Page 63 of Girl Anonymous

She nodded sullenly.

“When I push inside, what do you think will happen?”

“I’ll come. But I would come, anyway!” Why couldn’t he see that?

“The sensation is building, Maarja. Every moment you wait, it’s building.” He took her hand, put a packet in her palm, tore it open so she could follow his movements as he rolled it on. “Because yourchatteis so tight, so hot, so ready, the lubricated condom will help my dick pulse into you.”

Her hand crept down to touch herself, to see if he was right.

He laughed, caught her fingers, kissed them.

“No. Wait.” She got her elbows under her and tried to sit up. “When will we—?”

“When the pleasure heats you, when you melt in my arms, it’ll be just you and me, the wetness, the pressure… So much pressure. LikeBouteille de Flammeand the dark blue stone, we’ll merge and be reborn in strength and glory. Wait for it…”

She bit her lower lip until it hurt.

He licked it, scolded her softly, then continued in that crooning voice, building pictures in her mind. “When I press all the way inside to touch the deepest part of you, that moment will trigger…what, I wonder?”

The idea lingered in the air, a promise and a story to which she knew the inevitable ending…but she wanted to hear the words.

This time, he didn’t describe. He didn’t enhance. Instead, as if she’d spoken, he said, “Good. I agree. This first time, at least—”

Her brain pinged. He was back to calling it the first time.

“—I want to see your face when you come. I want to hear your moans in my ear.” As he told her what he intended, he elevated her hips, used his fingers to open her and to guide himself into position. “I’ll control the pace, keep you waiting, then drive you from peak to peak.” He pressed into her, not far.

She took a breath and held it. He was right; anticipation and frantic need had created an ache so strong she was almost afraid. She hovered on the verge of pain. She whimpered.

He shushed her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. We’ll take this the way we’ve taken everything. Together,and at a leisurely pace…” He dragged out the words as he pulled out and pushed in. A little farther. A little farther.

She whimpered, groped for him, grasped his butt, urged him to hurry—my God, would he never finish this?—but he closed the gap between them by lowering her to the mattress. He rested his weight on top of her, and he seemed heavier than before, muscular as if he’d spent hours in the gym working off his sexual frustration. His skin burned, giving a lie to his cool composure. She strained to move him, but with his hands under her knees he lifted her, and pressed into her, and lifted her, and pressed into her…

“Are you ready to…lose yourself in ecstasy?” His voice lingered like a sexual promise, triggering anticipation, trepidation, and—

He sank into her body, all the way in. His dick expanded her, the tip touched deep inside… She braced her heels against the mattress, pushed her hips tight against his, and she came. And she came. And she came. Now beneath the mask she could see: pleasure so intense it painted fireworks in the dark.

Placing his palms flat on her hips, he slid them up, up over her waist to her breasts. The calluses of his fighter’s hands scraped across her nipples. Another orgasm had her fighting to regain control, of him or at least herself.

Without success, for he rode her, pressing up and in, keeping their bodies tight, his heavy, heavy weight dominating her as his palms continued their climb up her body. He slid them up her arms, raising them over her head. In one hand, he held both wrists against the sheet. The other moved from her bicep to the side of her face and slowly pushed the mask away.

The wispy, swaying bed curtains cocooned them in a pink glow. She blinked into his face. His crooning voice had conveyed passion, yes, but also encouragement and an almost detached patience.

A false impression.

No wonder he’d covered her eyes. His cheeks were a hard red, his swollen lips parted to show his white clenched teeth, and through golden molten eyes he viewed her the way a lion viewed its downed prey, waiting to quash any attempt to escape.

In a startled panic she did try to escape, struggling to free her wrists, pushing against him as if that would accomplish anything but a return of pleasure.

Both hands returned to her arms. His fingers intertwined with hers. He was so close. So close. “Put your legs around me. Open to me. Maarja. Please.” He trembled with the effort to hold still, but he’d lost control of his voice. No longer hypnotic, it was deeper, more guttural, and held a desperation that she comprehended above all else.

Yet he’d chosen to remove her mask, to reveal himself to her, knowing what she’d see. It was a gamble on his part.

In a rush she accepted him, all the way, thighs wide, legs embracing him.

She thought he tried to smile at her, to thank her without words, but it looked more like a painful grimace as he eased out of her again, and eased back in.

She adjusted her hips, trying to smooth the way and—

---