Page 638 of Flirting with Darkness

My hands claw absentmindedly at my body as if doing so will produce the aforementioned item and save me from this brutal humiliation. Arms come around me from behind. I stumble forward, and they catch me; backward, and my shoulders hit the bulk of his chest. I’m trapped.

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I could press you pussy-first, right up against that glass… pin your hands over your head and make you come all over my cock while I fuck you from behind and make you ride me … again, and again, and again… and they’d never know. None of ‘em. They’d have no fuckin’ idea I was the other side of this glass, wrecking you, defiling you. You could scream at the top of your lungs with every single fuckin’ thrust, and they wouldn’t have a goddamn clue.”

They… they wouldn’t? I dare to sneak a peek out at the club below, and while several patrons occasionally steal a glance skyward, no one seems to be reacting as if a naked girl is standing only yards away, ready to put on some sort of lewd…

Hadrion presses a kiss heavily to the sensitive side of my neck, pulling me out of my thoughts. I haven’t replied to him yet. He peels thick, wet strands of hair away from my skin like tentacles, and I shudder visibly in response.

“Do you want me to do that?” he asks. “You need to say yes,” he adds when I hesitate, pressing me for assent or denial. His rough, deft fingers smooth their way down my curves, snaking further around me from behind as they slide up my front, and then he cups both of my breasts in sync. Each one fills his hand as he fondles and strokes the skin, his thumbs dragging over my nipples. I can’t even think.

“Yes—”

This is like nothing that’s ever happened to me before. Ever. This morning when I woke up to face another day of slinging beers and cleaning up after my sister and various other forms of boredom and drudgery, I had no idea… I had none… I wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, ever imagined something quite like this.

His hands pull me gratefully away from the past, and back into the present. A world where my sister’s shrill passive-aggression and the dingy dankness of lowtown are replaced by the pulsing rhythm of the lights and gentle scent of Hadrion’s musky cologne. His thumbs come together with his forefingers, suddenly tweaking my nipples. The pressure gradually increases until I let out a soft cry.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, “it’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I repeat, barely above a breath, and I lean back fully against him, trusting him to take my weight. The stiff denim of his jeans chafes the bare curve of my ass, and he slowly presses himself into me. First one cheek, then the other, then nestling between the two — I can feel how hard he is. He’s rock solid, which is only exacerbated by the thick rough fabric armor stretched across the now very prominent bulge. My throat closes, catching a breath; my core tightens.

I’ve never been with a guy; not beyond a few kisses in high school, a quick fondle behind the bike shed at the cost of a tardy slip. But now I know what it feels like to need something, SOMETHING, deep inside of me.

“Can we not do the window thing,” I ask desperately, knowing that’s probably a little out of my current comfort zone. “Maybe the bed instead? It looks like a good bed, y’know, a totally serviceable one, but still with lots of style, and like, chic…”

I’m babbling, and he laughs, a little too kindly to be ‘at’ rather than ‘with’ me. He easily lifts me up off of my feet, one hand tucking under my knees as he cradles me up against his chest.

“I can walk,” I insist.

“But this is faster,” he counters, looking thoroughly amused by my protests. He lays me down carefully on the bed, and strips his shirt off, barely breaking the gaze he holds steady on my face the entire time. Those gold eyes… I don’t know what to do with my hands as he undoes his jeans, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, “hand between your legs. Show me how wet you are for me.”

“W-wet?” I pause, as his jeans hit the floor, and he knees onto the bed, the mattress barely dipping and moving as he shifts over to me.

He takes my wrist and guides it down between my naked thighs.

“Just like this,” he says, sounding like he’s on the edge of something. His eyes trail down my body to between my legs, where my hand brushes over my pussy. I try not to visibly react, but the spark lights up inside me, tracing fire-lines across my skin. I have to look away; it’s too much. I turn my head to the side and let my fingers slowly slide back and forth between my thighs, teasing through the creases and folds, just as he wants me to do for him.

I’ve only done this on my own a few times, when I wasn’t too tired from work, if my sister was out for the night and not sleeping in the bed across from mine in our shared room. Those few times, well… they’d been… pretty alright.

But this…

“That’s good,” he says, again pulling me away from my past and my problems, and making it all about me, right now, here with him. He’s laying down beside me, that warm musky body less than inches from mine as he holds a light grip on my wrist. He barely needs to exert any control at this point to procure his desired result. “How does that feel?”

“Good… scary…” I exhale, honestly. Lights flare from the window behind him. I can’t hear it, but there must be music playing. There’s no beat, no bass, no lyrics, nothing. Just silence. His breathing. My heartbeat. Is this really happening? His eyes glow in the semi-darkness.

Yes, it is.

5

KATYDID

Idon’t really know what I’m doing. At all. But I am wet, just like he said I’d be. His lips part in pleasure and he smirks, following the path of my fingers down with his own.

“Perfect,” he breathes. He nudges my hand to the side and presses his forehead against my temple, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. The muscles in my thighs flex, nervous and tense, but I part them for him. His hand is so much bigger than mine. His fingers stroke over my pussy, teasing me with light touches that have me slowly arching up to meet him.

The silence is getting to me — nothing but the sound of my breathing, getting harsher and louder in my ears. And the heat, the warmth each of his touches is stirring up in me. Drawing it to the surface. Inside, my muscles tighten down on nothing, and I bite my lip, anxious for what comes next. My eyes sweep up toward him, and I roll ever so slightly to face him. He counters; his fingers slide fully over me, two of them, back and forth several times before they split apart to tease the lips either side of my entrance, threatening each time to rejoin together and plunge deep inside of me.

“I could make you scream and no one would hear you,” he tells me again, and it sounds like he’s amused at the thought. His fingers continue to torture me, physically and psychologically. “I bet you sound beautiful when you’re begging for the pleasure to stop… because it’s so good… that you simply can’t take anymore…”

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