Authors: Miranda Veil
He slips my saturated panties off of my body, tells me to open my mouth, and slides them between my lips as a make-shift gag.
“I do love your screams, my dear, but I also like the thought of you tasting yourself. Now, if you’d like, you may clean yourself up, but keep those in your mouth as you do.”
He smiles, kisses my forehead, pets my hair gently, and walks out the back door with a cigarette in hand. Stumbling my way to the bathroom just off the kitchen, my hands grip the walls as my trembling legs struggle to keep me upright. I wipe down the sweat and fluids from my body with a washcloth; feeling the faint breeze from an open window play across my damp skin. When I walk from the bathroom, he’s still outside, so I crawl onto the couch and wrap a throw blanket around me to fend off the chilling currents blasting from the air vents.
He finally comes in, the scent of smoke wafting off his body. Why do I find it so incredibly exhilarating?
Smiling, he walks up to me and holds out his hand. As I slip my fingers into his palm, he pulls me up and leads me down the hall and up the spiraling staircase. Further and further we go, my blurring vision causing the walls to shift and spin around me, but he holds me firm as we climb to the top floor. The entire third floor is a massive bedroom, with a large bed situated in the middle. On the right is a large, wooden dresser pressed against a wall. Behind the dresser are tall, arched windows that look down onto a backyard garden, complete with its own three tiered stone fountain. To the left is a large black desk with papers scattered across its surface, and a desk lamp hidden behind a few more books. The desk is also pressed against windows, but these look down on the front courtyard, and over the wall that shields his house from the world. They offer a fantastic view of the surrounding French Quarter, glittering in the night like diamonds scattered on the ocean.
He guides me toward the bed in the middle of the room, slips off his clothes, and crawls between the sheets, drawing my naked body in beside him. The bed is warm against the increasingly chill room, and incredibly soft, like crawling in to take a nap in down feathers after running yourself ragged all day long. I sink into the mattress, and pull the covers over my exposed body.
I really do hate seeing myself naked.
Cuddling close, I feel the soft flesh of his body against mine as his fingertips lightly brush over my cheek.
“Shh,” he whispers as his eyes peer through mine “stop hiding yourself from me…”
Gathering me in his arms, he cradles my head against his chest and wraps his arms around my shoulders. His head tilts down, heated lips pressing lightly against my forehead. Long, delicate fingers move a stray curl out of my face, then press beneath my chin, tilting my head up toward his as he removes the makeshift gag from my mouth. Placing his lips lovingly on mine, those same fingers trail lightly down my neck, and stroke down my side, playing their way along my hip.
Turning me onto my back; his hands stroking the inside of my thigh, drawing delicate circles along my skin. His soft, gentle lips move down the center of my chest as he slides a finger inside of me once again, deeper…deeper. I gasp, my body shuddering as my eyes roll back. He adds another, roughly assaulting my already sensitive and aching body.
What started as something so loving has slipped into something primal and forbidden as he draws moans and screams of pleasure, unrestrained, from my lips. I gaze down at him, my fingers gripping his curls as my back arches. One final, air splitting scream rips from my lips and he smiles, relishing in his conquest.
As he feels the energy slip from my body, riding on the waves of each orgasm he pulled from me, he rolls onto his back, propping himself against the headboard of the bed, and pulls me on top of him.
“Do you trust me…” he whispers against my lips, lightly tracing them with his tongue.
“Yes...”
“And you will tell me if you ever want me to stop…”
“Please don’t stop.”
Leaning off the side of the bed, he rummages through a side table, and draws something metallic sounding from the depths of a drawer. His lips seek mine once again, wrapping me in his spell. The smell of him, the feel of him; I’m hopelessly addicted.
Shifting my body on him, my legs straddle his thighs and he reaches behind me, gathering my wrists together. The cold snap of handcuffs bind my wrists to one another, and I look down at him, surprised.
“I really hope you have the keys to these…”
“Oh don’t worry, my dear.” he laughs, “There’s a quick release switch.”
He eases me down his body, which is a bit awkward without the use of my hands, and I struggle to keep myself from toppling over to my side.
Handcuffs; another thing I’ve fantasized about but never had the pleasure of experiencing. They’re a bit more awkward than I had imagined.
His long, firm erection presses against my belly, then slips between my breasts as he pushes me further down his body. His hips are grinding up against me, and I want nothing more than to feel my lips wrap around him.
“Would you like to taste me?” His tone is a heady mix of lust and need, wrapped in fire and passion.
“Yes, please, Sir.”
I have to admit, I had feared the worst, but it was more than I had imagined. I’m starving for him, craving the touch of his cock pressed against my tongue.
His hands grip my hair as he guides my lips to the tip. Parting my lips and hungry for a taste, he presses against my eager mouth and eases the length of it over my tongue. Pushing down slowly on the back of my head, he drives it deeper until the tip begins to brush the back of my throat. I open my eyes, cautiously, and notice there’s still several inches of it left, as I fight to suppress my reflex to gag. There’s no way I can fit it all, but damn, if I won’t try. I want to please him, and the only thought in my mind is of his complete and total bliss at my hands, or rather, my lips.
I suck on the length of it with renewed vigor as he guides my head for me, gyrating his hips against my mouth and sliding it in deeper, half an inch at a time. It’s hard to breathe, and my head is swimming, but my body is burning with an unquenchable thirst. Faster and faster he guides my lips, driving it deeper each time. His moans growing louder, and my body is electrified, tingling from my lips to my toes. Hearing his moans and feeling him pressing down my throat feeds the flames, and my body threatens to bring me to orgasm just from the thought of it all.
The muscles in his thighs tense beneath my body, and he holds my head down one last time as he empties himself down my throat. He breathes a sigh of relief, his face a mask of euphoria, as his head leans back against the headboard, and every muscle in his body grows slack.
He reaches behind me and removes the cuffs from my wrists, drawing me up and placing another kiss upon my lips.
“You’ve done so well. You are incredible.” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against my own.
“I’m not as coordinated as I would be otherwise…” I murmured apologetically. “I still want to feel you. I want to feel you inside of me.”
“My lovely girl, you will soon enough.” He coos, as he runs his fingers over my tousled hair. “For now, we both need our rest. It’s been a long night, and I need to be up early.”
He rolls me onto my side, and curls up close behind me, bare skin against bare skin. His arms wrap around me as he presses his chest against my back, his legs tangling themselves in mine.
I turn my head back towards his and stare into his eyes…
“Do you snore?” I ask, deadpan.
He laughs unabashed, and in the dim light, it’s hard to tell his emotions.
“Only slightly.” He responds, a smile curling its way into his words. “Now, sleep, my dear.”
Chapter 8
I toss and turn
in his arms, awakening at an ungodly hour from a fitful sleep. I barely notice the light, occasional snore coming from him. It’s so small, it’s almost adorable. Well, as adorable as a snore can be, I suppose.
The room has gotten so cold that, even under the plush comforter, I’m shivering uncontrollably. His arms wrap around me tightly, his hand softly running up and down my arm in an unconscious attempt to soothe me, but my body simply will not warm up.
Slipping out from between his arms, and being careful not to wake him, I rummaging through my bag, pulling on socks, a pair of pants, and a tank top. Sadly, it does very little to warm me, and I’m still shivering. As I pad lightly and soundlessly down the winding stairs, pausing briefly on the second floor to glance over the numerous closed doors, I slip into the living room. It looks so different at night, every object casting long, twisting shadows across the midnight floor.
I curl up on the couch with my phone, and pull a throw blanket around my shoulders, gazing out across the room as my eyes adjust to the darkness. It’s peaceful and quiet. The chair where I sat earlier is still parallel to where he had been, but has now dried from our previous fun. It seems like a dream, like it didn’t really happen, as my shadow dances with his, reenacting the scene. It’s like something out of some romantic porn; girl meets guy at a bar, guy makes out with her against a wall while tugging her hair, girl goes mad with lust and they screw all night. Things like this don’t just happen, do they?
I want to remember every painful, pleasurable, stirring detail, but I can only seem to recall a tangled mass of limbs and fluids, mixed with screams of passion and moans of pleasure. I remember his lips, the scent of him, and the warmth of his body, but all else is a muddled mess.
My eyes flutter, remembering the scent, oh…the scent of him. It’s on my clothes, on my skin. I can smell it everywhere. It draws my thoughts to his kiss, his eyes…his touch. That wonderful, delicious, overly sensitive area between my thighs is still aching from him. The small twinge of pain is a gentle reminder that yes, it did happen, and I want it to happen again and again.
Several minutes, and a glass of water later, I crawl back into bed beside his slumbering, sweltering body. He immediately rolls towards me, his arms and legs wrapping my chilled limbs close against his body once more. Smiling, I gently run my fingertips over his arm, and drift to sleep.
Chapter 9
The sun has already begu
n
its morning climb in the sky, its golden whispers streaming in through the windows and painting its light across the floor. Alexander is already sitting up in bed, propped comfortably against the headboard.
I groan with the gift of a hangover, and attempt to tie my hair up, as it has taken a life reminiscent of a bird’s nest.
The bed and blankets are so comfortable that I find myself hesitant to slide out of them. I wish, fleetingly, that I could lie here forever and watch him work, then push the thought from my head. It’s ridiculous. I barely know him. Am I going to gush over a near stranger because of one good night of…can that even be considered sex? My body seems to think so, but my mind is grasping for a reason to disagree.
He glances over at me, the gentle smile slipping over his mouth. For the fraction of a second, the hunger from the night before flits quickly through his eyes then vanishes as if it had never existed, and I wonder whether I had imagined seeing it in the first place.
“I need to get some work done this morning.” He says with a blank expression as his eyes move back to his phone; his thumb casually scrolling across the screen. His voice no longer holds any of the sentiment of the night before, and it leaves me stunned.
“Oh, okay. Of course. Is it okay if I use your shower, first?”
He nods, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“You can use one of the towels hanging in there.”
Slipping from the bed, and thankful for dressing in the middle of the night, I grab my bag and wordlessly slip into the bathroom.
The water takes ages to warm up, but once it does, it feels heavenly against my chilled skin. Even with the heat and humidity outside, his house has become an icebox overnight, which he credited to a broken air conditioning unit.
There’s a large window that sits from my shoulder to the ceiling in the shower stall, and I can’t help but feel self-conscious. How easy would it be for someone to peek in on me, and there’s no curtain to shade me from view!
That’s ridiculous. I’m on the third floor; who’s going to be looking all the way up here?
With my normal shampoo and conditioner keeping my hotel room company, I’m forced to detangle my hair with my fingers and water alone, which quickly becomes a nightmare. I browse over his shower products and squirt a small bit of basil-scented body wash into my palms. It sounds ridiculous, and I fear that I’ll come out of the shower smelling like I rolled around in spaghetti sauce, but I lather it between my hands anyhow and run it over my skin. I’d use anything just to feel clean again.
Soon, the smell fills the bathroom, carried on the swirls of steam undulating all around me, and it’s divine. The scent brings memories of the smell I caught on his skin last night, mixed with the hint of smoke from his cigarette, and now I’m scrubbing every pore of my body with it.
I lean my head back against the shower stall as the water gently washes away my sins, and mentally chastise myself. I don’t mix work with this side of me. Never. It’s an unspoken promise that I made to myself, and a promise that I need to keep in order to maintain some level of sanity.
That side of me doesn’t exist. It’s smothered and choked off every morning when I wake and don the face of the innocent girl. I’m professional, untouchable, and yet he broke it. He shattered my illusion; fractured the face I presented to him and every member of the waking world, and now, this monster; she bleeds through. The sinful, lustful beast, which foams at the mouth every moment she comes across even the prospect of an intimate encounter, endangering everything I’ve built.
She’s an abomination meant for nothing but destruction, and yet I’m still aching; still sore, and I can’t help but let my hands linger for just a moment longer on my sensitive breasts. From there, they cascade down my stomach and between my thighs on their own accord, threatening to bring her back to the surface.
No. She doesn’t exist. The sun is up, and it’s time to slip away from that monster; that…embarrassment.
My fingers dip down to grace my sensitive clit.
Stop. It’s over. It’s done.
But I can’t. The nails of my free hand dig into the soft, smooth flesh of my thigh, and I can’t stop. I’m sore, but it feels so good to slide my fingertips against my aching clit.
My breath grows ragged as the tips of my fingers tenderly massage it, rubbing in lazy circles. My eyes flutter as my fingers work; faster and faster and yet, still just barely touching.
I tense and shudder, the mix of pleasure and pain bringing my body to its peak faster than I’d expected.
So close…so close.
My lips part as my breathing hastens, my back arching against the cold tile wall as I cling to the edge of absolute ecstasy. The air catches in my chest, refusing to rush past my lips as I rub faster, pushing myself off the edge of an orgasm.
My legs tremble, threatening to throw me to my knees in his shower, as I feel the rush of my orgasm seep from between my fingers.
Oh god, what have I done.
A light knock at the bathroom door disrupts my thoughts, bringing my surroundings rushing into the foreground.
“Cassandra? Are you alright?”
“Yes! Yes. I’m fine, thank you. I’ll be out in just a moment.” I stutter, praying that my faltered words weren’t too obvious.
I finish rinsing my body, dress, and try to make myself presentable. Walking out into the bedroom, I’m greeted by an empty, perfectly made bed. Gathering my things, I make my way down the staircase, and as I walk towards the living room, I find him settled on the couch in the very same place he sat the night before. His laptop, nestled in his lap as he furiously types away.
“Almost ready?” he asks, never glancing up from his work.
“Yeah…I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’ll get you to your car, then.”
He rests his laptop on the floor and leads the way out, pausing briefly outside of the door to offer a hand with my bag, then follow him out into the street as he rounds the corner onto Bourbon.
The French Quarter has lost its luster, beauty and excitement once day broke. The sun is harsh and unforgiving, and the close proximity of the buildings stops even the smallest breeze from penetrating. It’s stifling, and I feel as if I am swimming my way through the streets in a near boiling pot of water. Now I know how the crawfish must feel.
I quicken my pace in an attempt to keep up with his long legs, which gracefully and effortlessly weave in and out of the near abandoned road. The stench of this place has become damn near overwhelming; a mixed scent of urine, vomit and dog shit baking in the unrelenting sun.
“You know, they do a pretty decent job of cleaning this place up in the morning.”
He must be joking, though I can discern no hint of jest in his voice. I dance along the fractured asphalt, trying my best to avoid the puddles littering the roads and sidewalks. It didn’t rain the night before, and with that in mind, I’m wary about getting whatever is in those puddles on my shoes.
The conversation between us is nothing more than fragmented comments about the area as we rush past, and a very short, agitated comment to a man who was trying to beg for money, but balked when Alexander cast a sidelong glance at him.
Everything looks desolate and abandoned without the pounding music and flashing lights as we near the shared corner of Bourbon and, what I assume is the street with the parking garage. There aren’t throngs of throbbing human bodies surging into every crevice; there is no loud music or bright lights. Most every store and bar is closed, save for one we pass that’s filled to bursting capacity. How could anyone stomach alcohol at this hour?
We make it to the corner and he hands me my bag, guiding me in the direction of the garage. We exchange a quick good-bye and part ways. No hug, no kiss, no flirtatious knowing glances.
“Sorry,” he offers “but I really do need to run back and get to work.”
“It’s fine. I understand. Thanks for walking me this far. I probably wouldn’t have found it alone.”
He catches my eye for a second, and I entertain the thought that there’s a hint of a smile hidden in there somewhere, before he turns from me and walks back towards his house.
I walk up the road to my car and don’t look back, but try as I might, I can’t stifle the smile that creeps onto my face from the memories of last night. Did that really happen?
The parking attendant takes my ticket, and saunters off to retrieve my car. The world around me feels blurred…unreal…as if I’m pushing through a lucid dream, with all the sounds and images fading into each other.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and a tall, elderly black gentleman in a pair of blue-gray coveralls, hands me my keys.
“Thank ya, darlin’. Have a safe trip, now!” he says happily, and flashes me a brilliant white smile. Palming my keys, I slip him a sweet smile accompanied by a “Thank you” and a small tip. I’m not one to be rude, after all.
I’m instantly grateful that the attendant has already turned on the air conditioner, as I slide into the car, and pull my phone from my pocket. I scroll through the missed text messages and missed calls. Three out of the five missed calls are from my roommate, Riley, and the other two are from Angela. Angela can wait. I’ll bring her what she wants, and I really don’t feel like hearing her shrill voice at this hour.
Slipping the Bluetooth into my ear, I ease the car out into the street and make my way back to the hotel room, thankful that the streets are far less crowded during morning hours.
Once I’m cleared of the asphalt paved hallways, I dial up Riley. If she doesn’t hear from me soon, she’ll give herself a stroke.
“Cass?” she answers
“Hey, Riles.”
“Hey? HEY!? I haven’t heard a peep from you for three days, Cass. Three fucking days! Do you have ANY idea what I was thinking?”
Her tone is deafening, and my face involuntarily scrunches as my ears try to accommodate her volume.
“I could only guess. Riley, I told you I had some work to do down here and would probably be busy…”
“But it’s dangerous, and you never called me when you got there! You’ve never been there before. What if you got lost, mugged, raped or murdered!”
“Awe, you’re so sweet. You really do care!”
“Hmph, care? I don’t think so. I just don’t want the hassle of trying to find another roommate. You know, a roommate who will bring home wine to apologize for making me worry so much all weekend. I hear those are
really
hard to find.”
“Is that a hint?”
“Of course it is, idiot. You’re still coming home today, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll check out and head home in a bit. Two, maybe three hours tops if there’s traffic. I need to drop by the office, first.”
“Alright. Good. I’ll cook something and you, of course, will bring the wine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hangs up, and I’m once again assaulted by my thoughts.
Was I just a one night stand? Me? No…that’s impossible.
I park and make my way to my hotel room. Hanging from my door, is a carefully folded note with my name elegantly scrolled across its face. I grab the note and slip in the door.
“
Cass,
If you’re still here to receive this, I’d love to see you again. I enjoyed our little coffee meeting yesterday morning, and tried to catch you tonight but I guess you were out. Please consider joining me for dinner later, if you’re still around.
Sincerely,
Ethan”
Sighing, I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. Of course he’d ask me to meet tonight. I guess I wasn’t entirely clear with him on when I planned to head home, or maybe he was hoping I wouldn’t leave this early.
I stare at the desk in my room, and the hotel stationary carefully placed upon it. I’ll just write a quick note; it’d be rude to leave him without a response, and I don’t like the thought of hurting him.
Hastily packing the few things left in my room, I start toward the door with my hastily scribbled note. It explains that I’m heading home today, and enjoyed meeting him. I wish him the best for his further trips, then sign my name without leaving any sort of contact information. It’s for the best.
I leave the letter with a man standing behind the front desk, then head to my car, and as I settle into the driver’s seat, I’m pleasantly reminded of last night’s activities by the soreness present between my thighs. Smirking, I grind myself against the seat, and relish in the ache. I pull out my phone, checking it before I begin the drive, and find a text from Alexander Delacroix.
*I have some homework for you, if you’re interested.*
*Homework? I wasn’t aware you had become my teacher.*
*I’m well qualified to become that for you, if you wish. Considering your appetite, I’m assuming you have some toys stashed at home. If you’re interested in my little homework assignment, then I want a full list and accompanying pictures of them. Gather it together, and I’ll tell you when I wish for you to send them.*