by Kallysten
*
I was so caught up in the kiss that I didn’t notice when he reversed our positions, trapping me between the window and his body. His jacket slipped off my shoulders and joined my purse on the floor. I honestly couldn’t have cared less, not when his hands were clutching my waist, as possessive as though we’d been dating for years; not when his mouth devoured mine as if he’d die if he stopped—or maybe, I was the one who would die.
I couldn’t tell you how long it lasted, but I could say this simple kiss aroused me more than my last boyfriend’s weekly efforts at putting me ‘in the mood.’ The fact that those efforts, such as they were, came back like clockwork every Saturday night at nine… Let’s just say he wasn’t my boyfriend for very long.
I could also mention how hard his cock was, pressing against my upper thigh, and how much trouble I had keeping my hands around his shoulders. Don’t judge me. It’d been a long, long time with nothing more than my own hands and my trusted vibrator.
When he pulled back, I was breathless, lightheaded, and certain I would die if he didn’t kiss me again.
That idea somehow scared me for a second. I heard sirens down the street. Something felt very, very strange, like I was in a dream and so close to waking up that I knew it was a dream. Right then, I looked into his eyes and was trapped once more by his stare.
“Is that what you came here for?”
Although his words came out as a murmur, I thought I could hear a whole array of emotions behind them. Desire, but also wariness. Hope, drenched in fear. Or maybe they were my emotions I was projecting onto him.
“No,” I replied, still a little out of breath. “I never imagined… No. And if you want me to go, I will.”
“It might be best if you left, yes,” he said, but the way he caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers made his words entirely unconvincing. Also, his free hand still rested on my hip; with his body so close to mine, he was effectively blocking my way out. Talk about mixed signals…
“If you want me to leave,” I said with a small smile, “you’ll have to let me go.”
He didn’t move one inch.
“I didn’t say I want you to leave. I said it might be best if you did. I don’t always do what’s best. Do you?”
Clearly not. There had to be a thousand reasons why this, whatever this was, couldn’t possibly end well. At that moment, however, I couldn’t think of a single one. And even now, even knowing what was going on, I have a hard time imagining myself walking away after that kiss.
“I try to. But in my love life it has rarely been that easy.”
His eyebrows shot up and his fingers stilled on my cheek.
“Love life? Is that what you think this is? Love?”
Never mind the coolness of the air. All of a sudden, my face felt burning. He started stroking it again, warming his fingers.
“We don’t know each other.” I choked on the words a little. “So no, it shouldn’t be love.”
“Shouldn’t?”
I trembled at the intensity of his voice.
“Can’t, I mean.”
“But you said shouldn’t. Why?”
Why, indeed. Why had I said shouldn’t? Why had I kissed him? Why had I come out onto that balcony when clearly he wanted to be alone?
For some aspects of my life, I’m not too attached to the why of things. When Miss Delilah sent me to Paris that one time, or when she demanded black orchids, or when she had her chauffeur drive me five hours out of town to hand deliver an envelope to a young woman, I didn’t ask why.
Even that night, when she’d dressed me and taken me along to the party, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask why she wanted me to go. She was my boss, she did strange things, sometimes, and I had learned not to question her. But that was work.
For things outside of work, for my own decisions, I liked to reason and get to the best, the most logical course of action. That first kiss, those words, they weren’t logical in the least. They were the very opposite of logical, in fact, and I could barely admit it to myself, let alone Mr. Ward.
“I don’t know,” I breathed.
He shook his head once, gently chastising, and leaned close to whisper in my ear.
“I think you do.”
I trembled. If his hands hadn’t been on me, surely my knees would have given in and I’d have slipped to the floor.
“It feels… you’re gonna think this is stupid.”
“I won’t. Tell me.”
He’d pulled back to look into my eyes again. I had to answer. I couldn’t refuse. Not when he used that voice, not when he stared at me like that. Like my answer mattered more than anything else. And maybe it did. At least, I want to think it did. What can I say? I’m very good at deluding myself, especially when it comes to men. Logic and reason only go so far.
“It feels like I know you,” I admitted. “Like I said, it’s stupid. We don’t know each other. But I look at you and I feel this… this connection.”
Even as they passed my lips, the words didn’t only sound stupid, they sounded ridiculous and pathetic. They sounded like something someone a lot less scrupulous than me might have said—or someone in a daytime soap opera. I looked away, and if my cheeks still burned now it was from shame.
“God, you must think I’m one of those people who’d do or say anything to get to your money.”
His smile sharpened into something I didn’t like so much anymore, but I could hardly blame him. He must have had countless women throw themselves at him the same way I was doing. That’d make anyone cynical.
Still, I flinched when his hand fell away from my face and he took a small step back before he asked, “Is this the moment you assure me you’re not a gold digger?”
“Would you believe me if I said it?”
I was almost proud of myself for not sounding hurt.
“I don’t know.” He turned his face away from me then added, “I’d want to believe, at least.”
“Really?” Hope tore through me like a burst of lightning tearing the clouds in an old WB cartoon. It was all I could do not to reach for his hand, but I had to ask. “Why?”
I watched him worry his bottom lip with his teeth for a few seconds, and the entire time all I could think of was how soft his lips had been against mine, and how much I’d enjoy biting his lips for him myself.
“What you said?” His gaze came back to me, and that cynical glint was gone, leaving a softness that made me want to open my arms to hold him close. “About a… connection? I think I feel it too.”
A second earlier, I’d have given the world to hear him say those words. But now that he had, I was… scared? No, I don’t know if it was fear coursing through me. I was jittery, certainly, but not scared. More like that feeling of nervous anticipation when you’re on a roller coaster, right in the very first seat, and you reach the top of the tallest peak with an endless drop in front of you. You know you’re going to enjoy it, but at the same time a tiny bit of you is always ready to step out.
“Or maybe,” I said, picking up his hand ever so gently, “it’s just because I’m your type, like you said.”
His fingers twisted against mine, sliding between them then against my palm. His eyes never left me.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s more than that. Lilah knows what kind of women I like on the outside. She also knows what I like on the inside.”
My insides, at the moment, were fluttering with the wings of giant butterflies—or maybe bats. Wings that big, actually, they might even have been eagles, or something even larger. Quite possibly pterodactyls.
“And what is that?” I asked, trying to fill the silence so he wouldn’t hear those wings beating so hard.
His hand twisted again. His fingers entwined with mine, then closed. Just like that, the butterflies, or eagles, or whatever they were stilled.
“Someone who’s not afraid to take that first step into perfect darkness even when she knows it’s far from the best thing to do.”
I lo
oked at our joined hands. His was bigger than mine, colder, paler, and yet, they seemed perfectly matched.
“Someone like you?” I said.
He smiled.
“You could say that.”
This time, he was the one who initiated the kiss, and I was the one who deepened it. Kissing him was like that deep breath before a dive, when you know you’ll be going down longer, farther than you ever have. Our tongues played together as if we’d done this dozens, hundreds of times before. When he retreated to nip gently at my bottom lip, I gasped an encouragement at him.
Our hands let go of each other, and while mine clung to his shoulders—his strong, thick, rippling shoulders—his hands cupped my breasts. Or rather, he tried to, but the corset thwarted his efforts somewhat.
At his small growl of frustration, I couldn’t help chuckling and our mouths came apart. Right away, he pressed his lips to my jaw and drew a line to my neck. Each new kiss sent tingles down my spine and I tilted my head to give him better access.
One of my hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his head. His hair slipped through my fingers like liquid silk. His scent wafted over him, a mix of cigarette and, ever so faintly, subtle cologne. And on top of it all, that musk, almost animal-like, that speaks of desire and need better than the most erotic sonnets.
“I hate corsets,” he muttered, barely lifting his lips from my skin. “Always did. Invention of the devil.”
My chuckle, this time, ended in a moan.
“I thought… I thought you said the dress was beautiful?”
His teeth pressed in at the crook of my neck before letting go, and I closed my eyes at the sparks of pressure that weren’t quite pain.
“The dress is beautiful,” he conceded. “And you look amazing in it. But access is somewhat limited.”
To demonstrate, he cupped my breasts again, pushing them up into the corset so that he could press kisses to the top. I had to agree with him that this didn’t feel anywhere near enough, but neither of us suggested the obvious: unlacing the corset. I guess we both knew we’d never have managed to set it right again. Oh, and I’d have frozen half to death, but that was the least of my worries.
“I don’t think—” I had to stop and moisten my lips before I could continue. Limited access or not, his mouth felt heavenly against my skin. “—the designer ever imagined I’d be fooling around in this.”
His laugh, low and deep, made something clench with need inside me, and I clung to his hair a little more tightly. I had to be hurting him, but he never protested.
“Fooling around? Is that what we’re doing?”
He raised his head to look at me. His eyes gleamed with amusement.
“I don’t know,” I said, as primly as I could manage when I was breathing so fast and smiling so widely. “Are we doing more than that?”
He grinned back at me even as he tugged the bottom of my dress up until he could slide a hand underneath. He laid his hand over my panties, his palm cupping my mound and his fingertips pointing down between my thighs, where I was so hot and so wet, then whispered, “You tell me. Is this still fooling around?”
His fingers wiggled ever so slightly, and whatever I had been about to say vanished in a flash of heat.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.
I shook my head.
“May I remove your panties, then?”
Another wiggle of his fingers and I was oh, so grateful for the support of the window behind me.
“Please, yes,” I breathed.
I made a sound of protest when his hand lifted off me, but he shushed me gently. Still grinning, he knelt in front of me and took hold of the bottom of my dress. I had to bite my lips to stop a nervous giggle when he didn’t simply reach underneath for my panties but actually ducked under my skirt.
Once he hooked his thumbs on the sides of my underwear, however, when he tugged down and I felt the cool, wet pressure of his mouth right at the apex of my legs, it wasn’t a giggle I was suppressing anymore, but a ragged moan.
All he did was lay a gentle kiss there, then he stopped to wait for my assent. I gave it by opening myself to him. I arched back against the window behind me, and raised my left leg. He helped by guiding it onto his shoulder, and the play of his fingertips on my calf, the back of my knee, my thigh sent tingles of electricity right up to my core—right where his mouth soon returned.
I didn’t think about the cold, or getting caught, or how long it’d been, or how I’d just met him. I wasn’t lying when I said I felt a connection with him. I couldn’t explain it even now, but it was as though I’d seen his soul. As though I’d caressed it. And it had caressed me back, as gently, as deeply as his tongue now did, discovering every part of me, exploring the most intimate folds of my body the same way I imagined he’d explored my mind.
There wasn’t much left of my mind, at that moment. As he licked and nipped and sucked and coaxed me, bit by bit, toward an abyss of pleasure as deep as his eyes, I lost every train of thought I’d ever possessed.
I don’t know how long he remained under my skirt, feasting on my wetness and creating more as he did. All I know is that I was milliseconds away from falling into that abyss when he pulled away and emerged into the night again, and I was too out of breath, too blank-minded to offer more than a wordless, protesting whine.
Still kneeling at my feet, he met my eyes and said simply, “I wanted to see you.”
As he said the words, his hand caressed up my leg again, and just as he finished he thrust two fingers up inside my body, crooking them just so, and I knew, as my mind soared and my body burst into tiny, shimmering sparks of pleasure, exactly what he had meant.
He wanted to see me come.
I don’t know if I cried out, or moaned, or made any sound at all. I don’t know either if I remained upward until the wave had passed or if I fell into his lap right away. I just know that my heart was still pounding, loud and wild, when he drew me down into his arms and kissed me again, making me taste myself on his lips.
He’d touched me, touched the most intimate parts of me, and suddenly I had to touch him, too. I could feel how hard he was, but I still felt a little lightheaded from coming, and I wanted my entire faculties when I first touched his cock. Besides, he’d given up in front of my corset, but all that stood between his skin and me was his shirt.
His bowtie was already undone and I quickly got rid of it. The silk of his shirt yielded under my hands—buttons are completely overrated. I didn’t think twice about tearing it, but when I tugged it off him, pulled on the sleeves and caught a flash of red, I froze.
His cufflinks.
His expensive-looking, gemstone cufflinks.
One of them had just flown right off the balcony.
“Oh my… I’m so sorry! Your cuffli—”
His mouth crashed on mine and shut me up for the time of a quick, almost brutal kiss.
“I don’t give a damn about cufflinks. Or I won’t if you just put your hands on me.”
He was asking so nicely… How could I have said no?
I touched him, the way I craved to do. I touched him with the very tips of my fingers, as lightly as I could. His skin was cool and he trembled as I caressed his shoulders and his chest, but I knew that shiver didn’t mean ‘I’m cold.’ That shiver meant ‘touch me’ and ‘more’ and ‘now.’
So I did.
I slipped a hand down the perfection that his chest was, over smooth skin and tight abs, and to the fastenings of his pants. The button and zipper came undone easily, and his cock appeared, still covered by his boxers but already pushing up to meet my hand. I caressed it once over the smooth cotton, then tugged the boxers over it, revealing beautiful hard flesh. Even with so little light around us, I could see how flushed it was, the veins protruding heavily along a thick, long shaft that trembled under my fingers.
I licked my lips, already thinking about returning the favor along with the pleasure he had given me, but a sin
gle look at his face changed my mind. I realized in that moment that he wouldn’t ask for anything, but he wanted me. Not just my mouth, but all of me.
I’d lie if I said I didn’t want him just as much.
It took a bit of maneuvering to get my dress out of the way, but he quickly caught on to what I was up to and he helped, leaning back a little, holding his cock up, then guiding me when I lifted my hips and lowered myself onto him.
He’d made me so wet that my body welcomed him in one, slow downward movement. His eyes remained locked with mine the entire time, but halfway down he started blinking, his nostrils flared, and his mouth fell open on a sigh. When he was fully inside me, a shudder ran through me, immediately echoed through him. For a few seconds, I was still, and so was he.
I had a handful of lovers before him. Some of them were very nicely endowed. It’s even possible there might have been a measuring tape and games with it in my past. I knew, just from taking him inside of me, that none of them had been as gifted as he was. Still, that wasn’t why this felt so new, so raw, so good.
Too late, I realized I hadn’t even thought about a condom. I hadn’t thought about anything more than my need for him. I’d never done this before. I’d never lost my mind to lust. I’d never slept with anyone without protection, never felt smooth, slippery skin against my folds. It felt odd. New. Naughty and delicious.
More than that, it felt right.
I started moving, shifting my hips, lifting myself up and pushing down again in small thrusts, and right away he helped me. His hands were tight on my waist, anchoring me, guiding me again, sometimes caressing me over fabric I wished hadn’t been in his way.
We found a slow rhythm together, and it didn’t matter anymore that we were on this balcony, that the city was around us, that a party was just behind the window and its drapes. The only thing that existed for me was him, his body, and how well it fit mine.
Maybe I should have been worried at how my brain seemed to have short-circuited. But as I kept looking into his eyes, all I felt was this sense of rightness. This was what was supposed to happen. This was why I’d come here.