Page 64 of Letters From Victor

I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t speak.

I was lost in the maelstrom of my release—a puppet to the strings of sensation Victor had so expertly pulled.

He held me steady, his grip firm but gentle as he rode out the storm with me. The vibrator continued its merciless work, prolonging my climax into a series of explosive aftershocks that left me weak and gasping for air.

When I thought I would pass out from pleasure, Victor eased the vibrator away and switched it off. The sudden absence of its hum left a deafening silence, and my body collapsed like a rag doll. I lay splayed out, utterly spent, every inch of me tingling.

Victor leaned in and kissed my forehead through the blindfold. “You were perfect,” he murmured, his voice tender and full of admiration. “So beautiful, so ravishing.”

He untied the blindfold, and the dim light of the room seeped slowly back into my eyes. I blinked away the haze and looked up at him, his face a picture of serene satisfaction. He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, then traced a fingertip along my jawline.

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry, my voice too weak. All I could manage was a breathy shudder. Victor’s lips curved into a smug, roguish smile. I looked at the abandoned vibrator on the coffee table. I wasn’t sure what I had expected it to look like, but it was deceptively innocent. Corded, handheld, and metallic arsenic green in color, with sleek, modern lines and a black rounded knob at the tip. It looked almost like a kitchen appliance—something you’d use to beat eggs or mix pancake batter.

Victor followed my gaze to the vibrator. “Ingenious little device, isn’t it?”

I could only nod, dazed from the intensity of what had just happened. My body felt foreign to me, as if it were no longer mine but an instrument Victor had played to perfection and then set aside, still humming with residual notes of pleasure.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his breath a warm breeze on my cheek as he spoke. “Take it home, and think of me every time you use it during our time apart.” He chuckled to himself. “But I hope you don’t grow too fond of it,” he said, a playful glint in his dark eyes. “I’d hate to be replaced by a machine.”

A weak laugh escaped my lips. “I don’t think that’s possible. Nothing could ever replace you.”

“Mmm, I may need to remind you of that before you go.”

Victor slid his hand behind my neck and pulled me into a deep, languorous kiss. My lips were still tender from biting down so hard, but the pain mingled with pleasure as his tongue explored my mouth.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing over mine with a lingering softness that made my heart ache. “I need you, Barbara,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. He took my hand and guided it to palm his erection. “Feel how much I need you.”

I wrapped my fingers around his length and gently squeezed. He was hot and rigid in my grasp, throbbing with pent-up desire. I stroked him slowly, sensually, and he closed his eyes, a flicker of raw need crossing his face.

In one fluid motion, Victor pulled me to my feet and spun me around so that he was standing flush behind me. He clamped his hands on my hips and pulled me tight against him, the solid wall of his body pressing into my spine.

Victor’s hands slid up my torso, claiming my breasts with a possessive squeeze that sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. He kneaded them firmly, his fingers pinching and rolling mynipples, coaxing them to harden under his touch. My head lolled back against his shoulder, and he scraped his teeth along my neck, biting just hard enough to make me gasp.

“I need to be inside you.” His breath, hot and ragged in my ear, sent shivers cascading down my spine. The raw urgency in his voice stirred something deep and primal within me, awakening a fierce longing that had been momentarily sated but now roared back to life. His words were a spark to the smoldering coals of desire that still burned from my recent climax, setting me ablaze once more.

In a swift, fluid motion, Victor bent me over the arm of the sofa. The supple leather was cool against my flushed, feverish skin. I braced myself on the cushions, my fingers digging in as I looked over my shoulder at him. His eyes were dark and predatory—a hungry wolf’s gaze as he palmed my buttocks and took in the view before him with unrestrained lust.

“You’re dripping,” he observed, his voice thick and heavy with desire. My breath hitched in my chest as he grazed the wetness between my thighs, sending a jolt of electricity through my already overcharged nerves. He parted me with the precision of a surgeon, and I gasped when a firm, cool finger slid inside me. “And boiling hot.” He pumped his finger in and out, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through me, before withdrawing it with agonizing slowness. “So ready for me.”

I bit down on my lip, the anticipation almost too much to bear. My body ached for him, every nerve ending screaming for the release only he could provide. He’d commanded me to stay silent, but a whimper escaped my lips despite myself.

Victor positioned himself behind me, his hands possessively gripping my hips. His hard length pressed against me, teasing me with the promise of what was to come. He didn’t push in. Instead, he rocked his hips slowly, letting his tip slide up and down, coating himself with my arousal. Each movement sentsparks flying, my body tensing and relaxing in a maddening cycle of expectation.

The blindfold lay discarded on the coffee table, and for a moment, I wished it were still on. The uncertainty, the heightened sensations, the complete surrender of control—it had all made the experience so much more intense. But now I could see every detail—the way Victor’s muscles tensed and flexed, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the fierce concentration in his eyes. This visual overload was almost too much, but I drank it in hungrily.

“The gateway to my personal heaven is between your thighs, angel,” Victor murmured, his voice taking on a reverent, almost worshipful tone. His free hand caressed the curve of my buttocks, then moved to my apex, rubbing in slow, torturous circles. My knees threatened to buckle, and I pushed back against him, desperate for more than just his teasing touch. “Let a poor devil in.”

Before I could respond or even nod my head, he thrust his hips forward and drove into me. The force of his entry sent a shockwave through my body, mingling pain with pleasure in a dizzying rush. I cried out as he filled and stretched me. My fingers clawed at the sofa, my back arching as I worked desperately to accommodate him. He held himself deep inside me, unmoving, letting me feel every inch.

The room was thick with the smell of intimacy and perspiration, the air heavy and stifling. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each exhale a soft moan. Victor’s chest heaved against my back, his hands roaming my body with a greedy, frantic need. He pulled almost all the way out, then drove back in with a force that blurred my vision.

His pace was brutal, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. My body moved with his, our motions a violent, passionate dance. The leather of the sofa creaked and groaned beneath us,and I wondered if the shopkeeper downstairs could hear. The thought of her knowing what we were doing, of her listening to our illicit activities, sent a thrill through me.

Victor’s hands were everywhere—on my breasts, my hips, my neck—claiming me. He pulled my hair, yanking my head back, and bit down on my shoulder. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it only fueled my arousal. I was a maelstrom of conflicting sensations, each one amplifying the other.

My climax built swiftly, an unstoppable tide rising within me. I met each of Victor’s thrusts with equal force, my body demanding its due. The tension in me reached a breaking point, and I exploded around him, contracting in violent spasms.

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