A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

He divested me of my dress in seconds, leaving me standing in nothing other than my gladiator heels and the diamond earrings. I didn’t even have time to feel shy about it. He stripped himself carelessly, sending buttons flying in the air, never breaking his assault on my mouth as the clothing pooled at our feet. He pushed me down on the bed, not even bothering to pull back the down duvet, and his hard, aroused body fell on me. I was actually surprised he paused long enough to reach for a condom. He tore the foil between his teeth, his hands shaking as he rolled it on. Butterflies settled in my stomach when he grasped both my wrist in one hand and raised them over my head, pinning me to the bed–– even though I knew he would never do anything to harm me. I trusted him implicitly. When had that happened?

The meager remains of his patience finally disintegrated. He slammed into me with enough force to drive us both up the bed. My body was ready for him, in silent correspondence with his. I gasped at the feeling of invasion, although not unwelcome. A dark thought, a strange euphoric feeling came over me. I liked being taken like this by him, being needed so desperately that reason ceased to exist. His need was so acute he wasn’t beyond inflicting a little pain.

“Are you okay?” he gasped.

“Better than okay.”

Acting on my words, I wrapped my legs around his waist and drew him deeper into my body, ready to lose myself. He started a vicious hammering that left little room for pleasure but I offered myself freely, giving him everything he needed. His eyes never left mine, communicating something I couldn’t decipher. On the last thrust he released my hands and rose up, came hard. His thick lashes lifted and his eyes, burning brightly, held mine. I watched pure bliss transform into stark vulnerability. And a sudden understanding dawned on me––whatever happened, this man would not let me go easily. Dragging air into his lungs, he collapsed on top of me. His fingers curved around my skull, held me steady while he kissed my neck softly.

I stroked his back and he melted into my touch, the subtle tension leaving him at once. His hold on me didn’t slacken. He wouldn’t let go, like breaking contact would deprive him of something necessary for survival. I recognized it easily now, had grown accustomed to it––I even liked it. I raked my short fingernails against the taut skin of his muscular rear end and he raised his head.

Searching my eyes, he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“I was rough,” he answered, his eyes flickering away in a guilty expression.

“I like that you don’t treat me like a piece of crystal.”

“But you didn’t…”

“It’s okay. You’ll owe me one.” Satisfied with what he found in my eyes, he nodded and scattered lazy, gentle kisses all over my face. When he finally pulled out of me, I winced at the loss of him.

“You’re sore. Wait here, I’ll run a bath.”

He removed the condom, and walked around the bed towards the bathroom. I could never tire of watching him walk around naked; the elegant lines of his body; the graceful way he moved in spite of his injury. An intensely powerful energy hid beneath the calm surface. He looked over his shoulder and found me stretched out on my side, my head propped up on my hand, and an appreciative smile curving my lips.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. More than anything, I was relieved to see the haunted look gone from his face.

With a shy smile, he murmured, “Give me a minute and you can enjoy it some more.”

I listened to him moving around: turning on the water, adjusting the knobs, the tub filling. It was easy for me to recognize that little boy now, the one rescuing small animals. He took such good care of me, making me feel cherished. Unwanted emotions began crowding me again so I pushed back against them. In an effort to distract myself, I glanced around the room.

It was large, decorated in the same style as the rest of the apartment, with a wall of windows that overlooked the lake. Only a few lights twinkled in the dark curtain of night. A triptych series of abstract sketches spanned the wall in front of the bed. Again, no pictures, nothing too personal, the environment sanitized of the past. I wanted to ask him about it but I didn’t want to ruin the comfortable ease between us. Instead, I picked up his scattered clothes, folded them neatly and placed them on hangers. I found some of the loose studs scattered on the carpet and noticed a few rips on his shirt.