Page 84 of Raven

He pushes my legs open and brings his face between my them, his tongue licking along my center.

He opens me up and licks me slowly, tasting me, running the flat of his tongue along my center, exploring the texture.

And his eyes are on me when he finishes every lick with a kiss. Then repeats it.

My surprise at his words mixes with the soft flames leaking against my center. I thought he’d try to take everything possible from me, do something degrading. Hence my rule, no violence.

Turns out he is not a violent man. In fact, he is the complete opposite in bed, the strokes of his tongue soft and expert when it slithers around my clit. He sucks on my pussy lips, making me buck my hips at him as the pleasure grows inside me with the speed of a brushfire.

I’ve learned that some quiet, harmless-looking men can be rough and even somewhat sadistic in bed. Some brutal guys can be softies and most gentle.

I didn’t know what to expect from Raven, but he is good with his tongue and wicked with his fingers. He uses them to spread my pussy open for his gentle invasion, and in a moment, my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I moan in an orgasm that lasts for some time as his tongue calms the flames of pleasure.

He seems unfazed by the fact that he just jerked off all over my bed and made me come on his tongue. When I open my eyes, his face is above me. He studies my lips for a second, then meets my eyes as I feel him pressing against my entrance, and he inches inside me.

His gaze keeps me hostage as he thrusts into me inch by hot inch, stretching me, and then he pulls out almost all the way, only his tip pressed to my entrance. He pushes in again, and while he is inside me, he slowly tugs his jeans lower, shifting just slightly, enough for me to feel him move inside me.

And he’s watching me.

"You feel so good, Mayflower,” he murmurs.

The first orgasm has barely faded, but another one is already starting, and he watches me and fucks me and watches me and fucks me.

I want to kiss him, but I can't. I made the rules. I'm trying to have the upper hand here, at least in this way.

But he rolls his hips, deepening his thrusts and whispers, “So sweet, Mayflower," and tips me over the edge. I come and come all over his cock that feels so good. I don’t hold back the moans—too late for that. I’m finally free to be myself for the first time in two years, and I can, with him, of all people. That's what he came here for, that's his goal, he told me so, or at least made it clear. So I give him what he wants, myself, and my orgasm, and the roll of my hips as I clench around him, and the strokes of my fingers against his nipples. He answers right away with his own orgasm, breaking the eye contact and grunting into my neck, because, yeah, chemistry, and bodily response, and you just can't control this sometimes. No matter the hate or the grudge or the blackmail, some bodies are just that compatible and they don’t give a fuck about your mind and the games it tries to play.

I breathe heavily as we lie beside each other and stare at the ceiling. Has sex ever felt so liberating? Maybe I'm getting older. Maybe we are just that compatible. Maybe I've just wanted him too much in the last week. I did. Thoughts create tension, which needs release.

So, here we are, Raven and me, him staring at me, me staring at the ceiling which dances with interchanging neon colors to the soft sounds of lounge music.

He didn’t know what to expect coming here. My goal was to throw him off with drinks and food and this achingly familiar dress up that used to be my daily life. I just wanted to feel fucking normal, like back then, not afraid to be myself.

He is still watching me, and I turn my head to meet his eyes.

“Hungry?" I ask.

I've always had a thing for food. I can never eat before sex, or an important event, or in a stressful situation. But when it's over, it's like I have to replenish the lost energy.

Raven studies me like I just offered him cyanide.

“I made a pot roast,” I explain. “Home recipe.”

A smile peeks from his lips. “Home? Did your father teach you that?”

We both chuckle, and it’s probably the closest I’ve felt to Raven. I think he feels it, too. We look away from each other, awkwardly forcing the smiles to go away.

I could’ve never imagined a week ago both of us naked on the bed, laughing about the almighty Aleksei “Tsar.” Maybe it’s alcohol. Maybe this will only last for tonight. But I suddenly feel a giant wave of relief washing over me. A relief to finally be able to talk to someone about my past so easily and even joke about it, knowing that in the near future, it might ruin our lives.

“I could eat,” he says with hesitation, probably wondering if I intend on poisoning him after all.

I get off the bed and walk to the center of the room to pick up my dress from the floor.

Raven watches me, tucking himself into his jeans. His gaze follows me as I leisurely stride across the room, letting him enjoy the view as I pull the dress over my naked body.

He is fully dressed when he steps to the kitchen island on the opposite side from me, and I make us two plates.

This is slightly awkward, but if I am to learn more about this guy, I might as well do it in a way that’s not too obvious.

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