Chapter Six
Chiara
When his face is in my silky panties, he inhales. Instantaneously, he rips them and buries himself there. His big hands cup the backs of my thighs, spreading them and pulling me up and against the wall somehow, so he has me where he wants me. Then his tongue practically attacks me. He thrusts, and moans, and probes. It’s shocking at first. My hips have a mind of their own, rubbing against him as he moves into me. A wave of pleasure swiftly covers my entire body. After that, I thrust my hands into his thick golden hair, grabbing hold to make sure he never, ever stops.
Somehow my pleasure builds to bliss. I feel it spreading through me from the center of myself, up and over me, making my lips quiver, my nipples harder, and my toes curl. He’s caressing my pussy, and I feel it everywhere. My excitement keeps growing, like it’s too big for my body to contain. I’m watching him consume me, and it thrills me more than I could have dreamed. It is irresistible. He starts to grunt, and my entire body hums with the sounds.
I feel like I’m finally waking up. I’m aware. I’m alive. I am breathing for the first time. This is the secret to creation, to life, to procreation. This ecstasy is why we are here, what our bodies are made for. And I’ve denied myself this.
No. I haven’t found anyone who would offer it to me. Before him. Before this enigma that I don’t know, that I don’t understand. He’s showing me the world, and I know nothing about him except the way he feels, and how he makes me feel.
I’m rocking against him now, as if I’m moving toward something more. How can there be more? More than bliss, or ecstasy? But there is, and he’s driving me there. I feel it coming. My hands grip his hair tighter, my nails dig into his scalp.
“Yes, please, yes,” I hear myself moaning. His responses are guttural, and they vibrate inside me. It’s bringing me closer, tighter. I feel suspended, as if I’m about to fall. I want to fall. I want…
Finally my muscles, my entire being, everything inside me contracts. “Yes!” I cry out. I expand, and contract again. I continue to cry out, with each mind-opening pulse.
His thrusts slow, and he releases the hold he has over my reactions. He has a firm grip on my body, I realize, as I finally see that I’m several inches off the ground. His sinewy biceps are now almost hyper-defined, and look huge, as do the muscles under the dagger tattoo.
I hear him chuckle, before he pulls away from my center, and my already super-sensitive spot tingles. When I can see his face, he’s smiling wickedly. His lips glisten, almost rivaling his eyes. His beauty is brilliant.
“You doubted you could come, and now I’m covered in it,” he murmurs, before his tongue escapes to savor my juices.
How am I supposed to reply to that? “Thank you,” I whisper, but it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. “That was eye-opening.”
“I’m so pleased to be the first,” he replies. He carefully places my feet on the ground, again, and unfurls his incredible height until he’s level with my mouth. He kisses me, and I taste the remnants of my pleasure on him, tangy and sweet. His tongue explores my mouth like it did my most intimate area, assertively but not forcefully. Those muscles react, and contract again.
His hands are still on my thighs, so he pulls me into his body. My aroused womanhood encounters the roughness of heavy denim, and the outline of his penis, which is somehow bigger and harder than it was earlier.
I moan into his mouth, and wiggle against him, causing more contractions. His hips push up, until I’m almost sitting on his thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles, until I feel the heels of my shoes catching against his jeans.
I’m being carried again, this time into another room. He flips another switch, and I pull away from his delicious mouth to look around. It’s the bedroom. I smile brightly. Yes, there’s more to sex, and I’m lucky enough to experience it with the most gorgeous person I’ve ever set eyes upon. My smile is wider than normal. I am happier than maybe I’ve ever been.
“You’re breathtaking,” he says, as he’s laying me onto the bed.
“That was incredible. I never knew that sex would feel that good.” I stretch out in the king sized bed, not even caring that I’m naked and his eyes are fixated on my body. I leave my hands over my head, with my breasts thrust out toward him. “I can’t wait for what comes next.”
Something clouds his eyes at those words. Am I being too forward? He called me eager earlier. Is that a bad thing?
“Everything comes next,” he assures me, as he steps backward toward the bathroom. “Settle into the bed, my treasure. I want to wash my hands before I touch your pure little pussy.” I watch him, as he turns and enters the restroom. I bite my lip and stare at him. I get another eyeful of tattoos. If I hadn’t already figured out, I’d know he was Russian. A two headed eagle is on one shoulder, the right side is distinctly Russian wearing a crown, the left is American, obviously a bald eagle. On the other shoulder is a very intricate grim reaper. In the center is a small, bloomed rose. And on his lower back is a beautiful domed church.
He leaves the door cracked, and I hear the water running. I bend forward, remove the shoes, and toss them aside. Then I climb out of the bed and turn down the sheets. I fluff the pillows. The water has stopped. I glance through the crack, and see him standing in front of the mirror. I snicker, as I imagine him primping for me. I turn on the radio, and find an easy listening station.
He’s not coming out. Damn. He’s decided he doesn’t want me after all. Then I hear a swift blow. I stop, startled by the sound, before I move toward the door. He’s breathing heavily. I push it open a little more, and I find him staring into the mirror as if he’s angry. He’s leaning forward, looking at the tattoos on his shoulders. I don’t know what they mean, but at this moment he’s unhappy with them.
He doesn’t hear me, so I lean against the door frame, gazing at him as he’s glaring at himself. He’s nude now, and I see another tattoo on his thigh, that spreads up over his hip, hidden from view when he’s dressed. It’s an anchor, but the top of the anchor disintegrates into birds flying away. Something is weighing him down, but he wants to be free. And he doesn’t want anyone to know.
He jumps when he catches me staring at him. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Suddenly he’s not the uber-confident, hottest guy on the planet. He seems afraid, and a little lost.
“I don’t want to soil you with my filthy hands.” His voice cracks as he speaks. I take in his hands, and they are spotless, even if they appear a little rough.
I bridge the gap between us, and my fingers lightly trace the cross on his right bicep. He pulls away a little, but he moans as if he likes it. I move down his defined arm, to touch his wrist. He sighs. Then I touch the back of his hand. “I want your hands on my body. I like the way they make me feel,” I murmur, and move to lightly kiss the tattoo. As I do, my bare breast grazes his skin, and I hear that hiss of his breath, almost as if it burns him.
“You’re pure, and I’m rotten,” he argues.
My other hand touches his hip, where the birds are flying. He shivers a little. “Maybe just for tonight we can meet in the middle?”
“Just for tonight?” he asks, roughly.
I turn, so that my cheek is against his hard bicep. I catch his eyes in the mirror again. He’s haunted. He’s sad. He has demons that I would never be able to fathom, if I didn’t know what my father does, what the organization he works for does.
So, I wanted to defy my fiancé who is in the Italian mob, by having sex with a guy I met in a bar. I wanted a normal guy, one who is not involved in the business that I’m marrying in to. And what do I get? I get a man who is probably in the Russian mob. I should have picked up on it, from the way he speaks, the way he walks, the way he carries himself. He might not wear suits like my dad and my fiancé, but he’s dangerous none the less. Maybe he’s even more dangerous, because he doesn’t indulge in the trappings of civility. Sure his face is beautiful, but his clothes are as rough as his hands. And I fooled myself into believing he might be a surfer.
I should run now. I should get dressed and leave. Instead, I cover his hand with mine, and place my fingers between his.
“Just for tonight,” I reply softly. I can’t give him any more than that. I shouldn’t even give him tonight. I want to, though, and not because I don’t want Frankie to have it. I want to give it to him, this man whose name I don’t even know. I don’t want to know.
It’s so wrong. But it feels too right.
“Please?”
He moves swiftly, and places my rear on the counter top with my legs spread. Then he swoops in and kisses me, and his hands cover my body as if he wants to touch all of me at the same time. I sigh into his mouth, and my hands again find his stomach. His body is incredible, his kiss is perfection, and his touch is setting me on fire.
His hands find my hips, and I think he’s going to pull me into him. Instead, he caresses my thighs, until he again finds my center. His fingers are warm, and tentative. He touches my clitoris, and parts the folds surrounding it. I groan into his mouth when I feel one finger dip inside me, like his tongue did. But his finger is rougher, more insistent. It’s delving, penetrating, preparing my body for what’s to come.
As he explores my femininity, my hands find his manhood. The tip is wet and warm. It is just as long as I thought it might be, nearly as long as my forearm. It’s thick as well, my fingers don’t touch as they travel up and down his huge shaft. My other hand finds his balls, and his body twitches.
We begin to moan together, as his finger inside me matches my slow, hesitant exploration. Pleasure fills me again, but it’s almost more urgent because I’m touching him too. I know he’s feeling as good as I do. His finger moves out, and then down. When I feel it pressing against my other hole, I groan, and try to wiggle away. There’s no where I can go, with my back against the cold hard mirror. He presses, and he’s inside me, and I groan even louder. He doesn’t leave my slick pussy empty for long, as he slides a finger in it, then another. He alternates his strokes, moving in my ass and out of my pussy. His hips move with his hands, encouraging me to go faster.
I know what I’m driving toward now. I know how the orgasm feels. My muscles tighten against his fingers. He breaks the kiss to look into my eyes. “You feel so good, Chi. You’re so tight, and so wet. Come for me, Chi.”
He’s staring into my eyes as I feel my climax contract against his fingers. I moan loudly, and my hand tightens around his penis, causing his hips to flex again. The sadness in his eyes is gone, and it’s replaced by unimaginable desire. He watches my reactions, almost savoring them.
I feel another smile spread across my face. “You’re so good,” I sigh, as I return his gaze, without shyness.
“No, I’m not. I’m very very bad,” he replies. That’s when I feel his big, wet head replacing his fingers, and I feel a resistance as he slides into me. He’s not wearing a condom. I’m not on the pill.
“Please, put-“ Before I can get it out, he’s kissing me into silence.
Slowly, an inch at a time, he’s burying his bare cock inside me. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expected it to. My thighs part, I guess I’m hoping to make it easier to accommodate his girth. He’s huge, even if I am wet and ready for him. He doesn’t pause to let me get used to it. He moves into me, without hesitating, until finally he stops. He must have encountered my hymen, because it is uncomfortable. He pauses there, for several moments.
Then he pulls his mouth away, so he can look into my eyes and whisper my name as he pushes forward with one hard stroke and breaks the barrier. I grunt, loudly, and cry out a little. He kisses me again, and stays inside me without moving. It’s tight, and it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not painful. He’s kissing me passionately, as his hands tease the backs of my thighs.
Slowly, I feel myself relaxing. I begin to test the sensation, by wiggling against him. He moans loudly, but doesn’t move. He’s allowing me to get used to it, and begin to enjoy it. His willpower must be made of iron, because he stays there for what feels like an eternity, kissing and caressing me as I start to actually enjoy the sense of fullness. When my first moan of real pleasure escapes our mouths, he withdraws from me.
That’s not the end. I know. Is it? I didn’t climax. Did he?
His eyes are closed, and he leans his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. That was bad. That was wrong. It was unacceptable,” he mutters, his lips an inch away from mine.
He is done. After the two orgasms he gave me, the real sex part was extremely anticlimactic.
I open my mouth to say it’s okay, even though it really wasn’t. Then he looks into my eyes, and says, “I wanted to feel what it was like to take your virginity, skin to skin. That was wrong. I’ll put the condom on now.”
“You’re not done?” I exclaim, my voice a little too high.
He grins at me as he leans down to gather something out of his jeans. “No, Chi. We’ve only just started.”