Skin of the Night

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Chapter 47: Femme Fatale


She was right. The red jumper I’d packed for her, which she was currently wearing, was perhaps the most hideous piece of clothing I’d ever seen in my life. Nevertheless, she still managed to take my breath away. A beauty like her could turn heads wearing anything – especially if she wore nothing, but I’d tried to tell her that once, and she’d chewed my head straight off.

Cara was a difficult woman to pay compliments to. More than annoy me, it fascinated me, and it did because – unbeknownst to her – it revealed her vulnerabilities. She was constantly scouting for a way to read negatives in the positives between us, constantly searching for a way to fend off any effort at earning her affections and eventual attachment. Relentlessly, she looked for excuses to dislike me, for reasons to deny the palpable chemistry we shared.

Never did she turn a blind eye to the many ways a simple sentence could be misinterpreted. If I provided the tiniest of gaps in my statements, she would dive straight into it and obliterate it from within, and by doing so, deliberately derailing from what I had truly meant to say. Granted, I did return the favour without exception, but I never initiated it. I was only retaliating, not starting the war.

While Cara was inarguably a stunningly beautiful woman, her beauty hadn’t ensnared me the very first time we met – a time that seemed so long ago now. There were plenty of beautiful women on the planet, and I had a tendency to find beauty even in the ugly. It was the moment she’d opened her mouth that my fate had been sealed. In the span of the mere seconds it had taken her to insult my very existence, the remaining seconds of my life had been decided. I was going to have her, or I was going to die trying. I’d never wanted another human being so strongly in my life. The rest of our conversation that night had converted what was initially a want into pure, ruthless need.

The perfect clarity following my revelation that first night had been astounding. It was either going to be her, or no one. I would never want anyone else as much as I would always crave Cara Jane Darby, or Sandra, as I had known her as back then. And never lightly did I use the word ‘always’. I was a man to choose my words carefully – they had to harmonise with what I truly thought and felt at the moment I spoke them. Simply, they had to be true – not universally, but subjectively. So naturally, ‘always’ meant exactly that. It was an absolute, just as my desire for her was.

If I hadn’t managed to capture her, other women might have been able to entertain me for brief intervals during the remainder of my life, but I knew without a doubt that for the rest of my days Cara would be the only woman I thought of before I fell asleep, just as she would be the first I thought of in the morning.

That had become crystal clear to me when she had abandoned me in my flat the morning after we’d first met. I’d waited for her, hopeful she would change her mind and show up at my doorstep. That hope had died a slow, painful death when she never did.

In the wake of it, I’d tried time and again to pursue other women, desperately searching for her replacement; a woman capable of making me forget all about her. But as the months dragged on, I’d realised it wasn’t possible. I’d sleep with Violet and wish it were Cara. I’d look at Francesca’s naked body beneath my own and hate her for not being Cara.

She’d left behind a vacancy in me that could only be crowded by her. I’d wake up next to Violet and think of Cara. I’d fall asleep next to Francesca and still I only thought of Cara.

It had taken me one night to fall madly and irrevocably in love with her, and I hadn’t even known her true name. That disclosure had been an earth-shattering experience. I’d fallen head over heels for the first time in my life with a woman I knew nothing about.

But that wasn’t exactly true, was it? A name was only a name. It wasn’t an implication of her character the same way the flight of her hands was, or each gesture and tug of her lips. It didn’t whisper of the thoughts her bewitching mind contained the same way the sound of her laughter did, or the way she phrased herself. It was only a name.

I’d been rendered defenceless when she gave me a specific look – a look that I would come to know as unique to her character – later that evening. By now, I knew I’d never grow immune to it. Cara’s eyes carried a gleam that drove me mad with desire. I wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. It was easier to describe the effects, because they were quite similar to symptoms, but if I were to try, there was a certain mischief about that look of hers that blended with unquestionable confidence and a ruthless drive much like my own. Quite simply, it told me she was not going to surrender her dignity or integrity for anyone. She was going to meet every challenge I tossed her way, and words would never be able to directly convey how much I loved that part of her.

That look of hers was gone now. Palpable fear had replaced it. With blue eyes wide, she stared up at my hovering figure as though I were a predator about to seal her fate. In certain ways, I supposed I was. I would do anything in my power to ensure that our futures would be forever entwined.

“Scared?” I teased and lowered my head to stare deeper into her eyes. I hoped my eyes conveyed the intensity of my feelings – how profoundly I desired her and wanted her to be mine. Absolutely mine.

Even if I’d known it since the first time we met, she had only dared to admit it herself mere moments ago: she was intimidated by her feelings for me. While it was progression, things were moving much slower than I personally preferred. Had it been up to me, she would be my girlfriend right now, not just my lover. I hated that I had to keep us a version of a secret. I wanted to tell my parents of her, and I wanted to be able to dote upon her while at the office. Simply, I was desperate to officially mark her as my territory.

I’d mainly appreciated the fact that I could see through her pretence, but sometimes, my ability to do that frustrated me more than anything else. Her feelings for me were obvious. She loved me, even if she refused to admit it, and it demanded every sense of restraint I had to respect her reluctance to confess it just yet. It was extremely tempting to try and force the truth out of her, only so that we could embark on our fantastic potential. But more than that, it tempted because it was agonising to have to keep my mouth sealed about my extreme feelings for her.

I wanted to tell her I loved her, and I wanted to tell her until she was sick of hearing it. My feelings were bottling up to the extent that I often felt about to burst. I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake the truth out of her – shake her silly fears away – only so I could be relieved of the burden of having to conceal the extremity of my feelings for her.

However, in contrast to myself, intense feelings frightened Cara. It was obvious that she was scared to lose her head, caught in the whirlwind of her emotions. We attacked that matter differently. Intense feelings didn’t frighten me one bit. On the contrary, I enjoyed them. They didn’t confuse me, nor did they make me feel like I was losing my head or my sensibility. Rather, they served as clear indications of which path I was supposed to take.

Very few things scared me, but I knew that there was a single thing that frightened me above all, and that was being powerless. Being powerless in any given situation paralysed me with agony. Especially, that pertained to being unable to help someone I held dear, or being unable to prevent a loss of someone I cherished.

Losing Cara, and being unable to change that fact, was a great example of something I feared intensely, and that was the only reason as to why I kept my mouth shut about my feelings for her. If I pushed her too far, I worried she’d leave me.

It was quite obvious that it hadn’t crossed her mind that this was as much of a novelty to me as it was to her. I’d never been this obsessively in love in my life. Sure, I’d lusted after my fair share of women, but never had it felt as crucial to my existence as my lust for Cara. This time was different, because love had been added to the mixture. I had never loved before – not like this. She had become an irreplaceable part of me. If she left, she would take that piece of me with her, and I would never be able to recover it. She was part of my history now, and thereby part of my identity.

“Everything’s just a bit intense,” she replied breathlessly and ran her hands down my sides to tug my shirt out of my trousers.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be, Cara. Doesn’t it feel good?” I purred and dipped down to steal a kiss. Her soft, warm mouth moulded against my own, and still, the sensation of it wasn’t something I had grown familiar with. I yearned for the time it would, when the form of her lips would welcome mine as though I had just returned home; a home which contained years of history, shared memories and familiarity, as well as security and love.

“It doesn’t feel wrong,” she said as she pulled away for a breath of air. I wanted to roll my eyes at her, but resisted. She had an irritating ability to understate her true feelings. I was looking away from her in my annoyance when she grabbed hold of my jaw to force me to look at her. As I arrested her eyes, I saw a soft smile climb to her plump lips.

“I’m glad you’re here, Will. You were right. Waiting until tomorrow to see each other again would have been a mistake.”

Further progression. Excellent. She was warming up to me, wasn’t she? Little by little, I was tearing down her defence.

“I’m glad you’re able to see that.” After stealing another chaste kiss, I reached for her hideous sweater to remove it from her mouth-watering anatomy. As the soft skin of her flat stomach revealed itself I savoured the view while grinding my teeth together. The urge to ravish her was vicious. I wanted to claw down her skin and watch the red lanes surface after my nails abandoned her, as marks of my presence.

So I did.

Dragging my nails down her firm torso, I watched the redness emerge with a sense of satisfaction. It was physical evidence of my exclusive place in her life. As of now, no other man had the right to do this. If only the marks would remain. Should she decide that she wanted nothing to do with me, I wanted my successor to see the evidence of my existence and past role in her life on her skin. I wanted them to glare at him, and I wanted them to kill his desire for her.

It was my inherent jealousy that was to blame for that wretched desire of mine, as well as my feverish urge to possess her. If I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to have her either. You might argue that if I had truly loved her, her happiness was something I would prize above all, whether provided by me, or someone else.

We will never agree on that.

If provided by someone else, I would not prize her happiness at all, and if you dare tell me I did not truly love her because of that, you’re not listening. Nobody would ever love her as intensely as I did. I was rarely completely sure about things, but about that, I was. As long as we were together, and as long as it was a mutual practice, I would do anything in my power to meet her every desire and need.

Had it been platonic love, maybe you’d be right, but this wasn’t as pure and innocent as that. This was romantic love, and that changed the entire dynamic. Romantic love was intricate and – for me – reserved for one person only. Cara I loved romantically, and I wanted to be the only man she would ever love romantically as well. Anything else would be my ruin. If she replaced me with another lover, I’d never be happy. I’d be desolated and despaired, regardless of whether she was happy with someone else.

But make no mistake: I’d never force her to be with me. What I’m professing is that I could never be happy without her just because she could be happy without me. Quite honestly, I would hate her for being happy without me. If I was going to suffer, I wanted her to suffer with me.

You see, there exists that twisted idea that selflessness can’t be a destructive force. Society commends it as a hero’s main quality, but in reality, it’s faulty, because there resides no justice in it. Why should my needs come second to someone else’s, as if they were interchangeable? They had nothing to do with each other. My needs mattered just as much. After all, it was my life I was living. Not hers. So I was going to prioritise my own joy to the same extent I would prioritise Cara’s, and I expected her to treat me just the same. Anything else would be unjust, and it would lack integrity.

I was no martyr, and I refused to become one solely because anything else was frowned upon. Besides, martyrs – ironic as it were – were quite selfish, too. They wanted to sacrifice themselves for their cause. Of course, they’d rather do without all the pain and death, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that they were ultimately serving their subjective desires.

No, it didn’t quite work that way for me. Her happiness with someone else would not be a contagious thing that would ultimately infect me as well. Our joy was not linked. I would be an isolated case. Without her, I’d be miserable and lonely. It was as simple as that.

However, like I’d said, I would never force her to remain with me, but I would never forgive her for leaving either.

After staring at the marks for a brief moment, I steered my eyes to her face, only to see that hers were shut. Even though she had robbed me of the chance to read the emotion of her orbs, her expression made it abundantly clear – she was savouring the feel of my hands on her body. Her teeth were chewing on her lower lip while the rest of her fair face looked serene. I marvelled in the view. Witnessing the effect I had on her boosted my ego and instilled a sense of security in me that this passion I contained was very much mutual. From the look of her, it touched her, too. I hoped it weren’t only an illusion, but even if it were I wouldn’t want to snap out of it.

Lifting the garment higher, I was positively surprised by the fact that she had neglected to dress into her bra when she’d left my flat earlier. The less clothing in my way, the better. Her small pink nipples were erect, and I wondered if it were because she was already aroused, or whether it was due to the temperature in the room. Either way, I was going to have my share of them.

Lowering my head, I trailed my nose across the tip of her right nipple and smiled to myself when she locked her legs around my waist. Collecting her left breast, I paid it a gentle squeeze and silently appreciated how soft, and yet firm, it was within my palm. The nipple of it I gathered between two of my digits and tugged, just as I moved to engulf her right with my mouth.

I heard her sharp inhalation before her back arched to plant her mounds deeper within my possession. This was something I loved about making love to Cara. She was abnormally sensitive, and how I relished the responses of her body. I knew without a doubt that most of them were compulsive and subconsciously performed, which further convinced me of her desire for me.

Her hands gathered in my hair, tugging at the strands, while I took my sweet time with her. I was in no rush. Making love to her was my favourite activity. If only I could make a living out of it, I would have. Watching her shudder and twist in the throes of passion was something I could do for a lifetime without growing bored.

But that wasn’t what I loved the most about it. What I cherished most was how united we felt. Only when I was within her did she seem to let her guard down. It was only when I physically entered her that she seemed to let me enter her heart as well. That was what motivated my incessant need to pleasure her, because when I was within her, I felt loved by her. That was also why I refused myself to let our sessions of lovemaking be brief moments. I wanted to extend her moments of love for me for as long as I physically could manage. In the end, feeling loved by her was all I wanted.

Moreover, the look of ecstasy on her face when she reached her peak was unlike anything else, because when it grabbed her, I knew that I was the cause of it. No other man. Only me. I was at the root of her pleasure, and I wanted to bear witness to it time and again. Knowing I could bring her such bliss made me feel like I’d succeeded, even if only for the brief moment it lasted.

Dragging my right hand down the curve of her waist, I felt my cock strain against my boxers and trousers. The shape of her was testing my patience. Already, I wanted to delve into her, but I wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was writhing beneath me, mad with craving for my flesh.

Her fingers abandoned my hair when I trailed my hand toward the apex of her thighs to rub her. She started tugging on my shirt, clearly eager to remove it, but not yet. I wanted to rub her more. Friction, friction, I reminded myself, but not too much. Just enough to tantalise.

Women were sensual creatures. So much of arousal was in their head. Unlike men, it wasn’t as easily triggered by a fine vision. They needed to be teased, caressed and worshipped, and for that I’d always been grateful, because there was little I enjoyed more than praising the female anatomy. It was such an intricate design, like a complicated maze I could never seem to entirely map out. Every time I explored it, I discovered something new – a hidden pathway leading to her imminent arousal.

“Mm, Will,” she complained when she’d managed to gather my shirt under my arms. Feverishly, her hands roamed across my back, then to the front to caress my abdominal muscles, and then back again to claw down my shoulder blades.

Sighing, I stretched up to undo my sleeves and drag my shirt over my head. After tossing the garment away, I looked back to her and found her smiling up at me with a lascivious twinkle in her eyes. I stared. I couldn’t help myself.

“You are fucking breath-taking, Cara,” I declared and placed my index finger to the middle of the valley between her breasts. While holding her gaze, I dragged it down to her navel, feeling her muscles flex beneath my touch, responding. After circling it the once, I trailed it further down until I reached the spot where I assumed her clit was beckoning my attention just beneath her trousers.

With her eyes trapped by mine, I applied pressure. Her lips parted and her eyebrows furrowed. Bull’s eye.

“You like that?” I teased and reduced the pressure again.

I was surprised when a look of determination reached her eyes. With swift motions, she shoved my hand away and leant up to grab hold of my trousers. I watched her undo both the button and the zipper with a look of amusement on my face. What was she thinking now? I wished I could hear her thoughts. From the little I could tell, she seemed impatient.

With some force, she pushed both my trousers and my boxers down to liberate my erection, and once she had, she didn’t hesitate to wrap her warm hand around the base of it. Her mouth had nearly reached me when I buried my hand in her hair and tugged her head back, denying her the satisfaction.

I fucking loved Cara’s blowjobs, but there was a reason as to why I so seldom allowed her to perform fellatio on me. She was too good at it. Since I never felt quite so loved by her as I did when we made love, I was determined to last as long as I possibly could whenever we did. Because of that, I – paradoxical as it may seem – hated it when she gave me blowjobs. By doing it, she severely diminished my endurance.

“You never let me give you blowjobs!” she whined annoyed and glared up at me. “It’s not fair! I always let you go down on me.”

Didn’t matter. “Life’s not fair.”

She stared up at me for a while, hesitant. “Is it because I’m rubbish?” she brought herself to ask. “If I am, you can tell me. I’d like to get better, so some feedback would be nice.”

A groan escaped me. “No, Cara. You’re amazing at it, which is why I don’t like it when you do it. Men need to reload. You’re a woman, you wouldn’t understand, because you can have multiple orgasms during one round.”

Baffled, she held my gaze. “That’s it? That’s your reason?”

I arched a brow at her. “You sound disappointed.”

“Well, I am. I find it mean. You’re always giving me several amazing orgasms, and I’d like to return the favour. Giving you pleasure brings me pleasure.”

“Well, you’re giving me pleasure by letting me be in charge of yours,” I countered. “Different kind of pleasure, sure, but pleasure nonetheless.”

She folded her arms. “You’re ridiculous.”

When she behaved like that, this overwhelming urge to dominate her possessed me. Grabbing hold of her shoulders, I planted her flat against the mattress and glared into her eyes. Frankly, I was irritated she tried to rob me, to some degree, of the one moment I felt loved by her, which was when I was inside of her.

“I don’t care. Let me have this,” I quietly demanded, my voice low.

She swallowed, I saw, and stared vulnerably up at me. Through protruding lips, she muttered, “Fine.”

I don’t know how long I tortured her for until I reached the limit to my patience, but if someone had told me an hour, I wouldn’t have been surprised. By the time I finally entered her, I’d watched that beautiful look of ecstasy claim her face several times. That ecstasy blended with a sense of serene euphoria when I pushed past her soaked, tight walls to reach the end of her.

Holding her eyes under arrest, I stared fixated at her while I was buried as deeply as possible within her. I only halted when I saw a faint trace of pain cross her face. There, I lingered for a beat, overcome with relief. When she looked at me now, I saw nothing but affection in her eyes. Her guard was lowered. Right now, she felt safe to love me, as I had trapped her in the moment, rendering her incapable of thinking further than her current pleasures.

“Pleased?” I teased and nuzzled my nose to her smaller one.

“Yes,” she admitted, and as I leaned up again, I saw that a wide smile had taken to her mouth. “You fuck like a god, Will.”

I knew she hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings. These were her defensive mechanisms speaking, trying to make light of an otherwise intense situation, which was the only reason as to why I didn’t snap at her, regardless of how much I wanted to set her straight. This wasn’t fucking. This wasn’t some trivial exchange or mutual agreement to let our bodies be used by the other to quench primitive urges. This was far beyond that. This was profound.

So instead of replying to her ridiculous statement, I confessed, “This is my favourite place, Cara.” After gently retreating, I thrust inside her again, and I pushed far. When I reached the very end of her, I saw pain cross her face again. Suppose I did have a tendency to push her to her limit, in every way. “Right here,” I specified and pushed slightly further as I dropped another kiss to her lips. Barely a groan escaped her mouth when I lingered at the very end of her. Was she holding her breath?

I kept penetrating her, gentle in my thrusts this time around, mindful of the fact that she had complained about her soreness all day. Moreover, I wanted to make love to her. Not fuck her. Fucking was meaningless; pleasurable but meaningless. This wasn’t meaningless. This was anything but. This was my silent way of reminding her that she loved me.

I wanted to experience her, savour each groan leaping off her tongue, each contortion of her pretty face, and each scrape of her nails down my back while her legs shoved me toward her to bury me deeper within. I’d never get over how perfectly I fit into her, how her warm walls would clench around me, soaked with her arousal, while they tried to prevent my retreats, as if they begged for me to remain within her, precisely where I belonged. Merely the pressure of her was better than any other woman I’d slept with. I’d never felt so at home in another body before.

There was no denying that I wanted to charge savagely into her, that I wanted to possess every tissue of her body, inside and out, that I wanted to devour her until there was nothing left of her for anyone else to enjoy. However, I could do that any other day. Besides, we’d done rough, and rough wasn’t appropriate now. This moment was unmistakably delicate.

When her eyebrows furrowed deeper than usual, I could tell I’d struck the right spot within her. Repeating my pattern, I watched fascinated as her lips formed a small circle beneath my hovering figure. Removing my right hand from her hair, I directed the thumb of it to her throbbing clit and began rubbing as I focused fixated on hitting that same spot within her with each of my thrusts.

Her walls started quivering around me, squeezing. She was getting there, fast. She was exquisitely sensitive, and I doubted I’d ever stop appreciating it.

“Mm, fuck!” she cried. Her back arched off the mattress, neck bending backward until I could hardly see her face anymore while she clawed into the sheets.

The view drove me mad. Fuck slow. I couldn’t do it.

Charging fast and hard into her, I heard her whimper just as her shivers started. Her hands abandoned the bed sheets so that her arms could hook around my neck instead, and when her head turned toward me again, she stared up at me as though in a frenzy.

“Will,” she pleaded, or perhaps it was a warning. I swear, whenever my name rolled off her lips in precisely that fashion, it demanded all my strength not to fuck her into ruins.

“Yes, love. Let it go,” I ordered and circled my arm around her back to hold her against me. Forehead to forehead, I stared into her eyes and saw how they hooded with her climb. “Give in to me, Cara,” I commanded through grinding teeth and shoved harshly into her. She removed one arm from around my neck to try and push my hand away – the hand that was rubbing her clit – but I would have no such thing. I was determined to craft an agonising orgasm within her; a most bittersweet sensation, just as she was to me.

She tossed her head back just as her limbs tensed around me, and although she was rigid with her pleasure, every muscle of her body quivered, robbing her of any control. My lips dived down for her exposed throat to ravish it with kisses, particularly along her pulse where I knew she was especially sensitive.

“William!” she wailed, and I knew from the sound of it, as well as her quivers, that she climaxed. I tightened my embrace of her, as she had an irritating tendency to try and push me away right after she came, as if she couldn’t stand my nearness because it overwhelmed her.

Well, fuck that. Overwhelming her was one of my favourite pastimes.

But the pressure her vagina applied in the wake of her orgasm made me stress a bit. I had to slow down, or perhaps even withdraw, if I meant to last as long as I wanted. My cock was throbbing within her, almost painfully, begging for release, but I couldn’t allow it. Not yet. I’d hardly had my fill of her love.

Deciding upon withdrawal, I rolled us around and caressed her back while she recovered atop me, seemingly spent.

“Did you come?” she eventually asked, eyes closed and voice hoarse. There was a tone of surprise to her voice. I brushed her hair away from her face and smirked to myself.

“Nope. But we’ve got all the time in the world.”

I thought I heard her sob tearlessly the once, and it made me shake beneath her with stifled laughter. One day soon, I’d have to show her that I could do quick as well, or else I feared she would get exhausted merely at the idea of having sex with me.

After a few steadying breaths, she propped herself onto her arms on either side of my frame and paid me a lazy smile that only reminded me of why I’d fallen so madly in love with her. She was easily a femme fatale, and even though I had sensed as much from the start, it hadn’t intimidated me. She might end up being the death of me, but if she were, I’d die a happy man.

“Could I be on top?” she asked, and the eager in her eyes was irresistible.

“That depends. Are you going to be a dick about it again?”

“Dick about it?”

“Are you going to make this out to be nothing? As though I could as well have been anyone?”

She froze atop me, eyes widening. “What – no. You could never be anyone.” Her eyebrows furrowed, as if she was annoyed with the mere idea.

I swallowed. How terribly I wanted to believe her, and yet I couldn’t. Not yet. “Prove it to me, then. I dare you.”

Her eyes narrowed. Grabbing my jaw, she leaned so close that the tip of her nose met mine. “You don’t think I can?”

Fuck, how I wanted her. She was ever the challenge, and it aroused me like nothing else. When she stared at me like that, everything but her ceased to exist for me.

“Not really,” I said, nonchalant in my tone. I was hiding bitterness. “Not when it comes to this. This – admitting that I’m special to you – is your Achilles’ heel, and for that, I quite often think that you’re pathetic,” I admitted. “Pitiful.”

A furious fire ignited in her eyes. “Well, I loathe you quite often. Perhaps that’s why.”

“You’re so determined to disguise your affection in abomination,” I argued impassively and gently patted her bum. “It’s not working, Cara. Look at me. I’m naked in your bed, about to make love to you time and again, and I’m not going anywhere. Surely, you must see that your efforts are futile?”

“I’ve said I fancy you,” she grumbled.

I couldn’t have been less impressed. “What are you – ten?”

“Fuck you.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough. That’s what you should try to avoid: no fucking.”

She flushed bright red and moved to sit upright atop me. I couldn’t help but clench my jaw. Fucking hell, she was unfairly gorgeous. Gravity hadn’t interfered with her breasts yet, but even when it inevitably would, I would still find her beautiful.

“William, I don’t know how!” she confessed flustered, eyes fleeting. I had never seen her so ashamed.

Suppose I’d been right after all. She couldn’t prove to me that I was special to her. She didn’t know how, just like I’d said. She only knew how to fuck.

For a few seconds, I was sure my disbelief was tangible. It was disconcerting to witness her behaviour, ashamed and upset as she was. Like a parent to a child, a strange urge to console and comfort her gripped me, so with haste, I rushed up after her until we were nose to nose.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I soothed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and when she met my eyes, I saw that hers were wet. Christ, she was such a novice. It was rather enlightening to see how profoundly this affected her.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll just have to teach you.”

She looked nervous. “What do I do, then? Move slowly?”

I chuckled. “For example. Though, personally, I find eye contact most important.”

Her blush magnified until she was the colour of a tomato. Fascinating. “Eye contact?”

I nodded firmly the once. “Plenty.”

I saw her swallow, visibly intimidated. “Okay,” she whispered, though it sounded to be to herself. After ascending somewhat, she grabbed hold of my shoulder with her left hand and used the other to align me with her entrance. Upon her descent, my lips parted with my groan, and I couldn’t help but dig my fingers into the flesh of her hips. She felt unbelievably good. Her body was a bloody temple – a place to worship the divine.

When she had hooked both her arms around my neck, she rested her nose mere centimetres from my own and stared vulnerably into my eyes, if not even susceptibly.

After enjoying her delicious movements for a while, I queried softly, “How does this feel?”

“I... Profound,” she admitted bashfully. “But good.”

“Only good?”

“Tremendous,” she clarified and lowered her head to hide her face in the crook of my neck. Though I wanted to prompt contact with her eyes again, I resisted. I was already pushing her to her limit. Then, to my satisfaction, she lifted her head again, seeming to remember. I appreciated that more than I would be able to tell her. It was a clear sign that she was determined to battle her demons for me.

“Cara, you’re incredible,” I cooed and demanded possession of her mouth. This was exactly what I wanted. I’d never felt this loved by her before. Staring into her eyes, I could see her walls crumble to allow my entrance into her heart. In that brief moment, which wasn’t even a breathing space in the span of time, I was secure in her love for me. For as short as it lasted, she utterly loved me back, and I hadn’t before felt so completed.

By the time she cried my name in abandon for the final time a while later, long brown hair spread around her head like a vision of the divine, I was drenched in sweat. To a certain degree I was also satiated. No matter how briefly, she had dared to love me back.

The powerful orgasm that grabbed me felt to shoot out of my gut as I spilled myself inside of her, albeit sheathed in the dreadful latex. I could hardly wait for the moment I’d be able to do without. I hated the condoms that separated our flesh from making contact. Irrational as it was, it felt like they were preventing me from enjoying the entire of her.

I kissed her with all I had as I climaxed, but when oblivion eventually grabbed hold of me, I collapsed beside her and draped my arm over my eyes to surrender to the blissful dark. I must have lied like that for many minutes, recovering, because when I eventually removed my arm and turned my head, I discovered her fast asleep beside me, seemingly comatose. Not even an earthquake looked capable of stirring her awake. It made me pity her. Like I, she hadn’t caught much sleep last night, and since her friend had required her support earlier, she hadn’t been able to enjoy the same nap that I had.

When I’d found her gone, I had reacted a tad too aggressively. Still, I didn’t regret my response. She might have had a legitimate excuse to leave, but I knew full well that her reluctance to invite me over stemmed in a desire to push me away. The sign I took from it was that I was getting closer. One day soon, I hoped I would make her burst. Then, at last, would I be able to tell her how much I loved her, how truly senselessly I loved her.

I hoped I wouldn’t burst first.

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