The Mister

Her blood drums through her body with a reckless beat. Inside, she’s melting. Everywhere. She flexes her fingers, but he doesn’t let them go.

“Do you want to touch me?” he asks against her throat.

She groans.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” she whispers, and he tugs her earlobe gently with his teeth. Squirming against him, she moans and flexes her fingers again. This time he releases her and his hands grab her hips and tug her against his erection.

“Feel me,” he murmurs.

She does. All of him.

Ready. Waiting. For her.

Her heart stutters, and she gasps.

He wants her. And she wants him.

“Undress me,” he coaxes, and her fingers find the hem of his T-shirt. Hesitating for only a moment, she drags it up and over his head. Once she’s dropped his clothes on the floor, he puts his hands on his head.

“Now what are you going to do with me?” he asks, and a pleased, sexy smile curls his lips.

Alessia inhales, overwhelmed by his bold invitation as her eyes flit over his body. Her fingers are itching to touch him. To feel his skin beneath hers.

“Go on,” he whispers, a seductive challenge in his voice. She wants to touch his chest, his stomach, his belly. She wants to kiss him there, too. The thought elicits a strange, delicious tightening deep inside her. Hesitantly, she raises her hand, and with her index finger she traces a line from his chest down between his abdominal muscles to his navel. His eyes never leave hers, his breath hitches, and she continues skating her finger down over his belly through the hair to the top button of his jeans. Her courage deserts her, and she hesitates.

Maxim grins and grabs her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingertips. He turns it over and places his lips and the tip of his tongue on the inside of her wrist where her blood is pumping. He circles his tongue deliberately over her pulse, and Alessia gasps. With a smile he releases her and clasps her head. His lips find hers once more, and he explores her mouth.

She’s panting when he lets her go. “My turn,” he says. And with infinite care and a feather-light touch, he trails his index finger between her breasts, down her stomach, to her navel, which he rings twice before proceeding to the waistband of her pj’s. Alessia’s heart starts thumping, echoing in an insane rhythm in her head.

Suddenly he kneels down in front of her.

What?

She grabs his shoulders to stay upright. His hands move around to her behind as he kisses the underside of each breast and trails soft, sweet kisses to her navel.

“Ah,” she groans as his tongue rims and dips into her belly button. She runs her fingers through his hair, and he looks up at her and gives her a wicked grin. With his hands on her behind, he sits back on his haunches and pulls her forward, holding her in place, and runs his nose up her sex.

“Wha—!” Alessia exclaims in shock. She tightens her fingers in his hair, and he groans.

“You smell good,” he whispers, and she gasps. His hands slip into the waistband of her pj’s and cup her bare backside, kneading her flesh as he rubs his nose over her clitoris, on and on.

This is not what she was expecting. The sight of him on his knees at her feet, doing what he’s doing to her body, is too stimulating. She closes her eyes, tips her head back, and moans. His hands shift, and she feels her pj’s gliding down her legs.

Zot.

His nose stays at the apex of her legs.

“Maxim!” she cries, scandalized, and she tries to pull his head away.

“Hush,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” And his tongue replaces his nose as he resists her feeble attempts to stop him.

“Ah,” Alessia moans as he continues to tease her, his tongue circling around and around and around. She stops fighting him. Losing herself to the sensation and reveling in the carnal delight of his touch. Her legs begin to tremble, and Maxim grasps her hips and persists in his delicious torment.

“Please,” she begs, and he stands in one fluid movement. She clutches his hips, and he kisses her again, his hands in her hair pulling her head back, and she opens up for him, relishing his tongue. He tastes different—salty, slick, and she realizes he tastes of her!

O perëndi!

His mouth on hers, his hand skims down her body, his thumb brushing over her nipple, tracing the line of her waist, then down to the junction of her thighs. His fingers tease her where moments before his tongue had been, and he slips a finger inside her. Quivering and driven by instinct, she presses her hips toward him, trying to find relief against his hand.

“Yes,” he hisses with obvious pleasure as he circles his finger inside her, pushing in and out. When she tips her head back and closes her eyes, he withdraws his hand and tugs at his jeans. The zipper obliges, and out of his back pocket he produces a condom. He makes short work of removing his jeans, and Alessia watches dazed but fascinated as he rips open the packet and rolls the condom over his erection. She’s breathing hard and fast…but she wants to touch him. There. Except she doesn’t have the nerve. Yet.

And they’re not even in bed….What is he going to do? He kisses her again and puts his hands around her waist.

“Hold on,” he whispers, and he lifts her. “Wrap your legs and arms around me.”

What? Again?

She does as he asks, surprised once more by her own agility while he puts his hands under her behind and leans her back against the wall.

He’s panting. “You okay?” he asks.

She nods, wide-eyed and needy. Her body aches for him. She wants him…badly. He kisses her and eases his hips forward and slowly sinks into her.

She groans and winces as he stretches and fills her.

He stops. “Too much?” he asks, and she hears his concern. “Tell me.” His voice is urgent. “If you want to stop. Just say.”

She flexes her thighs. This is okay. She can do this. She wants this. She lays her forehead against his. “More. Please.”

He groans, and he begins to move, flexing his hips. Slow at first, but as Alessia pants and moans, he increases his rhythm. She tightens her hold around his neck as he picks up speed. The feeling is intense as the sensation spirals through her body. And she starts to build as he moves and moves.

Oh. No. This is too much. It’s too overwhelming. She digs her nails into his shoulders.

“Maxim, Maxim,” she whimpers. “I can’t.”

Immediately he stops moving, his breathing ragged. He kisses her and takes a deep breath, and without breaking their intimate contact he turns and walks to the bed. He sits down on the bed, then eases her gently onto her back and gazes at her with eyes the color of a forest in spring, his pupils large, betraying his need. Reaching up, she caresses his cheek, marveling at his athleticism.

“Better?” he asks as he nestles between her legs and holds his weight on his forearms.

“Yes,” she whispers, and her fingers thread through his soft hair. His teeth nip at her lips, and he begins to move again. Gradually at first, but increasing his speed. This is easier, not quite as deep, and before she’s aware of it, her body is no longer her own but moving to Maxim’s rhythm, matching his pace as he moves back and forth into her time and again. She’s lost in him, with him…building and building, stiffening and stiffening.

“Yes,” Maxim hisses, and he pushes once more and suddenly stills with a growl. Alessia cries out as she explodes around him once, twice, again, spiraling out of control beneath his tense body.

When she opens her eyes, his forehead is against hers, his eyes screwed shut.

“Oh, Alessia,” he breathes.

After a moment he opens his eyes, and she strokes his cheek as they gaze at each other. He is so dear. So, so dear.

“Të dua,” she whispers.

“What does that mean?”

&n

bsp; She smiles, and he responds in kind, his face full of wonder and…reverence, maybe. He bends and kisses her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her jaw, and slowly eases himself out of her. Alessia whimpers feeling the loss, then she drifts, replete but exhausted, and falls asleep in his arms.

* * *

She lies curled up beside me, swaddled in the quilt.

Small. Vulnerable. Beautiful.