Mikalo was off my nipple, his tongue trailing down my side as he rolled his flat palm over my breast, the friction causing me to gasp into the fourth stranger's mouth as he continued to kiss me.
And then he was off my mouth, this stranger, his lips, the hint of stubble on his chin, the scent of sweat lingering under clean soap tickling my nose, trailing down my neck, his mouth quickly on my nipple as he drew it deep.
This time my gasp was heard, the sound filling the room.
And again, another stranger, a new stranger's mouth on mine, as the man sucked me deep, the other man working my other nipple between his teeth, and the one below licking and lapping and sucking and tasting my growing wetness, the thump-thump-thump resonating against his lips, his hands trapping my legs, holding them open.
I was going to cum.
Moaning, I pushed my hips up, forcing myself against the stranger's mouth.
He moaned in return, a deep, masculine sound. Like thunder, the rumbling a new, delicious sensation against my sensitive, throbbing heat.
A mouth taken again from my breast, the pink nugget now being twisted and pinched and turned between a thick thumb and forefinger, lips once more tasting the sweat on my neck, the stubble scratching me as a tongue returned to kiss me long and deep.
The other stranger, still at my nipple, had run his hand down my stomach, his thick, long fingers inching closer to my heat, the man below moving his mouth lower, allowing this co-conspirator access.
He rubbed me once, twice, and then a quick slap.
My hips bucked, my moan lost deep in the stranger's mouth.
Teeth scraped my nipple as he sucked, the one whose fingers had slapped and now parted my heat for the man below, the kisser having returned, his lips close to mine, his breath hot as he patiently hovered over me, just out of reach.
I lifted myself, pushing my face forward, my lips meeting his.
He smiled, the full lips curling into a grin against mine.
And below, the man with the talented tongue continued to taste and lap, licking down one side and then patiently licking up the other before returning to the middle, his tongue insistent and hungry as it dove deep into my heart.
Fingers. Yes, fingers now inside me, slipping in my wetness, discovering my heat, the digits spreading as first one and then two and then three slid deep, opening me even more.
I moaned. Again.
I writhed. Again.
My hips bucked and I gasped and I felt the familiar thump-thump-thump as the storm rolled closer.
Oh yes, I was going to cum.
And the stranger below knew it.
His fingers worked me, his tongue licked and lapped and tasted, the others sucked and pinched and kissed, tongues diving deep, their breath hot against my sweaty skin.
My legs were shaking, even beneath the inescapable grip of the stranger's strong hands.
Taking his fingers from me, he slapped. Quick and hard.
My hips lifted.
I moaned.
Another deep kiss quieted me.
The fingers then rubbed me, side to side, the sound of my wetness mixing with my gasps and groans and wordless, desperate pleas.
Faster and faster they rubbed, side to side and back again. Back and forth, back and forth, the other men sucking harder, the fourth stranger assaulting my mouth with his tongue, his strong hand cradling my head as I writhed and bucked, the restraints holding tight as my muscles clenched.
His mouth was on me again, the man below. His tongue moving fast, flicking and tasting, sucking my wetness, his chin, his nose, his face coated with my desire as he rubbed himself against me.
Fingers inside me. Fast and hard and deep. Rudely plunging only to stop, the unexpected pause torturing me and sending me over the edge.
I came, hard, the wetness warming my skin as it spilled from me.
My legs shaking, my body clenching, my breath lost in this stranger's mouth, I screamed and then screamed again, the mouths taken from my breasts, their palms flat as they rubbed my nipples, the stranger below riding the wave with me as he drank me deep, my heat throbbing against his mouth, his fingers, his face.
The first storm ended, the wave having crested and crashed.
I gasped, steadying myself. Willed myself calm, aware the mouths now gently kissed, the tongues gently licked, the strangers pausing as my heart raced and the spasms still rolled through me, my hips still trembling.
The man below moved his mouth from me, the strangers at my breasts shifting their own positions, leaving my wounded flesh open to the air.
The final stranger cradling my head remained, his lips lightly kissing my cheeks and grazing over my forehead .
The one below rose to his knees, his chest now near mine.
Yes, I could feel the weight of him hovering over me, one arm to the side as he balanced, his breath now warming my face.
He kissed me, this man. Sharing my wetness, sharing my taste, the stubble on his face rough against my mouth as his tongue dove deep.
And then below, suddenly, without warning, without apology, hard and fast and brutal, he was inside me.
Improbably thick, unbelievably hard, he slid in deep, his mouth still on mine as he stole my breath, my scream lost somewhere in this stranger's kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
There were mouths still on my breasts. Teeth still grazing my nipples.
And this stranger, the one cradling my head, he remained, his fingers stroking my temples and the soft flesh of my flushed cheek.
But all I could feel, all I could focus on, the only thing in my universe right now was this man, this stranger, on top of me, his hardness grinding and pushing and plunging me into orgasm after orgasm.
He had hair on his chest, I knew this. Could feel the sweat-drenched curls pressed against my skin. And stubble on his chin, the roughness against my lips as I sucked his neck, tasting his flesh, my teeth gnawing his strong jaw.
His thickness moved faster, prodding deeper, and then, plunging deeper still, stopped, holding itself steady and calm, willing me to cum.
And I did cum, hard, my hips shaking, the teeth on my nipples once again biting.
I bucked against him, grinding my hips into his hardness, forcing him even deeper as he remained steady and calm, a relentless, unending spasm racking my flesh as I gasped, my breath coming quick.
He started drawing himself out, slowly, slowly, slowly, teasing me with his length, his thickness, his hardness.
I lifted my hips, desperate to keep him in.
He plunged deep.
I screamed.
The stranger holding my head quickly kissed me, his tongue quieting me as the man worked himself deeper and deeper, in and out, grinding and pushing, forcing me to the edge once again.
Another storm was building, the thump-thump-thump growing, the rhythm insistent and inescapable as his thickness assaulted me repeatedly.
The wave crested and crashed, the spasms rolling through my body, my groans again lost in the mouth of the stranger whose tongue battled my own.
Suddenly the thickness was gone. Withdrawn quickly.
Mouths still on my breasts, tasting me, the man who had been on top was again below, his tongue lapping at my heat.
Oh god, he was good.
He worked his tongue deeper, his fingers parting my wetness as the other men, the ones still working my nipples, rolled the pink flesh between their lips, their teeth pinching and gripping and pulling.
I could feel another storm building as the stranger slipped his fingers between the folds to slide inside, losing themselves in my throbbing heat.
His mouth on me, his fingers in me, their hands rubbing my flesh, the stranger holding my head, his lips on my cheeks, my chin, my temples before finding my lips, the taste of him sweaty and sweet and intoxicating.
It was building up again, the storm.
I couldn't do it. This was too much. My heart was already racing, my skin was already drenched in sweat, my nipp
les were already wounded and raw, the aching below was becoming an almost unbearable pleasure, and I didn't think I could survive being slammed by that wave one more time.
Reading my mind and ignoring my doubt, the stranger with the magical tongue grabbed my legs, holding them steady, holding them captive, holding them open.
His tongue picked up the pace.
One of the men sucking my nipple reached his fingers below, discovering and then rubbing my flesh as the stranger continued to lick and lap and taste.
Oh no.
I could feel my hips lift. I could feel my lungs expand as I held my breath. I could even feel my skin burn red as the wave reached new heights.
And as I pushed my throbbing, burning hot heat into the stranger's mouth and fingers and face, it hit.
But there was no gasp. No scream or moan or groan.
I simply lay back, my mouth open, my eyes blindfolded. The world around me still dark as I became a prisoner to one spasm after another, the force of it silencing me, my bound limbs jerking, my hips trembling, my desire rushing from below to soak the moaning stranger and the luxurious, soft duvet beneath.
My heart was going to stop, I suddenly thought. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't even make sense of what was now happening.
My universe, my whole existence, was this. This pulsating, throbbing, thump-thump-thumping orgasm that had trapped me. Seized me from the tips of my toes to the thin, delicate ends of the dark air on my head.
Another slow, cool stream of air to quiet the chaos below, his mouth no longer on me, his fingers gently calming me as they stroked the inside of my thighs.
And the men on my breasts, their lips now kissed the wounded flesh, their fingers stroking me, too. Gently running up my stomach and down my sides.
The man cradling my head leaned forward, his presence drawing near in the dark as he kissed me before laying my head back on the pillow.
One by one they left me, the man below gifting my quieting heat one last, deep kiss, his mouth swallowing my scent before he lifted to his knees.
And there I lay, a sweaty, sodden mess. Blindfolded and bound, my hair sticking to my flesh, my heart still racing.
Still in the dark.
Someone drew near. The warm scent familiar as he bent low, his lips near my ear.
But it wasn't the scent of my desire or my heat or of his sweat.
No, this was clean. Clean and calm.
Blindfolded, I turned to him, my Mikalo.
And from the dark, he whispered.
"I have returned, my Grace."
Chapter Forty
He sat on the sand looking out toward the water.
I approached quietly.
Released from my restraints the night before, I had drawn him close, holding him tight, my arms still trembling.
His lips pressed to my forehead as I snuggled my head into his arms.
"There is trust now?" he had asked.
I nodded.
"You were always safe, even though you could not move or see. Do you know this?
"Even though strangers took your body, strangers who were friends, who were safe and discreet, who I trust with my life and now with my heart, you were safe.
"Always."
I had looked at him, more in love with him now than ever before. And I felt solid. Solid and safe. Yes, he was right. I had been safe. I knew that. Was able to give myself to the experience, not worrying about the psychological repercussions or inevitable doubts, because of this.
But there were no consequences, no repercussions or doubts. In the aftermath of that blessed chaos, I understood without a doubt that he was someone to trust, someone to love, someone to give my heart to.
Someone who would never put me or the love I felt for him in harm's way.
And now, the morning after, my wrists still smarting from the tightness of the silk, my ankles bearing the red echo of the fabric resisting my strength as I arched my back and bucked and writhed, I sat next to him on the sand.
He acknowledged me, though his eyes remain glued to the horizon.
Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of wet sand.
"It is not right, this," he said, his eyes now on the pile of earth in his palm. "It is not white. It is not soft. It does not slip from my fingers to the wind."
Tossing it away, he impatiently rubbed his hands on his pants.
"And the sun, it is there somewhere, yes?" he then asked, his eyes weary as they watched the grey clouds above.
"Yes," I answered, my voice quiet. "It's there, I promise."
He sighed and then, wrapping his arm around me, drew me close.
"There is more to my world than soft sand and bright sun, I think."
"But you miss it, don't you?"
There was a long pause as he thought.
"Yes," he finally said. "And my family.
"Those I love," he said, correcting himself. "Not those who share my blood but not my joy of life or sense of duty. I miss my true family.
"And here I have you," he finished, looking at me.
"You do."
"And you can come visit me in Greece, I think, yes?" he quickly said, and then stopped.
He laughed.
"I am sorry. I do not know where that was."
I closed my eyes, unwilling to see the obvious, focusing instead on the sound of the nearby surf and the chill of the wind as it buffeted us.
An offer in hand and love in his heart, and still, I knew he couldn't be here and be happy. And it was so important he be happy even if it meant I was miserable and threw myself back into work to escape the sadness of my life.
"I can be happy here, I think, my Grace," he then said as if reading my thoughts, the words offered more to himself than to me.
Glancing at him, I saw him looking at another fistful of sand, a look of utter sadness in his eyes.
"Yes," he continued. "I can be happy here."
Chapter Forty-One
The rest of the weekend passed in a haze of lingering hugs and hungry kisses. Of long looks and small smiles.
And rain.
Which gave us the perfect excuse to make a large fire and then spend the hours snuggled in each other's arms as we watched the flames dance.
"What would you do if you went back to Greece?" I asked.
He was silent for a long moment, his chin resting on the top of my head as he thought, his arms wrapped around me as he held me.
"I would live life, yes?" he then said.
"But what, exactly," I asked again. "What would you do?"
A long sigh and then,
"I would protect my father's dreams and my mother's work. Protect them from Silvestro and Caugina and their attorneys and all those other companies that wish to eat it all up. I would see that those who have given their lives to these dreams would have work and be protected. That they could earn a dollar so their children could continue to eat and go to school.
"I would see that the history of my family would stand strong and not be broken by greed and unhappiness and impatience. That my brother's bitterness would not destroy all we love and need and cherish with our hearts.
"That is what I would do," he finished. "That is what I would need to do."
"And if you weren't there?"
"There are others. Uncles, aunts, friends who love my mother and father still. They could protect, I think.
"But it is better if I fight this battle."
"No brothers or sisters?" I asked.
"A question that is difficult to answer, my Grace," he said, ending the conversation with a kiss on the head and a squeeze.
"You're okay going back to the city tomorrow?" I asked, changing the subject, my mind on anything but that, the flames from the fire growing uncomfortably hot.
"Of course," came his answer, the words lost in my hair as his lips remained on the top of my head.
"And you need to return to this work on Monday, no?" he then asked.
I nodded.
That I
definitely needed to do.
"Then we must walk, my Grace. It will be quicker than the car on that expressway, I think, yes?"
I could feel him smile, a small gesture which made me dread the inevitable even more.
Drawing his arms tight around me, I closed my eyes, content to focus on this.
This moment, the heat of the fire, the comforting heaviness of his arms around me, his lips resting in my hair, his chest rising and falling against my shoulders with each breath.
Yes, just focus on this, Ronan.
The end would come soon enough.
Chapter Forty-Two
"You can't be serious."
"You should have seen him, Deni. It was so sad."
"He'll get over it, Ronan," came the voice from the other end of the phone.
I swiveled my chair toward the window, looking at Manhattan below.
"And maybe he won't. We don't know that."
"Oh, give me a break --"
"I'm not going to do this, okay? I'm not going to make the selfish choice and live with the consequences."
"And what would those be? Everlasting love? Marriage? Earth-shattering sex with the hottest guy you have ever seen, have ever met, and will ever meet?"
Damn, she had a point.
The doubts came again.
Was I doing the right thing? Was I making this decision for him or because somewhere deep inside the power of this love terrified me? Was I using his love for his home as a convenient excuse to play Missy Martyr again?
No, I wasn't.
His home. That was the key phrase. His home. New York was not his home. I may have his heart -- and I know that I did, without a doubt --, but this mass of concrete choked by traffic and swarming in an endless sea of people was not his home.
His heart could not be happy here.
"I just can't," I said into the phone. "To make that choice for him and then watch him struggle to find his place, to find happiness, it wouldn't be worth it. It just wouldn't."
"Think of all those orgasms, Ronan. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. Seriously, think about it. Vinnie the Vibrator ain't gonna hit that sweet spot."
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