Tight

by Alessandra Torre

  I need you. “Yes,” I gasped, lifting my leg and hooking it around him, the shift in my body opening the place between my legs, his fingers finding and running reverently over the line of silk that kept me tied to the edge of sanity.

  The door next to me opened, shielding us for a moment, and I froze behind it, my body tensing. His hand dropped from my face, wrapping around my body, the other hand returning to my ass. Both of them worked in concert and lifted, carrying me into the dark shadows where he had just stood, a new wall replacing the brick, this one rough stucco, and I felt lines of it dig into my sunburned skin as he set me down, his mouth taking a break from the kiss and moving to my neck, the rough journey letting me know the level of his need.

  Further proof was against me, his pelvis pressed tighter than possible against my own, the hard ridge of it against my pussy making my breath hitch with every twitch of him along me. God, I wanted this man. Was made weak from his touch yet had never felt this aggressive.

  Feather soft brushes against silk. Teasing. Torturing. His hand kept my leg in place, though there was no way I was moving it. Not when it opened me up to him. Not when it kept his iron arousal against the place where I wanted it most. My panties were so wet it was embarrassing. I panted against the night air, struggling for silence, the murmurs of the couple who had stepped outside breaking the silence of the night, the orange embers of their smokes reminding me of their presence, their attention on each other, a giggle escaping from their conversation and sending a moment of intelligent thought to my head. Was I really being humped in the shadows against the side of a building? Was this beautiful man really running the pad of his fingers back and forth, lower and higher, finding the—oh my god. My head dropped back, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped when his fingers brushed my silk-covered clit.

  Jesus. It wasn’t a curse. It was a thankful message sent upward. I had been lost, and now, in that light brush against my most sensitive place, I was found.

  He chuckled against my neck, his fingers moving back an inch or two, until they were back at my soaked opening, pushing on the indent there, the silk moving far enough inside for me to feel the brush of skin on skin, and I just about lifted off the ground in my need for more.

  “Don’t stop,” I gasped.

  “Honey, I’m not going to stop until you fall apart in my hands. I need that. I’m not releasing you until it happens.”

  He lifted his mouth off my neck, returning to my mouth, his kisses softening as his fingers took their time, probing, fluttering over my clit, sliding a firm index down the line, making their way to my ass for a hard press, before returning and starting the insanity again. I was shaking, wanting, dying for another touch of his skin, wanting the silk tease of my panties gone, wanting the raw feel of skin on skin. Even with that need, I was not prepared when it happened, my mouth freezing against his kiss, brain function gone, motor skills impaired, every intelligent thought I ever had fleeing my body as his thumb pressed against my clit and two of his fingers pushed inside my body.

  Holy Jesus Hell.

  He groaned, his forehead on my own, pushing my head back against the wall. “Fuck, I wish you were open before me on a bed right now so I could see this.” The words tore from him, and through the blurred vision of my senses I saw the couple glance our way, a whispered discussion beginning, then ending; the club door opened.

  “If we were on a bed right now, your cock would be out.” It was a difficult sentence to formulate, my hips thrusting, trying to help the push and withdrawal of his fingers, my eyes closing despite my best attempts to keep them open.

  “Is that so?”

  I could hear his need despite the cocky drawl of his question. I had my leg wrapped around him, could feel a tremor in his legs, could feel the stiff ridge of his cock that was anything but unaffected.

  “I’m—” The word ‘close’ never made it off my lips. It couldn’t, never had a chance at life, my orgasm eating it for dessert with a ravenous need that took hold of everything else in its path. I tightened around his fingers, my body shuddering as delirium moved in needy waves, radiating from the center of my universe, which laid in the slick breath between his fingers and my everything. I didn’t catch the first of his words; they disappeared in my full body experience. But then later, I heard them as I fell back down to Earth, the vowels stretching out my grip on insanity, taking me to an additional plane I had never reached before.

  “... beautiful creature. You feel so perfect. So open, so willing. I want to take every piece of you. Open up your world. Taste you on my mouth. Feel this sensation against the bare skin of my cock. God, I want you so badly. Have thought about you all day.”

  His mouth stopped moving, stopped talking, crushed back on mine, communicating the most with its desperation, his fingers thrusting and then slowly halting their movement, and just stayed in place, buried inside, my body fuller than it had been in a long time. I dropped my hand off his shoulders, let the one that had been digging lines of need into his back fall as a wave of sexual contentment moved in.

  His mouth slowed, and he slid my leg down, tugged my dress back, keeping our kiss uninterrupted, his hands moving to cup both sides of my face as his legs straddled mine, my push against the wall less intense as our interaction changed to something less dirty. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against my own as he let out a long breath that was half groan in its makeup. “God, Riley.”

  He sounded so pained, so remorseful, that I almost checked for a wedding ring, almost pushed against his chest to look into his eyes. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything but enjoy the scent of his cologne, the view out of the bottom of my lashes, one of expensive fabric and a peek of tan skin.

  “I don’t know what to do with you.” He finished the statement with a brush over my lips, his hands lifting my face until it was turned up to him, our eyes meeting for the first moment since I lost all sense.

  Damn, I could look in this man’s eyes all day. Could get lost in them, move for them, lie, steal, die for them. I stared in his eyes and fully accepted that I was a woman. Vulnerable, emotional, delicate, easily overcome. I didn’t know this man. Had shared less than a hundred sentences with him. Had just given him a piece of my virtue in the form of a finger fuck on a dirty Bahamian street in the dead of night.

  I stared in his eyes and said nothing. Memorized the dark depths of them. The thick fringe of lashes that I’d accuse of being mascara-enhanced had he not radiated masculinity from every pore on his body.

  “I don’t need to ask if you do this often. Your body betrays you of the impossibility of that fact.” He spoke tightly, his hands keeping my face up, my eyes arrested by him, not that I had any plans of looking away in this lifetime. “I don’t. I can’t. This ... is not normal.” His eyes dropped to my lips and he bent, took a long draw of my mouth, as if it was the last time we would ever kiss. He groaned, and my shoulders were suddenly pushed back against stucco. “Fuck,” he swore. “God, I need you underneath me.” He released me, stepped away, rubbed his mouth as he turned, half in the light, the shadows protecting me from the meat of his stare.

  “So take me.” The voice that came out of me was not my own. It was of a confident woman who admitted what she wanted, took what she needed.

  He dropped his hand, stared at me. “You don’t mean that. You’d regret it in the morning. And I don’t do one-night stands.”

  “Meaning?” I stayed against the wall. He could come to me if he wanted something. I didn’t know if, at this point, my legs had the capacity to move anyway.

  He did come. Was in front of me in three strides, his hands on either side of my head, flat against the wall, his eyes intense, inches from mine. I smelled the faint scent of whiskey on his breath. I noticed the angle of his body, his hips too far away when all I wanted was them pressed against me. Was he still hard? ‘Cause I was still wet. Desperately so. “Meaning,” he growled, “that if I have you, you will not return to life as you know it. You will not
flirt with men around the water cooler at work. You will bend for me, spread for me, allow me to have every inch of your surface, all while screaming my name and shuddering into my heart. That is what I mean.”

  Holy shit. I tried to breathe normally. Tried to stop my pulse from jumping through my skin. Tried to speak in a way that didn’t cause my voice to shake. “We don’t have water coolers.”

  He smiled, and the change pulled me off whatever ledge I gripped. Oh my word. White, perfect teeth. A goddamn mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I couldn’t figure out if I liked his intense side or smiling side more, but I tried and held on to this look for as long as I could. “And the rest?”

  “I don’t think that’s a decision I can make without having your cock first.”

  He tilted his head. “Worried I will disappoint?”

  Hell to the no. “Girl’s gotta be safe.” I released my own smile, one with much less potency, but the best card I had in this situation.

  His face darkened, the grin disappearing as intensity stole back over. “I’m not joking, Riley. About having you.”

  I watched his eyes, the shudder in them as they looked from my lips to my eyes to the door. All minute twitches of his pupils, his head unmoving, his entire body so still it could have been made of steel. Controlled intensity. I didn’t doubt his words. I also knew that there was no way I could say anything but yes to this man. My body wouldn’t allow any other response. “Then take me.”

  Confirmation in the set of his face, the fire that came to his eyes, the forward press of his pelvis as he gathered me back, pulling me tightly, his mouth coming back down to claim me. Yes, he was still hard. I smiled against his mouth.

  tight (tīt)

  (adj.) strictly imposed

  “he kept tight control”

  For a small period of time, I was able to keep track of my days. On the wall below my bed, in the dark space hidden by sheets and shadows, I scratched lines in plaster. One line every night. I marked them slowly, the scrape of the butter knife’s edge wearing smooth, the repeated action breaking through the grime, my movements patient, the act ritualistic.

  He discovered the marks on the twelfth day, his reaction a mixed bag of delight and intrigue. He crouched, looked at the marks in the same way a parent would look at a school project. I watched from the corner, my arms cuffed to the front bars, butt on the floor, as he stripped my bed. My exertions during training had moved it slightly, and, when he bent to push it back, he paused, his eyes catching my lines, his haste to pull the bed back almost comical in its excitement.

  “You did this?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me. I said nothing, watching as his fingers scrolled lightly over my hard work. “Eleven.” He repeated the number, his head tilting at something that came to mind, and he leaped up, grabbing his notepad and frantically flipped pages. “Eleven.” He looked up at me. “Eleven days ago I took off your handcuffs. Gave you freedom in the room.” He glanced around. “How did you know what a day was? There aren’t any windows in this room. And the lights are always on.” His eyebrows pinched.

  I swallowed. “You visit every day. Wear different clothes. That’s how I count.” He stared at me for a spell before pulling a pen from the notebook and writing, a long line of cursive that wasn’t legible from my seat on the floor. I took a risk. “How long did it take for you to take off my handcuffs? To give me that freedom?”

  He laughed, jotting down something in the margin before clicking the pen shut. “Great question, Kitten. But I can’t tell you that. And I can’t let you do this. Counting days signifies hope. We can’t have hope.”

  “Why not? Wouldn’t hope endear me to you?”

  He walked over, crouched before me. I dropped my eyes, examining the seam of his dress pants as they stretched over his knee. “No Kitten,” he whispered. “Believe me when I say that hope will only drive you insane.”

  That night, when he left, he chained me back up. I didn’t know how long, how many days stretched by while I was back in those cuffs, but when he let me free, I didn’t keep any more hatch marks. I couldn’t. He varied his schedule, visited a bunch in a row, then would leave me for what felt like days. I cursed myself for speaking, swore - for at least a week - to not tell him anything. I didn’t keep that vow. A part of me felt that the only thing he wanted me for was information. And once he had all of that, maybe he’d let me go.

  Or, maybe he’d kill me.

  I had to face all options.

  The driver’s name was Leo. White Escalade with custom rims, tinted windows. I stepped into the backseat, Brett following me inside, his long legs cramped in the backseat. I clutched my purse, smiled at Leo as he shut the door. I had parted with the girls, their protective nature insisting on a face to face with Brett before letting me disappear into the night. Jena had taken it one step further, getting his business card and verifying his cell. He smiled through it all, relaxed and at ease, the intensity of our alley romp gone as he shook hands, oh my god, those fingers were in me, remembered names, and stole all of their hearts.

  The SUV moved, rocking over cobblestone steps that pirates once roamed, the movement of the car tossing me slightly. Brett’s hand found me in the darkness.

  “Sorry about the interrogation in there.”

  “I’m not. They’re watching out for you. It’s the smart thing to do.”

  I bit the edge of my smile. “You say that. Jena Crawford has your number. You might regret that in the wee hours of the morning. I think her second major was drunk dialing.”

  He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “I can handle it.”

  I glanced to the front. To the Bahamian man less than five feet away. “What you said in the alley, about what this will mean...”

  “Yes.”

  I shrugged. “I just want you to know that I’m a big girl. I’m not gonna attach anything to this. If it doesn’t turn out to be anything.”

  He looked out the window. Tugged at the front of his dress pants, adjusting himself, he said, “I may have spoken out of turn. I’m not used to this.”

  I lowered my voice. “We can have sex. Without it meaning anything.”

  “I’m not seventeen, Riley. I’m familiar with the concept.”

  I shut my mouth. Did my own turn of looking out the window, trying to decide if I should bail on this man when we hit the hotel lobby. It was easier when I looked out the window. When I didn’t see the line of his jaw and imagine how it tasted. When I didn’t look in those eyes and fall further into trouble. He moved my hand, from the armrest where he had held it, to his lap. I pushed my palm flat against him, and lost a bit of my breath. Wow.

  His hand atop mine, he slid my palm—my exploring, inquisitive fingers—from his belt buckle to his leg, letting me feel exactly how much, how hard, he wanted me. I darted my eyes, tried to see more, but the dark cab showed me nothing but the glow of his eyes. Watching me, his mouth hidden by shadow. Those eyes closed briefly when I gripped him through the fabric. “More,” he breathed.

  I fumbled with the zipper, my own hand struggling, his hand moving to help, holding the fabric tightly as I tugged down the metal tag, holding my breath, hoping the driver’s music would drown out the sound, the man’s head not moving, not turning. When the action ended, my hand stole in and came in immediate contact with bare cock.

  There was a moment when my body relaxed as my fingers wrapped around it, as if I was finally at peace in a place where I belonged and everything else could subside. I am touching it. The thought was a shot of arousal to my body. I moved my hand, explored. My first thought, the observation that my thumb and index finger didn’t meet. That his fingers which had satisfied me so easily in that alley, wouldn’t hold a candle to this organ. I squirmed a bit in my seat. Gripped him with my full hand and was rewarded with an exhale of breath.

  A squeal of brakes. I looked up and realized we were stopping. It was a tollbooth, Leo leaning out the window, the street lights of the toll plaza casting in
full light, my hand on Brett’s ohmygodthatisgorgeous cock. He leaned forward quickly, pushing my hand gently to the side, and my ears heard the faint sound of a zipper closing.

  “Royal Towers.” He put his hands on the front headrests, resting his weight on them as he spoke to the driver, and I fought the urge to run my hand over the line of his back. It’d been so long since I touched a man in a loving way. So long since I was in a role other than that of professional friend—sweet ol’ Riley.

  I didn’t touch his back. I sat, my hands between my knees, the heat of my fingers remembering the lines of his cock. The ridge between his shaft and his head. How it moved slightly in my hand when I grabbed it. The warmth of his skin.

  Then the truck stopped, a burst of air brushed over my bare legs, and I accepted Leo’s hand and exited the vehicle.

  “Thank you.” Brett’s hand was on my arm, taking over from Leo, firm pressure in his touch as he guided me toward the entrance, his steps quick, my heels almost struggling to keep up. I tugged on his hand, and his head turned, noted my agitation, and he slowed his gait. “I’m sorry.” He looped an arm around my shoulders, pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “Do you want to grab a drink at the bar?”

  Do I want to grab a drink at the bar? I didn’t think I could handle the wait to walk down the hotel hallway, much less sit out the agonizing process of ordering, sipping, and then paying for an unneeded drink. I shook my head. “No. I’m good.”

  He held the door, our eyes catching for a moment as I passed through. Just that catch, that brief hold of two stares... it relit the fire that didn’t need any additional fuel. I didn’t know why I was going to fuck this man. There was no sense or reason in the decision. But there was need. There was need, and there would be satisfaction. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I knew it would be different than anything I had ever had. Anyone I had ever fucked. I felt like I did when I was a virgin. Nervous. Apprehensive. Excited. The hand on my back guided me to an unfamiliar elevator, and I waited as he pressed the button.