Hot.
Sweaty.
Throbbing.
Tingling.
Pulsing.
Pounding.
All the feelings blurred into one rhythmic mix of sensations, burning through Sylvia's body, until, suddenly, Kaz's nimble fingers circled her right nipple and pushed down ever so slightly while giving it a small roll between his fingers. It immediately sent a jolt of electricity through her body, forcing a small squeal to slip out of her mouth. Sylvia squirmed away, pushing her hands out.
"Stop, stop, that's enough," she gasped breathlessly. Her chest was tight now. Tingling. Full. She could feel her hard nipple brushing against the fabric, extra sensitive.
"Let me take the bra off, it'll be better," he whispered in a low, husky breath.
"No, no, no, I think this is enough now," Sylvia breathed, pushing against him. "I should be getting back anyway, right?"
"Please, Sylvia," he said, those large blue eyes staring so lovingly into hers as he lay on top of her, the pressure of his body making Sylvia's heart pound wildly. Her breath hitched. Then he opened his mouth and sang with a small smile:
You can't take my sass.
You can't take my talking.
You can kiss my ass
And then keep on walking.
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.
Sylvia's jaw dropped. His voice was amazing. It was slow and low and calm. So filled with emotion. Wait, didn't he say he didn't know the song? A prickle crawled up her spine. He'd lied about the song, hadn't he?
Something in her twisted. If he could lie about this, what else could he lie about? But before she could untangle the thought, Kaz had caught the strap of her bra between his teeth and dragged it down her shoulder, sending a wave of suspense through her body.
His warm lips trailed across the tops of her breasts, where he repeated the action on her other side. Sylvia arched into him with a soft gasp, her body rising off the bed a few inches, just enough for Kaz's hands to reach behind her and unclasp the hook. She hadn't told herself to arch her back, yet somehow Kaz knew she would. How was he in better control of her body than she was?
She wanted to pull away, to ask him to slow down—but her limbs stayed limp, useless. She wasn't sure if she was frozen or giving in. Or if there was even a difference.
Mesmerised, he watched the light flicker and dance across her exposed flesh. Sylvia's skin shone like burnished bronze as he traced his fingers through a light sheen of sweat around her navel. Breathless with anticipation, her chest heaved as she took in gulps of air and Kaz's eyes were immediately drawn to the dusky rose nipples crowning her breasts. With a mischievous grin and a small pat on her arm of what was probably supposed to be reassurance, he lowered his face.
Sylvia cried out as he captured her breast in his mouth, heat and electricity coursing through her body. His tongue laved the darkened flesh, and she shuddered, white knuckles closing tightly around the sheets. She was certain he could feel her pounding heart.
"Sylvia," he moaned against her soft, slick skin as he turned his attention to her other breast. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. His strong, clever fingers moulded and kneaded her tender flesh, leaving them heavier and warmer and needier and tinglier and harder than before. Then he started trailing down her body. Sylvia's head fell back, and her breath hitched.
His mouth followed the shape of her body, down to her hips. Her mind blurred at the edges, half caught in sensation, half trapped in the rising confusion. She liked it. And she hated that she liked it. Her breath came in short gasps as the suspense grew, her thighs pressed tightly together.
When his hand slid beneath her skirt, something inside her flinched. Her legs tensed, a reflex. Her body knew something her mouth still couldn't say. She wanted to pull away. She didn't.
His fingers found her underwear and pressed gently, rhythmically.
"Let me take the rest off, Sylvia," he whispered.
"No, not everything. The underwear stays on." She said firmly, glad her voice didn't break. But it trembled beneath the surface, barely holding back a thousand reasons why this needed to stop.
"Of course, of course," then he worked the zipper of her skirt and gently pulled it down her long, quivering legs. "You're so beautiful." Then his hands were upon her again.
Sylvia's eyes widened. No. Don't— Her breath caught again as he traced slow circles against her. Her thighs twitched, hips arching slightly toward him before she even realised. Her thoughts blurred into one endless warning. But he was already moving, and she was already melting, and she hated every second of it.
Each pulse of pleasure felt like a betrayal. Her brain screamed one thing. Her body answered with another. She wasn't sure who she was siding with anymore.
Her body was reacting, fast and hot, her skin flushed and burning. She hated it. Hated how right it felt, even as every part of her brain begged her to stop this.
She sat up, shaky and breathless. "Wait," she said, pushing at his chest.
He paused. Not for long. Just long enough for her to hope he might actually listen.
Then he chuckled softly and kissed her again, lower, slower. "You're just nervous," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "You're already so turned on. That means something, doesn't it?"
Was this what being turned on felt like? No, no, no, no, no, what had she become?
"No-it's not—" she tried to explain, but his fingers were already hooking at the sides of her underwear.
"Remember, there's nothing I can take from you that was ever worth keeping," he said, fingers curling slowly. "Oh, come on, Sylvia, sing me the last verse. It'll calm you down. I do love your voice very much."
She didn't stop him. She couldn't. Her hands hovered in the air like she'd forgotten how to use them. Slowly, he peeled the fabric away from her hot, wet flesh. In a shaky voice, she sang:
No, sir,
Nothing you can take from me is worth dirt.
A scream tore from her throat when she felt the sudden intrusion. Then he pulled out and in again, eliciting a groan from Sylvia, her hips rising against his fingers, her head flung backwards. "You're beautiful," he murmured, pressing his lips to her thigh. "Your body knows this is good. Keep singing." In a shaky voice, Sylvia continued:
Take it, 'cause I'd give it free. It won't hurt.
Another high-pitched, drawn-out moan burst from her lips; her heart thundered in her chest. His fingers were moving faster.
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.
She gasped out, then she blurted "Stop, stop, plea—ahh" another moan followed, then a quick gasp, then he hit a particular bundle of nerves, sending her hips up into the air, her fingers clawing at the bed sheets, her legs spasming. As she gasped and groaned and mewled and moaned and whimpered, her mind screamed: I don't want this.
But her back arched again when he touched her, as if her body had turned traitor. Her breath came in uneven gasps, reactive to his fingers. In, moan, out, gasp, in, moan, out, gasp. Shame curled in her gut.
She didn't know how to reconcile it — this rush of unwanted pleasure and the dread pooling in her chest. The heat was real. So was the fear. And he was using one to silence the other.
She didn't recognise herself — this version of Sylvia, responsive and melting and powerless. She hated it. But she couldn't stop it. This time, when his fingers found that delicious point again and a scream was torn from her throat, she shaped her mouth, screaming:
"Please!"
He paused, his fingers still buried inside her. Her breath hitched. Her thighs pressed tightly around him, and she throbbed and burned. Again, again, her body begged. Just one more.
"What was that?" He asked in a calm, low voice, laced with danger. A small whimper escaped her lips as the pressure built.
Then he leaned closer with a knowing smile, breath hot against her abdomen. "You're almost there," he said, coaxing. "Your body's begging for me. Don't be scared. I'll be gentle."
She wanted to scream, to shove him off. But her body was frozen, overstimulated, confused. Her muscles wouldn't move.
Then, taking her silence as his cue, he dug his fingers just a bit deeper, touched the bundle of nerves and pulled out. It was her loudest sound yet, paired with her most violent release. Her legs shook and fluttered, drenched in sweat and something else, leaving Sylvia sticky, gasping, aching and burning.
She wanted to scream. To thrash. To run. But her body was gone—just nerve endings and heat. She wasn't in it anymore. She was watching from above, ashamed of the way high, uncontrolled, quivering sounds had spilt from her lips.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he crawled up her body. Even though her head was spinning and her eyes were closed, Sylvia knew he was naked. She cracked her eyes open to find him positioning himself above her, the bed creaking slightly.
"No," she whispered. She barely heard it herself. Her chest rose and fell, red and swollen.
"What was that?" he asked. He was smiling.
She didn't answer. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her whole body was trembling—not with want, but with the sick collision of fear and surrender. She turned her face away, eyes locked on a crack in the ceiling. Her limbs felt hollow. Her skin pulsed.
She didn't move when he pushed inside her.