by Rene Webb
“What are you studying in school?” he asks, pushing aside his plate and draining his water glass.
“I’m majoring in advertising and minoring in graphic design.”
“A perfect combination,” he tells me with a grin, seeming impressed.
I find my heart warming at his support. There have been very few in my family who believe a career in advertising is what I should be doing. Most want me to follow in my father’s footsteps. I know my mother does. She wants me to take over the running of MacKay International when my stepfather retires. Running a multi-million dollar company holds no interest for me. I would happily work in the advertising department.
Not wanting the man to know how much I dislike it, I take another tentative and very small sip of the disgusting milkshake. I’m unsure why I care. I keep flipping back and forth between thinking how kind he is for specially ordering it for me, and then telling myself how ridiculous I’m being. As much as I try to live in the moment and enjoy his company, I cannot let myself forget where I am and why we’re here in this room. Tomorrow he will leave. And I’ll still be trapped here in my living nightmare.
The man takes me by surprise when he stands and tosses his napkin down onto the table. “Shower.”
I look up nervously as he takes the nearly full milkshake from my hand and places it back on the table before he pulls out my chair, giving me no option to retreat.
“I haven’t finished,” I complain, reaching to grab another now cold and soggy French-fry and popping it into my mouth. Gross!
“Yes, you have,” he replies, taking my arm and pulling me bodily out of the chair to stand in front of him. “You’ve been staring at your plate and playing with your food for the last five minutes.”
“I was digesting,” I counter back. I really should not be provoking this man. But something inside of me enjoys goading him; getting the blank mask he wears to break. Instead of anger, a fleeting grin of apparent amusement crosses his face.
With his hand on my elbow, he leads me into the bathroom. Once inside, he lets go of my arm and shuts the door behind us. Click.
The tile is cold on my bare feet, but the man’s warmth beside me floods my senses. Why am I not more afraid? I should be terrified.
Moving behind me, he brushes my hair aside, draws his shirt away from my skin, and leaves a trail of kisses along my neck. I bite my lip trying to suppress a moan and find myself leaning back into his chest. The man’s hands run along my sides, settle on my hips, and pull me back further into his arms. I gasp. His hard, thick cock presses into me.
The man nips my earlobe and whispers, “Can you feel how hard you make me, Princess? Are you going to make me suffer all night?”
“Yes,” I reply with a moan as he unhurriedly rubs himself against me, the friction sparking an unwanted desire within me.
“We’ll see,” the man chuckles into my neck, sucking on my pulse point as he moves our bodies together in the same leisurely fashion.
“Turn around,” he commands, placing his hands lightly on my shoulders and guiding my movements as I turn to face him.
“You won’t be needing this.” He reaches up and slowly pops open the top button of his shirt, letting his calloused fingertips lightly caress the skin on my throat. I shiver.
Leisurely the man moves down my body, continuing to tease me with the pleasure of his gentle touch on my breasts as he slowly unbuttons the shirt. My sex pulses with need as he moves lower, leaving barely there touches against my stomach. The man slowly reveals my body until he’s pushing the stiff fabric off my shoulders and lets it fall onto the floor.
Chapter Nine
~ Lily ~
Looking up, my breath catches when I see the look of burning desire in his eyes. For me. Before I know what’s happening, his hands are gently cradling my face as he pulls me into a deep, wet kiss.
Breathless and off balance, I grab hold of the man’s waist and lean into his strength. Opening myself up further, I taste the warm bite of the onions he ate with his hamburger earlier. Hungry for more, I find myself rising on my tiptoes. I shiver as the man’s groans of pleasure reverberate through me.
All too soon, he pulls away and rests his forehead against my own, whispering, “You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I catch his eyes. The burning desire has warmed into amber pools. I find myself tightening my hold and swaying further into his body.
No one has ever kissed or touched me the way this man does, with so much demanding passion, tempered with an almost tender gentleness. I feel my resolve begin to crumble as my desire for him grows. I should be disgusted with myself, standing here naked, vulnerable, and half-wanting this man to do whatever he pleases with me—with my body. Instead, all I feel is confusion at my growing attraction to this man who won’t even tell me his name.
I may be a virgin, but I am neither naive nor clueless. I’ve read NC-17 Harry Potter fan-fiction, watched Maple Colors, the Japanese erotic animated series, and have listened to enough of my friends’ sexual exploits to know what I’m getting into by being intimate with this man. So, unless he has two dicks, I doubt anything about being with him would surprise me.
Releasing his hold on me, the man steps back, and in one fluid movement, reaches behind his shoulders to pull his shirt up and off.
I lean back, taking in his bronzed chest flecked with coarse black hairs. All man. Unlike the boys I’m used to seeing.
Shaking slightly, I find myself reaching out and placing my palms on his hard abs. I feel his intake of breath. It emboldens me to run them up his warm skin until I reach his pecs dusted with wiry, coarse hairs. He holds his breath. The thought that I have that much power over him sends a thrill of excitement through me.
The idea to thumb and tease his nipples comes naturally.
I give into the impulse.
It feels right.
“I only have so much control, Princess,” he groans, grabbing hold of my wrists and pulling them off his chest.
I bite my lip, attempting to hide my smile.
The man lets go of me and moves toward the large glass shower. Opening the door, he leans in, and with a long arm turns the knobs until the rain-like showerhead is spraying down from overhead. It is a hell of a lot nicer than the shower they’ve been making me use since I arrived.
My smile slips as my thoughts wander back to my grim reality.
The man turns back around and motions me forward. I move toward him obediently, needing to feel closer to him.
When I’m within touching distance, he snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me against his solid frame. Sturdy and safe, I can no longer deny that I want to take refuge in this man’s arms.
Cupping my cheek, he tilts my face up so I’m looking into his melted caramel eyes. I let my body fall into his as he touches his lips ever so lightly to my own. I blink up at him, unsure if I’ve imagined the gentleness of his feather-light kiss.
Pressed against him, the hairs on his chest scratch by breasts, sending tingles of pleasure through me. Reaching out, I place my hands on his hips, anchoring myself as I feel my body responding to his.
“Check the temperature to make sure it’s comfortable,” the man tells me, moving out of the way and reaching down to begin undoing his belt buckle.
The thought of his naked body fills me with nervous excitement, so I quickly turn and step into the shower.
The steaming spray engulfs me, and my muscles have no choice but to relax under the constant battering. Standing there, I let myself drown in the deluge. For a moment I forget everything and enjoy the sensation.
I’m startled back into the present as the man steps into the shower behind me, the glass door rattling and then clicking closed. The thick steam combined with his solid presence in such a small space suddenly becomes oppressive.
“Relax.” He grips my arms and slowly turns me to face him.
Now faced with a very naked wet man I attempt to step back, but his fingers dig into my a
rms, holding me in place.
I stare.
I have never been this close to a naked man before; unless there was a computer screen between us. This man is unlike any I have seen. The perfectly waxed, shaved, and bronzed male models; with their clipped pubic hair and perfectly tanned skin are nothing like him.
I continue to stare.
I can’t help but smile at the sight of his tan lines banding around his thighs and waist. The dark hair around his broad half-erect penis stands out even more against the pale skin the sun hasn’t reached. I have this insane desire to reach out and touch him, to feel the smooth hardness in my palm.
“It’s not going to do anything I don’t let it.”
“What?” I look up at him confused.
“My cock. It’s not suddenly going to leap out and attack,” he teases with a slight grin.
“Oh,” I say, unsure of how else to reply.
Should I comment on the size and say “It’s big” or “I’ve never seen one like that.” I bite my lip and stay silent, deciding to let him make the next move.
I don’t have to wait long before he’s wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me in close, pressing his lips to mine. I respond, relaxing under the now familiar taste and feel of this man’s kiss.
I find myself reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him, while one of his hands cups the back of my head and pulls me—if at all possible—closer. I’m jarred back to reality when I feel his thick erection pressing against my hip. Pulling out of the kiss, my body is kept in place by the tight hold he has on me.
For the first time, I notice his long lashes are now wet spikes, adding to the intensity of his golden eyes. Effortlessly he spins us around so that he is now in front of the sprayer.
Releasing me, he takes a half-a-step back, moving fully underneath the showerhead. The man reaches up and pushes back his hair, letting the spray hit his face. I watch as the droplets slide down his chest, catching in the tuffs of hair.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles over the spray, bending down to grab a small washcloth and a tiny unwrapped bar of bland smelling hotel soap from the shower ledge. The man briefly runs them both under the spray, wetting the two items, before vigorously rubbing them together. Once he is satisfied, he turns toward me. “Spread your legs.”
I widen my stance slightly, nervous.
“Further,” he commands, stepping even closer.
As I inch my feet apart, I have a good idea where he plans on using that washcloth, and the thought of him rubbing the rough fabric against my sex excites me.
“Use my shoulders to steady yourself.” The man squats down in front of me.
I flush in embarrassment and rock backward as his face becomes level with my crotch.
“Hold still,” he admonishes, palming my ass and pulling me back toward him.
It’s one thing to have him touching me, another for him to be staring directly at my bald and ugly hoohah and flabby thighs. I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me I should have used her old Thighmaster.
Starting with my inner thighs, he runs the sudsy washcloth roughly against my skin before running it between my legs in the same vigorous manner. I hold my breath, suppressing a moan as his motions press against my clit. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and can’t control my hips as they rock against his palm. All too soon he stops, leaving me aching for more.
“Sir,” I groan softly, but he either can’t hear me over the spray or ignores my plea.
With one hand he spreads open my outer folds.
I can feel myself getting wet as he begins to gently and methodically clean me, running the cloth up and then down, on either side of my clit, once—twice—three times. The rough nub of the cloth sends shockwaves of pleasure throughout my body as he continues to ignore my throbbing clit.
“Sir,” I groan again. The man looks up with his amber eyes burning and gives me a cocky satisfied smile. He knows what he’s doing to my body.
“Now the rest of you,” he says, standing up and thoroughly rinsing off the washcloth before soaping it up again.
“I can do it,” I say, annoyed and not just a little frustrated as I make to grab it from his hand.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to wash me too,” he says, outright grinning at my wide-eyed expression. “You first.”
The man gently runs the cloth around my neck and down onto my breast, teasing my nipples in the process. With his free hand, he begins to lazily run his fingers along my side, making me giggle uncontrollably. He tosses the cloth onto the floor and wraps his arm around me as he continues to tickle me relentlessly.
“Stop,” I sputter, drowning under the spray as I laugh, trying to escape his hold, which is only causing me to wiggle against his naked body even more.
“Are you ticklish or something?” he asks, grinning down at me and continuing to run his torturous fingers lightly along my side.
“Yes,” I gasp out, pressing my palms against his chest and creating a space between our bodies. He takes the opportunity to dip his head and catch my nipple between his lips.
I sway toward him as the pleasure of his twin assaults engulfs my senses. My knees start to give way as my body begins to come undone.
“Fuck.” The man pulls me into a quick, hard, wet kiss. “You’re amazing, Princess.”
Breaking away, he picks up the discarded washcloth and continues what he started. This time without the tickle-induced pleasure. I’m unsure if I should be disappointed or not.
It’s hard to be too upset when the man begins to shampoo my hair and massage my scalp. This man may be a lot of things, but unfortunately for me he’s also the best hair shampooer I’ve ever experienced. Describing his strong fingers as they slowly worked through my hair, gently tugging at the roots doesn’t do the feeling justice. It’s something you need to experience yourself to truly understand. Somewhere along the way, from his first rough kiss to his gentle and methodical rinsing of my hair, I became completely comfortable being naked with this man. His touch no longer startles me, but only makes me want more—like an addict.
“Move over,” the man says against my lips, breaking me out of my relaxed haze with a soft kiss. “Let me quickly wash up.”
Blinking up at him, I take a step back and allow him to stand more fully under the spray. I watch in fascination as he quickly and efficiently washes. His muscles ripple as he rubs the bar of soap roughly over his face and chest, the foamy bubbles catching on his chest hair before being washed down. I watch the rivulets of water flow until they come to the wiry mass just above his half erect penis.
I stare transfixed as the man cups himself, washing his balls thoroughly before stroking himself. Without a thought, I step closer, my hand itching to reach out and touch him.
“Like what you see?” The man’s voice startles me. Looking up at the gold flecks sparkling in his eyes as he stares down at me, I bite my lip unable—unwilling—to admit the truth to him: that I do like what I see.
Dropping the nearly disintegrated soap bar onto the shower ledge, the man cups my face, gently using his teeth to tug the lip I have been biting before soothing it with his tongue. Leaning into the kiss, I moan with desire as he plunders my mouth. The man’s hands move down my back, sending sparks of pleasure in their wake until he’s cupping my ass and grinding our bodies together.
“I need a taste,” he growls.
He places his hands on my hips, and my heart races as he steers me backward so I’m pressed against the rough tiled wall of the shower. I bite my lip in anticipation as he squats down in front of me.
“Lift your leg over my shoulder,” he instructs, his large hand gripping the back of my thigh to guide my movements and opening me up further to him.
“Sir,” I cry out; unsteady on one leg. I reach out and grab his arms.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Princess,” the man states, gripping my hips more firmly in his hands as he turns his head an
d begins nipping and sucking on the delicate flesh of my inner, flabby, thigh.
I can’t control my reaction—I’m beyond trying to—and gasp as I’m hit with a bolt of pleasure.
“I can smell how wet you are,” the man mumbles against my skin, humming with pleasure.
Another burst of pleasure hits me as he runs his tongue lightly along my bare folds, teasing me.
The first, only time, I let a man go down on me was anticlimactic in every sense of the word. I have no doubt this time will be different. This man is precise, patient, and exacting.
After a few more all too gentle swipes of his tongue, I’m burning with frustration. My hands find their way into his hair as he begins his unrelenting assault on my clit. I’m gasping for breath now and leaning back against the hard tiled wall as I push my sex further into his face, all in an attempt to get what I need from him. Release from this torture.
This man has a power over me that I can’t explain. Everything about him makes me come apart with pleasure.
It doesn’t take long until he has me writhing against his hold, and then all too quickly spent and out of breath. I would’ve fallen onto the hard tile floor if he hadn’t caught me in his arms.
Gripping my ankle gently, the man sets my foot back onto the tile. I sway slightly as I catch my balance. Standing up, he holds me securely against his chest with one arm around my waist while his other hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back. He kisses me, robbing me of what little breath I have left.
Before I have a chance to enjoy the assault, the man is tucking my head tightly against his shoulder.
I feel him press a kiss to my forehead, causing me to melt further into his arms.
He says something that I can’t make out over the noise of the shower spray. “What?” I ask, tilting my head up to look into his face.