it, sent a bolt of pure heat shooting straight to my core.

"I don't want to," I gasped out, the words turning into another moan as he sucked hard on my neck, directly above my pulse. His hands were all over me, one searching beneath my shirt to stroke my breasts, the other pushing at the hem of my skirt. I fumbled with his belt even as he pinched first one nipple and then the other, nearly distracting me with the sensations he caused. Then my skirt was around my waist and his fingers were rubbing me through my panties, which I could tell were absolutely soaked. The fabric slid across my clit and I cried out more in frustration than anything else, because it wasn't enough pressure, enough anything. He made an amused, pleased kind of sound, pushed the silk and lace aside and penetrated me with one finger, catching his breath perhaps at the ease of it.

"You're so wet," he groaned, no trace of amusement now, adding another finger, stretching me as he forced them both deep. He was rubbing some secret spot inside me that sent deep waves of pleasure through my body, and I almost thought it was possible for me to come from that pressure alone. "So wet and tight."

His words, his voice, his fingers were all driving me insane. I continued to toy with his belt, finally mastering my fingers to the extent that they remembered how to unbuckle it, and I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans as quickly as possible. Then his cock was in my hand, long and thick and inconceivably hard, and I stroked him firmly, rubbing my thumb across the head and feeling the seeping moisture there, hearing him hiss with pleasure. "I want you inside me," I said, voice low, and it was somehow both a desperate plea and an insistent demand.

"Yes," he agreed, lips moving against my throat. "God yes. I'm going to fuck you so hard."

Those coarse words spoken in his smooth voice filled me with heat, ratcheted up my desire, and I hoped that he meant what he said, because I wanted it like that. "Yes," I echoed fervently, and he withdrew his fingers from my body in order to position himself where I wanted him most. He slid the head of his cock along my cunt, teasing my clit with it, and I used the leverage of my feet still on the floor to raise my hips desperately, begging as much with that gesture as I had with my words.

Then I felt him press inside me, the thickness of his flesh stretching me far more than his fingers had, until it was almost painful but in the best possible way. He moved deeper and deeper until he was fully imbedded within me, and I was amazed that there was that much room. "Oh god," I whispered, nearly incoherent. "Please. Please."

He lifted his head from the crook of my neck, stroked the hair away from my face with one hand and looked into my eyes. His expression was tense, as though he were fighting for control, and maybe he was. "Please what?" he demanded before leaning down to press his mouth to mine. The kiss was strangely soft, strangely chaste, considering how deeply he was buried inside me and how harsh his voice had been.

"Please fuck me," I breathed once he'd relinquished my lips, and before I could even comprehend the fact that he was moving he was gripping my forearms, holding me down as he steadily withdrew himself then thrust back home. The pleasure was nearly unbearable as he moved, and I could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out. It still hurt, but I liked it, I wanted it, because it hurt with the kind of pain that was closer to transcendence than anything else.

Releasing my arms, he pulled on my hair with one hand, leaving my throat even more vulnerable to him, and he took full advantage of that fact. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders, making him groan and curse underneath his breath and increase the force of his thrusts. At the same time he pressed a finger against my clit, touching it directly and filling me with pure, raw sensation. That sensation coiled into ecstasy when combined with the way he was pounding himself into me, so intense and hard. I could feel my body tighten around him as I came, crying out wordlessly, wishing I knew his name, utterly suffused with pleasure.

His mouth found mine, silencing me, and he pushed into me again as his muscles tensed. He made a quiet, desperate sound in the back of his throat, a clear plea for me to do something, anything to push him over the edge. I met his tongue with mine, sucking it deep and biting at his lips. With a final gasp he shuddered in my arms.

TBC