Page 38 of Valentine's Slave

I don’t really know what to say, but my eyes are speaking enough for my mouth, overflowing now.

He cares. He cares.It touches me in a way deeper than any man’s hands have ever gone. He listens to me. He understands me, even when I don’t understand myself.

“I . . . I didn’t see anything about emotional intimacy in the contract.” I speak quickly to keep my voice from cracking. I’m glad he can’t see my face, though I’m sure he can feel the tears that I’m wetting his chest hair with.

He chuckles, and I feel it ring through his chest, warm and deep.

“Did you see anything against it?” he asks.

“Um . . .” I think for a second. “I don’t think so.”

“Well then, take that as an optional clause.”

Does that mean he’s also planning to be ‘transparent about what’s on the inside’? Once again, I’m thoroughly confused about what’s taking place between us.

“Good to know,” I muse. It’s the only thing I can think to say. And then, I wrap my arms around him, melding myself into his shoulder, his chest, and I let my tears fall. I cry silently as he holds me. I don’t know exactly why I’m crying—because of all the stress of the last few weeks, because I’m still fucked up from Shawn, because I don’t have a house or a job or a boyfriend, because my mom is forgetting who she is, because the man holding me can never be mine . . . I just know that I have to get these tangled feelings out, and Valentino lets me. He’s here, silent, warm, strong. And when my shoulders finally heave, and I breathe out long and slowly, a little bit of peace seeps into my soul. My breathing slowly goes back to normal, and Valentino’s hands rub my shoulders, not in a sexual way, but in a comforting way.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” His voice is gentle, and it must be almost 1 a.m. by now. What I really want is for him to fucking kiss me, to really claim me as his own. But I can’t say that. If he kisses me, I want it to be because he wants to, not because I asked him to. I want to know what I mean to him.

Fuck, am I falling for him?

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” I muse. And then I smile, thinking of my second-place preference, after kissing. “I want to do missionary on the bed, no lingerie, no restraints.”

I’m feeling cozy, and instead of fucking, I want to make love.

11

Valentino

Ava is wrapped up in my arms, shaking like a rose in the rain. She hides her face in my chest when she cries, wracked with something that I don’t think even she understands.

Something about her caught my attention from the very start. Maybe it was those vast, lonely eyes. Maybe it was the way that she trusted me, even when I teased her and pulled her in deeper. It isn’t simply that she seems to already share or blossom into every kink, but in the way that she craves me, that she seems to hold on to me deeper, fighting me while still obeying, trying to get something out of me even more desperately than I am out of her.

Maybe it was a mistake to go so extreme this year. I always do a week, but oftentimes it’s with different women, and I never bring them to live with me. I also never make them mine, but with Ava, I feel like I’m delving into the deepest parts of her. She’s wild and looking for release from her past, from herpresent. She’s the perfect recipe for disaster, and she’s got me more than distracted, even if that’s all it is. I’m good at what I do.

When Ava asks for missionary on the bed, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom before laying her down on the fresh sheets. She doesn’t turn her face away when I look at her, and something fierce fills me as I wipe a tear from her eye. Whatever’s breaking her, I want to stop it, to fix it. But I force myself not to probe her about what’s wrong. She is not a problem to be fixed, and I simply do as she asked.

“Let me help you,” I say, unstrapping her lingerie from her back, stroking it off her shoulder and down over her breasts. She keeps looking at me, and there’s something vulnerable in her gaze, as if she’s speaking to me without words, as if she wants to open herself and give herself fully to me, as if this is more than just sex.

When she’s fully naked, I resist the urge to look her over, from her breasts to her wet little pussy hidden between her legs. I’m already naked, and I lean over her, trailing kisses from her neck, down her chest, between her breasts, over her midriff, to the curve of her hip. She smiles now and spreads her legs for me. I stroke her thighs, getting closer and closer to the prize, but she reaches her hands around my neck as if she wants to hold on, and I position myself higher above her, lining up my cock with her pussy so I can lean down, my arms around her shoulders.

She moans as I slide into her, and she immediately wraps her arms and legs around my shoulders and back, pulling me closer against her, into her. I begin to pump, first soft strokes and then deeper ones.

I kiss her neck as I fuck her, and she shivers beneath me, little pulses going through her, from her core straight down to her pussy. The pressure builds inside me while she grips me tighter and makes little whimpering sounds, nearly crying.

When I speed up the pace, her cries turn into moans, and her nails dig into my back as she convulses against me. I thrust faster now, reaching my own release. As the pleasure spills through me, I sigh long and deep.

I look down at her, and her blue eyes are open, still a little teary, but there’s something deeper pooling there. And then, without thinking about it, I lean down and press my lips to hers. I don’t know why. I’m not thinking; I just do it.

Her arms tighten around my neck, her lips moving with urgency against mine, as if trying to pull me closer. Her lips part for me, and I slip my tongue into her mouth. She moans, and I slowly rock against her, my cock still hard, kneading her pussy as our tongues dance.

I break the kiss for a second, nipping at her lip before diving back in. She moans into my mouth, eyes closed, pussy spasming around my cock as her body clamps down tighter onto mine as if she’s holding on to me for dear life.

The kiss melds into the sex, and we’re fucking again. I pull back and look into her eyes that are wet with tears but glowing. For the first time since meeting her, she looks . . . free. And for the first time since meeting her, I feel . . . terrified.

What the hell am I doing? I have my rules. No seeing the same woman again. No contact after the Valentine’s festivities. No going out in public or going out on dates. And most definitely no kissing. But I’m here now, and there's nowhere I'd rather be.

I run my hand over her arms and legs, warming her, feeling her, as she moans and spasms again as if I just fingered her. The sex has made every part of her just as responsive as her pussy, and she moans and shakes as I rub her all over, kissing her deep and fierce, feeling something break and crash within me.

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