I ignore his laughing eyes and turn towards the house. “Silent as the grave, remember?”
I insert my key in the front door and try to make any jingling as minimal as possible, especially as I’m locking up. Once we’re inside, a combination of fresh flowers and beeswax hits our nostrils, the welcoming scent of home.
I remove my wool coat, having discarded my jacket for it earlier, then hang my bag on the peg too, but not before removing my phone and cash—Adam is a little shit for stealing money from me.
Ruben watches on with curiosity, grinning.
“He’s a little turd, believe me. You’ll see.”
“Oh dear,” he murmurs, and even his murmur has me convinced the people upstairs will hear him—he’s got such a deep voice.
“Follow me,” I instruct, and we begin to creep up the stairs in synchronicity.
We’re silent as we tiptoe along the landing upstairs and I’m glad to see the door on the attic staircase is fully shut. He’ll not hear anything this way. When Mum and Dad had the attic converted, they had it soundproofed because it was originally going to be Mum’s rehearsal space. Once Adam got older and more annoying, bringing clones of himself home, my parents offered him the loft and now the middle room on the first floor is Mum’s rehearsal space. With me mostly out at work, she doesn’t have to worry about the noise affecting me, and she still gets her own room to practise, plus peace and quiet while he and his friends enjoy multiplayer Fortnite upstairs.
The house is silent apart from Dad’s snoring and the cat purring loudly in her basket in the hall. Everything is still and quiet outside too, apart from the odd aeroplane flying over. I feel like my heartbeat’s right in my head, as though at any moment someone may jump out and shout, “Got you! Sneaking around…”
We arrive in my room and I shut the door, locking us inside. Finally, I’m able to breathe a sigh of relief. The house is old, the walls thick, plus there’s the music room between me and my parents, and that whole soundproofed section upstairs. We’re good now, we’re safe. We made it. Phew.
“I’ll unfold the futon,” I tell him, “after I’ve used the bathroom. Okay?”
“Erm… okay.”
After dumping my phone and cash on the dressing table, I kick off my shoes and toss them in the corner. For a brief whisper of a moment, I almost have myself convinced there isn’t a beautiful guy in my bedroom—but there is. There’s no disguising him in here.
I lock myself in the en suite and hold onto the edge of the sink, checking myself in the mirror. It’s dark so I pull the cord for the light, my flushed and tipsy reflection suddenly staring back at me. Ruben and I may have drunk the red wine out of the bottle on the way home, it being cold outside and all—but there’s more to the colour in my cheeks than an ABV.
I use the loo and free my hair, pulling it out of its ponytail. There’s no point standing here in front of the mirror for ages, it won’t change what’s waiting out there for me.
I unlock the door and find him staring at the pictures on my walls. Most of them are photos of me on my travels. I’ve enjoyed seeing something of the world and would like to continue to see more of it.
“You weren’t wrong, you do like to travel,” he observes.
“I do.”
I seat myself in front of the dressing table, still wearing my sleeveless chiffon blouse which is tucked into a long, pleated skirt. I took off my tights in the bathroom and left them in the hamper. I take out my creams and begin my nightly routine of removing my face. A long time ago, I received various tutorials on how to make myself up properly, and being in the hotel trade, I’ve had to uphold a certain polished appearance all these years. It doesn’t mean I don’t like my natural skin, it just means I’ve become accustomed to wearing this armour every day. How Ruben responds to my natural complexion is entirely up to him.
As I work, I observe him roaming my bedroom, watching him through the mirrors in front of me. He’s removed his blazer and draped it across the footboard of my metal-framed bed. My mother and father like antiques and curiosities, and my bed is certainly one of them.
He moves onto the paintings I have hanging up on the other side of the room. I like to buy student art, the weirder the better. Some stuff cost me pence, other stuff eyewatering amounts. If I like it, I like it, that’s all I know.
“Do you like art?” I wonder.
The most Ruben and I have ever talked about is sex and how much we hate other people. The rest sort of fell into an undiscussed abyss many, many moons ago. Maybe it was always a given that we have similar interests—due to the fact our outlooks on life are so alike.
“I love art, particularly modern art,” he admits. “Where did you pick these up?”
“Oh, they’re stuff I find… penniless students willing to part with their masterpieces. Sometimes online, other times just as I’m passing them on the street.”
“Unknowns,” he says, hands in his pockets.
He’s studying a rather coarse charcoal drawing of a boy running in the rain along a winding path cutting through an expansive park, perhaps one of the capital’s famous Royal parks—although you’d never know which one. I bought it because something about the monotone quality of the piece and its rough-hewn surroundings appeals to me, sort of calms me, even.
Once my face is off, I look up to find him having moved onto another of my pictures.
“Would you mind keeping your back turned? I want to change.”
He turns around to seek me out, still with his hands in his pockets. We’re looking at one another through the three-piece mirror in front of me.
“You’re kidding, right?” He cocks one eyebrow, disbelief in his eyes.
“Fine. I’ll change in the bathroom.”
In just a few strides, he’s right behind me, stopping me from going anywhere with his hands on my shoulders. All I see in the mirror is my own face and his long legs in jeans, plus his shirt tucked in.
With the very first touch of his fingertip against the side of my throat, my eyelids blink shut and I know there’s no point in fighting this. None at all. I’ve wanted his hands on me for as long as I’ve known him.
I can’t help but gasp when he gathers my hair and sweeps it over one shoulder. I turn my head slightly, my intent to question him, but when he brushes his fingertips down the side of my face, I can’t find any words.
“You’re so beautiful, Freya,” he murmurs.
A shiver runs down my spine when I feel his warm breath on my cheek. I haven’t opened my eyes yet but I know he’s now kneeling behind my dressing-table stool, more at my level. He begins unfastening the buttons at the back of my high-neck blouse, my heart pounding so hard in my chest in response to this intimate gesture. As the silk falls open, his breath raises all the tiny hairs on my nape and I become aware of his breathing becoming heavy, as well as my own lungs fighting for air.
He strokes his hands along my upper arms and I shiver, especially when his thumbs caress the sides of my body. His nose sifts through my hair and he moans, “God, I want you.”
With the first touch of his lips on my shoulder, I can’t help but moan. Ruben wraps his arms firmly around my front, pulling me against him, his warm chest pressing into my back. He buries his face in my hair and I reach back to run my fingers through his mane, my other hand against his arms. His luscious brown hair slides through my fingers and I can’t help but enjoy the way he’s holding my belly tight, as if he needs me, wants me—craves me.
For a moment everything blurs and my fears threaten to break the surface of my happiness, but then Ruben’s lips are touching my skin again, tingling sensations breaking out all over my body. He grasps one of my breasts tight in his hand and my core burns fiercely hot in response, my neck craning back with ecstasy, the back of my head resting against his shoulder.
“I need you,” he croons, sucking in a deep breath.
“Ruben…”
His beard brushes against my throat and shoulders, setting fire to my
sensitive skin. I still haven’t opened my eyes but the strength of him… his warmth and sensuality… are burning into me all the same.
His hand leaves my breast and gently surrounds my throat instead, his touch undoubtedly the best thing I’ve ever known in my entire life. He has my head pinned back against his shoulder, giving his lips all the access to my throat he needs.
He pushes his other hand against my thin skirt, seeking the place between my thighs that is screaming to be pleasured. Ruben’s touch is firm but he doesn’t seek to bring me off, only to possess me.
“Oh god,” I groan.
Behind me his erection is pulsing against my lower back, begging to be sucked, stroked, wetted between my lips.
“I can feel your heat even through your panties and skirt. You must be soaking,” he groans against my ear.
“Yes,” I almost cry.
“You’re a slut, Freya darling,” he says, biting my earlobe and earning a cry of pleasure from me, “and you need me to make you mine. You need to know who you belong to.”
“You, you. Please, Ruben. Just you. Please,” I beg, not sounding myself.
I open my eyes and look into the mirror. He’s clutching my throat and my pussy, holding me hostage in every way possible. Then it’s as I see his eyes, I see my master, my keeper. He’s not going to let me have what I want, not right away. He looks determined and savage.
Devastating.
“Do I need to use protection?” he asks, shocking me.
He could use me in any way he wants to and he asks me that?
“I want you to come inside me.”
“That wasn’t the question I asked.”
I turn my head and look right into his eyes, not through the mirror this time. I see his passion first-hand, sense the heat pouring out of his skin, smell his sweet breath in my nostrils. I brush my mouth against his and almost die from it, the softness of my mouth against his full, red lips sending a whirling, whipping frenzy like a tornado of desire rushing right through me. His spicy, oriental scent is so familiar to me these days, always the same, it’s like I’m home whenever I’m in his proximity.
I close my eyes and lean back against him heavily, our mouths meeting again. What I thought was fire before was really just kindle, because as our tongues meet and he seals his mouth over mine, my entire being floods with pure, molten desire and I forget myself, only our need and yearning present—nothing else.
“I’m on the pill, Ruben,” I murmur, breathless as he pulls away. “I’m clean. I’m ready. I want you.”
He turns me on the stool until I’m facing him. I spread my thighs and his hips slot between them. He wraps his arms around me and forces my head to tip backwards. My skirt’s rucked up and there’s just my underwear and his trousers separating us.
“Tell me what you want, Freya,” he asks, his arms surrounding me, his mouth close to mine but not close enough. Deep inside, I’m aflame, the walls of my sex contracting and fluttering, eager and never more ready.
I search his eyes, feel his heart pumping in his chest, his hands on me, his beautiful face beckoning me to kiss every square inch of him.
“You, Ruben.”
Something changes in his eyes, as though he’s preparing to let down his barriers. He looks vulnerable and desperate and roughly takes me in his arms, yanking my hair and tugging my head backwards.
Then his mouth is on mine and his tongue becomes vicious, tasting me, dominating me. I feed my hands into his hair and don’t even try to breathe. I need him. I love him. The way his tongue caresses and manipulates mine makes me feel completely his, unable to fight this a second longer. Even when he kisses my cheeks and jawline, I keep my eyes closed, constantly on the verge of tears.
Ruben pulls my blouse out of the waistband of my skirt and tugs it upwards, getting rid of it. He kisses the thin, sensitive skin of my chest, his hands on my back, tugging me tight into him, his scent feral, sweat drenching his shirt. Instinct takes over and I rip it open, buttons popping off, some hanging by a thread. He growls when I lick between his pecs, pushing the shirt off his back to hold him in my arms, our mouths meeting again, the joining completely joyous and perfect. The deeper he kisses me, the more I tip back until my head is almost resting against the edge of my dressing table. Ruben holds me steady so I don’t fall and licks my throat, his fingers releasing the clasp of my bra as he takes my weight.
The straps of my bra feel loose and I shake my shoulders, allowing the garment to fall. As soon as my breasts are free, Ruben holds them in both hands and I’m forced to hold onto the edge of the stool and let my head rest back against the edge of the dressing table, too.
“Fuck,” I moan, as he sucks my increasingly heavy, aching breasts. “Fuck.”
He holds my tits, lifting and squeezing them, giving equal attention to both as he sucks one, then the other. He’s not shy and a little biting and deep throating makes me shiver and shake.
Then his tongue is in my navel and he’s unbuttoning my skirt. I lift my arse and he takes the skirt from my body, throwing it behind him. He’s not gentle as he grabs my knickers, dragging them off my body all at once.
In an instant, I’m completely naked and panting, my legs spread wide open for him as he stares at my vulnerable, exposed state.
Ruben hunkers down and throws my thighs over his shoulders.
“I know you’ll taste so sweet,” he tells me, priming his lips.
Then he uses the fine tip of his tongue to tease apart my pussy, taking a little taste, not going in all at once.
“Ruben, please,” I beg, “please. I need to come.”
“Jesus, I was right.”
He plunges his tongue inside me and I fall back against the dressing table, no longer in control of myself. His hands roam my body and I cry out, again and again, even though he’s going nowhere near my clit. I need him to suck it, only once, and I’ll come. I’m dying on the edge of ecstasy, my toes scrunched up and nipping the skin of his back.
“You’re a bastard,” I growl, but all he does is chuckle. It feels like I’m climbing all the time, then suddenly he goes slow and my heartbeat levels out again.
God, I’ve lain in bed so many nights dreaming of his hands… and now he’s here, touching me everywhere. So strong. Sexy. Elegant, well-shaped, veiny and extremely masculine.
Ruben doesn’t make me come, but as he pulls his face out of my pussy, his mouth and chin are shiny and I can tell he’s dined well. I’m still resting back against the dressing table when he stands and stares at me, unbuttoning his jeans just enough so that I see pubic hair and the merest hint of his cock. One of the first things he ever told me about himself is that he always goes commando, unless it’s a funeral—that’s the only time he wears underwear.
He kicks off his leather shoes, then tugs off his socks. Soon his black jeans are following, falling past his hips and thighs, until he kicks those away too.
I can hardly breathe as I stare at him, so beautiful and strong. He has a thick cock, his hair trimmed, his balls hanging heavy beneath. He’s toned but not overly muscular. He has a dusting of hair all over his body, just enough… perfect. Those indents in his hips make my mouth water… and yet I still love his eyes more than anything.
When he comes towards me and grabs my hair, sitting me upright with a swift move, I’m shocked when the broad crown of his penis is presented directly into my mouth.
He shoves himself into my throat and I’m given no time to react as the taut muscle of his stomach pushes against my nose and my gag reflex is tested. I try to slide my tongue along the length of him to enjoy his unique size and shape… the prominent veins and the broad head…
The feral, salty taste of him overwhelms me and I’m held in place as he fucks my mouth, shoving and shoving, grunting, groaning. Once he’s had enough, he withdraws and slides his hands under my armpits, lifting my weak, trembling body off the stool. He pulls me towards him and holds me close, kissing my mouth, my cheek, my hair, his hot penis raging aga
inst my stomach.
He throws me up into his arms and carries me to bed, ripping open the covers while holding me in his arms with just one hand cupping my bum.
He then settles me beneath him in bed and waits a moment. The sheets are bunched over his bum but apart from that, we’re both exposed from the waist up. He lifts my right leg a little higher to spread me wider, then sinks into me so easily, it’s like everything was leading up to this moment, as though this was always meant to be.
I burn beneath him as he rocks into me, the bedsprings complaining just a little as he eases deeper and deeper. I taste the tang of myself on his lips, run my fingers over his shoulders and tug gently at his hair. He pulls my nipple into his mouth and groans as he fucks me in longer strokes, the bedsprings singing more audibly. The wetness of my sex slides between my crack and it makes me yearn for something more… dirty.
However, he’s taking his time… rocking gently, tenderly. He’s not going to give me an orgasm anytime soon.
He looks down into my eyes, gasping on restrained need. He rubs his thumb across my bottom lip and licks gently into my mouth, his eyes seeking something from mine… I don’t know what… something…
All I know is that nobody has ever fucked me like this before.
Then, as I’m starting to climb, he pulls out of me and grins, his eyes flickering with menace.
I begin to question him, but before I can, he lifts off me and flips me over.
All the covers disappear and I’m on all fours, his face smashed between my butt crack, his tongue in my arse. I cling to the sheets and feel my body begin to cramp in all sorts of places. I need to come, not only to ease the pressure in my groin, but also to lose all the tension in all my other muscles all over my body.
Ruben groans and grunts as he suckles my arse, his hands spreading my butt cheeks open, his tongue occasionally straying to my cunt to sip at the continual frothy mess spewing from my core.
While he’s sucking my arse, I manage to get a finger on my clit and I’m about to come when he realises what I’m doing and slaps my hand away.
I’m quickly flipped onto my back again and Ruben wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
Kismet Page 3