Sonata (North Security 3)

We’re not supposed to be down this hallway. Not supposed to be fucking on the balcony, but I don’t think Frans will mind. “Stay still,” I tell her, touching her jaw so she understands. “I want to fuck your mouth. It’s different than sucking me.”

Her eyes look impossibly wide as she looks up at me, like she’s some anime drawing instead of a flesh and blood woman. The sensation around my cock leaves no doubt as to her composition. The slide of her tongue turns my cock to stone. I thrust my hips toward her. A rude gesture. Unworthy of her. It’s what I want to do to her every time I look at her lips, so I indulge myself. No restraint. I find a steady rhythm, allowing her to suck in breaths between my thrusts.

Christ, I want to come down her throat.

No. I want to make this last forever.

It’s too good to decide. Too perfect to last.

Over the eddies of pure sensation I feel the buzz on my watch. It’s time to do a security check. That takes precedent over ecstasy. Only, I can’t push her away from my cock. Self-discipline evaporates under the onslaught of her agile little tongue.

“Report,” I say into my watch. “Webb.”

“Clear.”

Samantha looks up at me, pure mischief in her eyes. A sweep around the crown of my cock. A broad lick over the head. My knees almost buckle. “Rogers,” I grind out.

“Clear.”

I warned them when I followed Samantha and that Alexander not to let anyone into the hallway. And to keep the south side of the lawn empty. No one’s going to see Samantha’s breasts except for me, but she doesn’t know that. The excitement makes her chest rise and fall in rapid rhythm. The sight of her plump tits makes my mouth water.

“North.”

“Clear,” he says in a drawl that sounds knowing.

“Your command,” I say, flipping my connection to off.

The static goes quiet. My heartbeat thuds so loud I’m sure the birds and the crickets in the trees around the house can hear it. Hoarse curse words escape me on every thrust. Uneven movements take my hips. I’m so close to coming I feel an early spurt come from the tip. Her eyes widen, but she swallows it down like a good girl. Fuck. So good. Yes.

It’s a physical pain to pull out of her mouth. Her jaw must be sore, but I don’t give her a break. Instead I drag her up and kiss her, rubbing my tongue along hers, thanking her, worshipping her the only way I know how.

The lace doesn’t want to untie. I rip it apart to free her hands. She gasps in surprise. Maybe dismay over the gown. I’ll buy her another one. I’ll buy her fifty of them. I spin her around. She grabs the wide stone balcony to catch herself. That’s all the warning I give her before I reach down to flip up her skirts. Ah. God. Her ass looks like a pale peach heart framed by the piles of red satin. I pull down her black lace panties so they trap her ankles in place. Then I plunge inside her burning heat, groaning with the exquisite pleasure of it, only the smallest part of me worried about how quickly I stretched her tender skin. She’s gone stock-still. Her knuckles turn white where she clutches the balustrade. She’s wet enough, almost dripping down her legs, but that doesn’t mean she was ready for me. I should have fingered her first. I should have tongued her instead of fucking her as hard and as fast as I would my fist. There’s no pulling out of this heaven. All I can do is reach around to tap her clit. She sucks in a breath when I find it. There’s no soft tease this time. No slow climb. I rub firmly across it, in a way that might actually hurt, but it will also hurl her over the other side. Her climax rises fast and slams into her. She ripples around my cock, milking me, forcing my own orgasm in wild, reckless pulses against her innermost muscles.

The aftermath comes to me in slow, drifting notes. It takes me a while to realize I’m crushing her against the stone. Longer to know that my come drips down her leg. Guilt. Regret. The things she didn’t want me to feel, except I can’t stop being myself—not even for the woman I love.

I press a kiss to her naked shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

She doesn’t answer. Panic rises in my throat. I spin her around to look at her face. She looks… frantic. Her cheeks are flushed. Something glazes her eyes. Tears? Arousal? I can’t deny that she still looks turned on, a woman well-fucked and ready for more. Desperate for it.

“You came, didn’t you?” I felt the clench of her pussy around me.

Her teeth are chattering. “I did. I did, but—”

But there’s more pressure built inside. It needs release. I pull her into my arms and drift into the corner of the balcony, where ivy gives us some cover from the stars. “Shhh,” I say, pressing an endless kiss to her crown. “I’ll make it better. Let me, let me. Relax, little prodigy.”

I rub her clit nice and slow this time, despite the urgent way she hitches her hips. It’s more of a soothing caress than an inciting one. She leans into my body, searching, searching. Her whole body goes rigid. She comes with a gush of warmth on my fingers, enough to make my cock throb awake again.

She leans her head back against the stone façade. Her eyes are closed. The urgency is gone, but the melancholy rises to the surface. It was too much for her. Maybe not too much for her body, but for her emotions, especially considering what she learned about her mother tonight. I would beat myself up for it, but self-recrimination takes a back seat to my concern for her. I tug her dress up to cover her breasts and smooth the skirt down. Except for the wild riot of curls around her shoulders, you might not know she’s just been fucked hard. Even so, there’s no way she’s going back to the ballroom. I dust off my tux jacket from the marble floor and throw it over her shoulders.

Her lids rise. She looks dazed. The lights are too dim, like stars a hundred million miles away. It makes worry beat against my ribs. Finally she focuses on me. “Alexander would have never done it like that.”

I shake my head.

“I liked it,” she says, her voice wobbling at the end.

Then she bursts out crying. It’s not a soft cry. Not a silent one. The sobs are enough to wrack her body. An earthquake in human form. She cries like she’s lost everything in the world, the way a young girl might cry in an orphanage—except she’d been dry eyed all those years ago.

I hold her close to my body, knowing it’s a thin comfort I offer, feeling her thinness, her frailty, the breakable thread of her as she pours her grief into my chest.