Masquerade

Twenty

We leave the island and arrive back in England late in the afternoon. It is raining—big fat drops of cold rain. Nothing could be more different from the place we have left behind. I feel a little sad and a little frightened. We did not have sex last night. We simply cuddled and fell asleep in each other’s arms. The truth is I wanted to have sex. I wanted it to be as though nothing had changed. I was afraid that something had changed. And I wanted back the carefree, wild way we had been.

Even after that first night something inside my body changed. Like he flicked a switch and everything I thought I was, everything I wanted, suddenly disappeared. And all that is left now is an aching hunger… Impossible to satisfy without him.

When we reach his house I realize that I am far more exhausted than I thought. Perhaps I am even a little depressed. I know now that I can’t just ride into the sunset with him. There are problems—big problems, maybe unsolvable ones. He undresses me, slips one of his T-shirts over my head and puts me to bed. Not in the white room, but in his bed in his bedroom. His room is very large and full of light that comes from the sky. I look around tiredly. It is a sumptuous room. Chocolate and cream and beautiful old paintings. I guess it’s a man’s room.

He puts me into bed and gently kisses my forehead.

‘Go to sleep,’ he tells me, the way an adult would instruct a child, the way I tell Sorab.

I close my eyes and almost immediately fall asleep.

I wake up alone. I don’t call out. I simply get out of bed and go looking for him. There is no one upstairs so I go down the magnificent marble steps. I wonder if a time will ever come when I will not be impressed by their beauty. The banister is cold and smooth under my hand. I hear a whirling sound, like the blades of a fan going very fast. I go toward the sound. It is coming from the room with all the gym equipment.

I open the door and Jaron is in the middle of the room. He is dressed only in a pair of faded, loose, knee-length shorts. He is skipping but he is going so fast that the rope is a blur. It is the rope that is making the sound. He is moving from foot to foot. The movements he makes are very graceful and light. You would never believe it of a man his size. I close the door and lean against it watching him. He stops and looks at my reflection in the mirrored wall.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘You don’t want to know,’ I say watching his back muscles gleam with a sheen of sweat.

He turns around and faces me. ‘Actually, I really do.’

‘I was thinking about licking the salt off your back.’

He throws the skipping rope on the ground.

‘That is usually a punishment I reserve for naughty girls. Have you been naughty recently?’

‘Yes, I was very naughty this morning.’

I lean forward and lick his nipple. It’s salty. I snare it between my teeth. ‘You smell like a bearskin rug,’ I mumble, and increase the pressure on the nub. Not even a flinch out of him.

‘You’ve never smelt a bearskin rug, have you?’ His eyes are mocking.

I let go of the nipple. There are teeth marks on it. ‘OK, you smell like what I think a bearskin rug smells like. Makes me want to get naked and lie on top of you.’ He reaches out for me and I evade his hand.

‘Aaa,’ I say warningly and move around him.

I stand behind him and with great dedication I abandon myself to the job of licking the sheen of sweat off his back. He shudders and turns to look at us in the mirror. I swivel my eyes to look too. The picture we make is distilled sex. The slow licking looks obscene and that is perhaps why it is such a turn-on.

I feel myself getting wet. We watch ourselves avidly. Both of us mesmerized by what our bodies are doing. I slip my hand into his loose-fitting shorts and feel for the elastic of his smalls. With both hands I yank them both down his narrow hips. Wow! Instantly his erect member stands proud. It is always me who is nude while he is dressed. For the first time it is the other way around. It’s kinda hot.

‘Play with yourself,’ I tell him.

He palms his mighty schlong and starts to stroke himself, all the while watching me. I feel rather pleased with myself. Maybe I miss being in control, making the other person submit to me. I stop licking and walk to the front of him. We look at each other. His jaw is clenched hard, but the expression in his eyes is maddeningly arrogant. And it occurs to me that he’s not doing what I want. I’m doing what he wants. Suddenly he moves—the movement is so sudden and quick it feels like an explosion of sheer male power and aggression.

To my shock I am now facing the mirror and he has grabbed me by the crack of my ass, his fingers digging into my pussy. Impaled thus he lifts me until I am barely on my tiptoes and walks me in that position toward the mirror. A foot and a half away from our reflection he stops.

‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ I squeal.

Using the hand buried between my legs he lifts me higher so I am clean off the ground and in such a precarious position that I am forced to place the soles of my feet and my palms on the mirror and straight off I see what his intention has been all along. Evil bastard. Now he’s driving the train.

In the mirror my long T-shirt is bunched up around my hips, the soles of my feet are filthy, and between my spread thighs my sex has opened up like a flower, but also I see his large, manly fingers crudely buried inside my glistening hole. Underneath my pussy his erect cock bounces.

It could be the most vulgar and most horny thing I’ve seen in my life. Exposed and vulnerable and totally helpless in his firm hold. It looks so wrong and yet so badass good. Oh, hell yes.

He stands there scrutinizing my dripping bits. The lips of my vulva rolled back in anticipation.

‘Dirty bitch.’

‘Yes, quite,’ I say.

With a long finger he strokes the flowering part of my clit. ‘Play with yourself,’ he says smoothly. His smile is triumphant.

The power struggle between us makes my skin tingle, but he is also my sexual soulmate. Between us there are no inhibitions. Nothing is out of bounds. It also causes a maddening ache between my legs. My breath races, but I am so incensed by the way he has tricked me I think about refusing.

‘You want to come, don’t you?’ he whispers in my ear.

I stare at Mr. Alpha stubbornly.

‘Do it,’ he orders.

I use my finger and begin to play with my clit.

‘Look at me while you do it.’ His voice is domineering.

I look at him. At the pleasure he takes in taming me as I carry on playing with myself. I don’t take my eyes off him even as I succumb to the orgasm coming for me. It turns me inside out. I rock helplessly around his hand. When it is over I close my eyes, breathe gently and lean my head back. He kisses my neck.

‘Milk time for pussy,’ he says, and lowering me to the floor, tilts my pelvis upward, and fucks my pussy into oblivion. Well, I don’t just stand there. I match him in his thrusts, impaling myself over and over on the hard rod.

‘Jesus, you’re one wild fucking beast,’ he says.

‘Yeah, feed the fucking cat,’ I pant aggressively, and lose myself in a haze of lust and heat and friction until he comes, spurting hot semen deep into me. He stills, heaving, his face buried in the side of my neck, and I squeeze his cock as hard as I can. It twitches inside me and he raises his eyes to me. His hands blanket me. One cups my breast. I turn my face toward his and we kiss.

Slow, tender, careful, and I feel myself float on a warm wave and dissolve into his mouth. His tongue and lips make love to my mouth while he crawls under my skin and into my heart. There is no other way to put it.