Her left hand slid down his arm, then brushed his palm until her wrist rested in his hand. Once his fingers had closed around it gently, she moved her arm behind her back, taking his hand with it. He could still feel slightly the raised skin of her abrasions.
His brows furrowed together but he didn’t question her with words. This couldn’t be the way she liked it? Was this the only way she thought it could be? Standing on her tiptoes she kissed him, her mouth open and yielding, arching her back thrusting her breasts onto his chest. He kissed a trail down her neck, his breath warm and tickling her, and then to the curve of her breast, the strap of her bra slipped off her shoulder exposing her breast just above the nipple.
Momentarily distracted, he remembered his grip and opened his fingers to release her but her own wrist pushed his hand to her back, he was trying to interpret this motion but didn’t want to let go so instead he wrapped his fingers around it again bringing it to his lips but she resisted ever so slightly.
Arms around her, undoing the snaps of her bra and it too slid off. Kissing the roundness of her breasts, on the curvature and then moving towards the nipple caused her to arch her back. He kissed circles around the soft flesh to the hardened middle of her nipple, licking and sucking her, it produced groans that escaped her lips between the gasps only pleasure releases, his hand mimicked what his mouth was doing with her other breast.
She started to relax in his arms as he moved to the other, circling it with light kisses, licking the tip, and sucking it; her hand went to his head, her fingers entwined in his hair, keeping him there. He was careful not to touch the cut on her side, now almost healed, the stitches already dissolved. Finding the zipper on her skirt easily, it fell away and she stepped out of it leaving it just as it fell.
Hungrily, she pulled his head back up to hers to kiss him deeply as he walked her backwards to the bed. She sat on the edge and her shaking hands went to the button on his trousers and she stopped. Hesitantly, her hands roamed over the swell underneath, outlining it and exploring through the cloth before she unbuttoned and then unzipped his trousers sliding them down his muscular thighs. Kissing the thin trail of hair on his stomach to the waistband of his shorts, her tongue trailing where it had been, and then slowly she slid his shorts off the same way exposing him fully.
Surprisingly, she kissed the tip of his cock with light feathery kisses, teasing before licking the soft, smooth flesh of it in small, delightful circles and the heat of her mouth engulfed the head. The warmth of her breath caressed as the roughness of her tongue tickled him. The shock of her boldness heightened the sensations of what she was doing. The head slid past her tongue to the back of her mouth as she took half the length and moved her head back and forth. His hands held her head, his fingers slid into the lushness of her dark tresses.
He was struggling to keep from pulling her head forward, instead allowing her to do as she wished. He concentrated on watching her instead of what he was feeling until she gripped it in her hand tightly and increased the back and forth movement and her own moans vibrated on him sending ripples of pleasure through his entire body. Her hand squeezed and released in opposition of her mouth. He jerked her head away before he came, the white fluid dripped from the end and she watched it glide down.
Looking up at him, her mouth still slightly open, he took her face between his hands and leaned over to kiss her. His hands wrapped around her ribs laying her gently back on the bed, her body tense but this time in anticipation, gliding down, his hands cupping her hips, moving the panties down past her thighs, then her knees and off.
Eyes closed, her body writhed with an energy that couldn’t be contained. Standing beside the bed, he looked at her whole body blush, warm, and rosy. Her lovely curves made him hungry for her. He watched while she beckoned, reaching for him.
Stroking her thighs he saw the scars. He had forgotten the lines of raised flesh; he traced them with his finger. A quick intake of breath of surprise escaped her lips and she grabbed his wrist, her thighs locked together in reaction but his lips caressed each on in turn. Then she guided his hand to her throat and pushed so that she could feel pressure. Again he was confused and then he understood, she was telling him her story, without words, she was showing him what she endured and he realized the only thing he knew to do was to change that story.
Releasing her throat, he expected to see a look of sadness or disappointment on her face but her expression had not changed from the hunger for desire. Moving back down, he slid his hands over her knees and then over her calves to encircle her ankles. Leaning forward, he placed her feet on his shoulders until her knees were close to her chest and opened for him.
Oliver’s thumbs caressed the soft, wet lips between her legs and spread them gaining access to the softness. When he touched her there, she pushed against his shoulders and her hips slid away from him. Her breath came in pants, quick and heavy.
He grasped her hips and pulled her closer again and his mouth surrounded her clit, kissing it lightly, licking it, sucking it, and flicking it swiftly, monitoring her reaction for each type of stimulation, raising the intensity.
His chin pressed against the lips, the roughness of the hair on his face grated lightly against her, incorporating the whole area with sensation. She began moving her hips against his face and her hand pushed his head closer to her. He buried his face in her warm flesh, he inhaled the warm scent of her, tasted her. Turned on by her surrender, he moaned against her as she did him before, the vibration causing her to jerk impulsively.
Finding the rhythm that roused her, he could tell she was enjoying what he was doing when small cries came out of her mouth, her chest was heaving, and her breath coming out as sighs. He could feel the tightening of her muscles, and the slight pause before the muscles convulsed and she cried out. Her whole body quivered uncontrollably.
Oliver knew he had given her something no one else had ever given her, although she was not innocent, she had not known the pleasurable side of intimacy and despite the conversation about masturbation, he took pride in knowing he was the one that gave her first orgasm.
Oliver wiped his mouth and brought it to hers, watching her shudder still. Small ripples surged through her body. He had brought her to the climax and now must gently bring her back down. His lips caressed hers with the sweetness from between her legs still on them. Her body reacted now to every single touch as he pinched her nipples gently, her back arched, his hand slid between her thighs, they opened for him easily this time.
Oliver slipped one finger inside her. She was wet and warm. He wanted to test how much penetration she would allow him. She was small and her muscles easily gripped his finger when he caressed the spot inside her, gently pressing it and moving in small circles. Her eyes closed, one hand gripped the pillow beside her head and the other clutched his wrist tightly. He stopped, perceiving this as an indication that she wanted him to stop. She looked at him when he did; he couldn’t read her reaction, her face blank, so he didn’t move.
“Tell me what you want. I’ll do whatever you say,” he whispered, concerned, expecting her to tell him to cease but what she said instead urged him.
She drew his finger in deeper and looked at him, her voice deep and breathy, “I want you inside me.”
Stunned for a moment, Oliver didn’t move until she raised her hips and squeezed his finger. Withdrawing his hand roused a small sound of disappointment from her but he kissed it away. He situated himself between her legs and she wrapped them around his waist pulling him closer to her. He entered her, all the way inside her until the flesh of their hips met and stayed there for a moment trying to gauge her reaction again but instead she grabbed his hips urging him to move as she constricted the muscles around him.
He moved out of her enough to tease her lips and moved forward, deeper and deeper inside her until they were moving together in cadence. He interlaced his fingers with hers and kissed her on every part of her his lips could reach, kissed her in rhythm with his thrust
s, kissed her in rhythm with her hips meeting his until his movements were frenzied and she took over kissing him instead.
Each was immersed in their own building pleasure, their moans became louder as the build-up finally released in both of them and they trembled and cried out with the joint climax. Not only did he feel the pleasure of his own but hers as well. Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist and he embraced her, his body jerking slightly.
Oliver still moved inside her until her muscles no longer convulsed but she still shook in his arms. Neither spoke for a while, not wanting to change the atmosphere with words. Especially after the throws of passion that could distort many feelings into something they weren’t. But for Oliver, his feelings for her were sure.
Without a word, she drew away from him, standing and putting on her underwear and his navy button up shirt abandoned in their lovemaking, her hair wild around her shoulders, and a satisfied grin on her flushed face. He found her modesty adorable but unnecessary to him. There was something intimate about her wearing his shirt, without asking, without permission, she chose to do so as her right.
“Please don’t leave, we could have pillow talk now,” he said quietly, smiling and satiated, his eyelids heavy, begging again. For once the smile didn’t leave her lips when she noticed it was there but it seemed that she wrapped herself up in the moment like a warm blanket. Oliver admired how ravishingly beautiful she was, satiated and relaxed in satisfaction. He felt they were in sync, finally, but he didn’t know how long it would last. He could take nothing for granted with her.
His heart swelled at the notion that he was able to make her happy and comfortable with herself. Now sex would be something that was enjoyable instead of painful for her, she would no longer be afraid of joy and pleasure. He hoped her feelings of unworthiness dissolved as well.
“Did I do it right?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence and sliding under the covers again, turning her back to him, suddenly indifferent.
From anyone else, he thought, that would be an odd question but he simply replied, “I’m not sure there’s a wrong way.” He lay on his back, one arm thrown above his head; the other lay across his stomach, only his elbow touched her. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.
“You’re a wonderful lover, Oliver,” it was a statement, without any emotion in her voice. It was like she had become a woman from a girl in a matter of an hour and she would never have admitted such a thing before, “Not that there’s anyone to really compare you to.”
“That means I couldn’t possibly fail, lucky me,” he moved the collar of his shirt and kissing her neck. “Did you enjoy your first orgasm?”
“Yes,” she sighed as his hand slid down to her breast, the nipple hardened under his palm.
“I can give you another, if you like.”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her hesitation caused him to stop unbuttoning the shirt about three buttons down.
Concerned he asked, “Are you in pain? Are you hurting?”
Rolling over onto her back, she pressed her hand against her lower abdomen, “No,” she said somewhat surprised.
He kissed her again, his hand went under the shirt but she pushed his hand gently away and he accepted that she was done for the evening, abandoning the idea of making love to her again but was content just to be with her. He watched her profile until her eyes closed and her breathing steadied.
He was not surprised by her sudden change in mood but more concerned. Tomorrow would reveal how much a success the evening turned out to be. Even though he thought it to be one of the best nights of his life, unless she thought so, it didn’t matter how he felt.
***
The morning’s first rays of light peaked through the curtains and into Sophie’s eyes, waking her. Pressure on the scar of her cut made her wince and then she realized it was Oliver’s hand thrown across her middle. The weight of his arm must have been there for a while for it to be sore again.
Moving only her head, she looked at him, the light barely touching his face. A curl had fallen across his forehead, his mouth partially open, breathing deeply and steadily, snoring slightly. His angular face softened by the glow of the sun.
Staring up at the ceiling, careful not to move and smiling to herself, she remembered the events at the club, the dancing and poor Josie, the laughing, the kissing, and the begging for her not leave and she didn’t.
Looking at him again, she watched his bottom lip draw in and back out ever so slightly as he breathed. She could recall how he tasted. They had kissed with such ease and passion that seduction was simply unnecessary. The softness of his skin, the smooth way he touched her, the heat of his body, his tender voice and pleading eyes asking her to stay.
He rolled over taking the warmth with him. She was suddenly aware of her bare legs, the stiff cotton of his shirt against her bare breasts. At first, she panicked, but nothing seemed amiss. She was perfectly relaxed and there was no soreness, no pain. She had slept over, sharing his bed, and she was fine, more than fine.
Carefully, she slid out of bed moving gradually in time with his breathing. Once free, she tipped quickly around, in her rush, she disregarded her own garments for her top half and finding her skirt on the floor on her side of the bed, she put it on. Quiet as she could, she grabbed her jacket and shoes, trying to sneak away before he awoke. She bent over to kiss his forehead but thought better of it, surely that would wake him and she was trying not to, and walked out of the door.
The click of the door woke Oliver, “Sophie?” Her side of the bed was still warm and he stretched and yawned. Propping up on his elbows, he looked around and called her name again, “Sophie.” Her bra and shirt still lay on the floor, he breathed a sigh of relief; she wouldn’t leave here without them. He fell back on the pillows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he smiled satisfied. The morning erection and thoughts of the taste of her stirred him. Jumping out of bed, he expected to find her lurking around either in the bath or in the kitchen but her coat was gone.
Her side of the bed still warm, he told himself, she just left. Hurriedly, he threw on whatever clothes were at hand and ran out the door. Not sure where she would go, his mind traced a mental trail from his flat to hers. Would she take the underground or the bus? Not at the bus stop, he hurried towards the closest underground stop.
The sun glowed brightly now, outlining the city. Early risers hustled to their destinations, stopping to order their coffee, eating their breakfasts while walking, stopping only to buy their morning papers. The streets filled up with black cabs and red buses.
Scanning back and forth, he searched for any sign of her. Half walking and half running he hoped he could catch her. In the middle of the bustle there she sat serenely on a bench outside Westminster Abbey across from the Houses of Parliament in the small courtyard.
She was so beautiful. The golden sunlight made her glow but she glowed from the inside also, a perpetual smile of gratification was on her face, like it had always been there. Drawing her knees up to rest her arms on them, the jacket abandoned on the bench, the skirt tucked between her knees and the back of her thighs, she turned her head in the direction of Oliver’s flat, wondering if he was still sleeping. Lingering, she realized that she really wasn’t in much of a hurry to run away as she thought she was. What was she so afraid of?
She touched her fingertips to her lips tracing where his had been the night before. Holding the lapels of his shirt she burrowed her face into the smell of it, the smell of him.
Then, shifting her attention, she turned and looked the direction of home. She was torn between where she wanted to go and where she needed to go and she wasn’t sure which was which but she felt like it should be the same place.
Big Ben struck one and she put her feet back on the ground. Oliver waited, silently beckoning for her to come his way. The second chime sounded and she stood. Oliver took a few steps forward. With the third chime, she wrapped her arms around herself imagining his arms around her. Oliv
er watched the traffic to find an opportune moment to cross. The fourth chime she scanned the direction of Oliver’s flat stopping on him. Oliver smiled and started to wave at her. When the fifth chime came he saw her look his way and turning, she walked away at the pace of Big Ben’s ringing.
Disappointment couldn’t have been more poignant than when she stood and looked at him and walked away. Oliver ran his fingers through his own dishevelled hair, staring in disbelief at her back until he could no longer see her. Trudging towards his flat, not wanting his misery to be so evident to onlookers, he felt a heavy sadness, the burden of disappointment.
Back in his flat, where he sat most of the day, hungry but unable to eat, thirsty but unable to drink, guilty but unable to profess it because he did nothing wrong. So why did she run away? Picking up her shirt he breathed deep the scent of her. How easily she gave herself to him last night and now she regretted it? The one thing he hoped she would not.
A few days, he would give her, but no more before she had to talk to him. There was no way she was just going to walk away just like that and however she felt, he would allow her time to feel it but she would have to tell him one way or the other. He would not torture himself for long with not knowing. Perhaps it wasn’t like that at all, perhaps it was nothing, and she just didn’t want to wake him. Pieces of what she wore was still here, that was a good sign or was it that she was in such a hurry to get away, and she abandoned them and him completely.
Chapter 32: Terminal Mariella
“So you’ve heard that I’m officially terminal?” Mary’s voice was barely audible.
“Yes,” it was something else to weigh on his already troubled mind.
The Poison Morality Page 28