15 - NAZÁR
15
NAZáR
B eing with Camila is easy. It’s the first time I’ve been with a woman in a long while, and I don’t feel the pressure to be anything more than just in the moment. I want to open up to her in many ways, but I don’t think I’m ready.
Opening my heart to a woman entails loving her and giving parts of myself that I no longer think exist. Losing Bella destroyed parts of me that I can never recover. It’s easier to lock parts of me away and settle for what I know I do well with a woman. Fuck her.
And that’s what I’m doing.
When Camila regained consciousness after passing out on my kitchen counter, I carried her into a guest room and lay her on the bed.
“Where is this? Your bedroom?”
“No. A guest room. Are you sure you’re going to be fine?” I ask, changing the subject.
She turns her head sideways on the pillow and smiles at me.
“Yeah.”
“Guess you’ll tell me that’s never happened to you.”
“And you’d be right. God, I’m so embarrassed,” she says, throwing her arms over her face.
Pushing up on one elbow, I tug her arms from her face.
“Don’t be. All you did was boost an aging man’s ego,” I tease, winking at her.
“Aging man? Is that your way of calling yourself old?”
Chuckling, I say, “Not old where it matters.”
“Clearly not,” she says, shaking her head and closing her eyes again. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. And you’re twenty-nine, right?”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve been doing your homework on me.”
“Saw it on the copy of your passport we have on file.”
“You make a habit of looking at your guests’IDs?”
“When I don’t know them.”
“Do you make it a habit of eating your female guests on your kitchen counter?”
I lean over her and brush my lips against hers. “Don’t tell anyone,” I tease. “And this incident . . . We’ll keep this between ourselves.”
“I would hope so!” she exclaims in astonishment.
Smirking, I reply, “Your secret’s safe with me. Besides, I won’t be the one who will kiss and tell.”
“You say that as if you think I might.”
“It’s a known fact that women gossip.”
“Not all women and men can be worse than women.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know since those aren’t circles I travel in.”
She stares at me, her eyes glowing.
“What?”
“Just . . . wondering.”
“About what?”
“If you’re scared now.”
“Scared?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. That’s not a feeling that I relate to.
“Of having sex with me.”
“Why would I be scared?”
“Well, seeing as how I just passed the hell out on your counter after you ate me out, I can’t imagine that you’d be in a rush to do anything more to me than that.”
My lips brush hers again, and my finger traces the lines of her eyebrows and nose down to her jaw. Her eyes follow mine, and I can see the question in them. She wants me to take her now. Dipping my head between her neck and shoulder, I lick along the space, rubbing my hands down her arms.
“You have no idea what I’m in a rush to do to you. That incident only stoked my curiosity.”
Camila opens her legs, making room for me between her thighs. I hover over her, not wanting to let my weight press down onto her, but when she wraps her arms around me, she pulls me closer, eliminating any space between us.
Her body is hot like a branding iron and welcoming like a small town. She wraps her arms and legs around me, lifting her head slightly to meet my lips.
“You’re not ready for me,” I say against her lips.
“I’m so ready, Nazár.”
“You’re ready for sex . . . but not for me.”
Rather than pursue an argument, I roll off her and remove my boxers. I watch as her eyes go wide.
“What?”
“Of all the things that I expected, Jacob’s ladder wasn’t one of them.”
“Are you afraid now?”
“Never. This just upped the ante,” Camila giggles.
I wink and pull the nightstand drawer open. Removing a condom, I hand it to her to open. Her tiny hands hold me, stroking over the intricate rungs pierced through my dick. She fingers the rounded bars at the end of each rung before running her fingers over the skin covering the shaft of the piercing.
“Like it?”
“Think I’m loving it,” she says, rolling the condom down my length and holding it firmly before she looks up to meet my eyes.
With my erection so close to her lips, I want to pull the condom off and strangle her with my dick, but I don’t.
I pull her up and turn her around to face the bed. She plants her hands on the bed, and I use my feet to shift her legs further apart, spread wide for me. My hands roam over the curves of her body, appreciating every dip, valley, and hill.
My eyes drop to her high, fat ass, and I can’t help but revel in the fact that she has an ass made for spanking. As hard as it is, I don’t take her downstairs to the dungeon. I quell the need building inside me; instead, I plunge inside her.
The cry that rips from her throat isn’t gentle, soft, or ladylike. It’s nothing short of earth-shattering. Her fingers coil tightly around the cover, snatching it back and shoving it into her mouth.
Smacking her ass, I grunt, “I want you on your toes.”
She does as I ask, allowing me to dig deeper into her. My movements aren’t cautious or considerate. I’m a greedy bastard, and I’ve warned her that she’s biting off more than she can chew. While I know she isn’t ready for the full-course meal that consists of me, I’m ready to satiate her appetite.
My thrusts are merciless as I grab her hair and jerk her head back while my other hand holds tight to her hip. She’s wet and tight, and what I wouldn’t give to ride her bareback. That will come in time.
It takes everything in me to restrain the aggression, the tension, the need to see her at my feet, to watch her soak up the pain I can inflict upon her body. Yet, I know she feels all that in my barely controlled thrusts.
She slips to her knees several times, and I pull her back up by her hair, thrusting deeper and harder into her until she’s thrusting back, giving me herself just the way that I want.
Her breathing is ragged when I finally pull out of her and lift her onto the bed. It’s the first time that I see tears coating her eyelashes.
“Are you okay?” I whisper as worry floods me.
I knew that I shouldn’t make a move on her so soon. Knew I should have fucking held back.
She smirks at me as if she can read my thoughts. Spreading her legs and arms wide, she replies, “Give me all of you. Don’t hold anything back, Nazár.”
I shift onto my knees and dig deep inside her, enjoying the connection of our bodies with a bit of space between us far too much for my comfort.
When her hands run up and down my back, easing my guilt and frustration, I know I must get far from this woman. Yet, I can’t. She feels like where I need to be.
My lips trace a line along her jaw until I push up slightly to run my fingers over her nipples, even while thrusting inside her. Camila lifts her hips, welcoming every pump that I have to offer.
“Don’t be shy,” she says, lifting her tits and offering them to me.
Licking my lips, I reply, “Never been accused of that.”
Leaning in, I bite her nipple, and her eyes widen as tears emerge. Twisting her nipple in my teeth, my arousal grows harder as I swivel my cock inside her, loving the gasping noises she’s making and how redness surrounds her chocolate nipples.
My finger grazes her pussy lips even while I’m still inside, and her eyes drift closed, forgetting about the pain I’m inflicting.
Arching her hips up until her ass no longer touches the bed, she wraps tightly around me before she starts swiveling her pelvis, working her pussy all around me, claiming me, sucking everything out of me.
I finally release her breast, firmly placing my palm in the middle of her chest and shoving her back onto the bed. Holding her in place, I pummel her until she’s on the verge of another orgasm. Only then do I pull back just a bit to turn her onto her side.
I enter her again. Pummeling and slamming into her, I work her body over until she’s trying to pull her leg free from my grip. I refuse to release her, preferring instead to watch her come. Seeing her juices coating my condom-clad dick makes me lose my last bit of restraint.
Like a runner racing for the finish line, I pick up my speed and keep my pace steady and strong until I’ve released everything I’d been holding back.
“I’m sore,” she murmurs after a few moments, clasping her hand between her thighs and gripping her forearm with her other hand.
I wrap my hands around her, lifting her petite frame from the mattress on the opposite side of the bed and pulling her closer to me.
Allowing myself to do something I haven’t done in years, I nuzzle my lips against her neck. It’s not a pleasure that I allow myself because it’s too easy to be pulled into a woman’s web. That’s something that I can’t afford to do because I know they can’t handle me. Not all of me in my raw and primitive state.
She turns over in my arms, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand.
“Why did you hold back?”
“You think I did?”
“I know you did. I felt a few times where you pulled back just as you were on the border of losing control. There’s this raw, pent-up aggression inside you, and I felt it a few times. Just when I thought you would release, you drew back. Why is that?”
“I don’t think you can handle it.”
“Why, because of my size?”
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, and don’t say a word. How can I tell her who I really am and the damage I have the potential to inflict on another with my unrelenting demands impervious to the feelings of those around me? Not just physically but mentally.
“Camila, I’m not simply rough or aggressive in the bedroom. It’s a way of life for me. I have a way of being unrelenting and excessive in my demands, and when it starts in the bedroom, it leaks out into other areas of life.”
“And?”
“And it can be damaging . . . life-changing.”
“Don’t you think everyone has the power to say no or realize when they’ve reached their limit?”
“Not always. Not when a woman is intent on pleasing a man and not wanting to disappoint him.”
“Then she must know her limitations and balance that with pleasing him. If she can’t do that, maybe it’s not the relationship for her.”
I shift uncomfortably when she says “relationship.” We’re lying together intimately, her head resting on my chest, my arm crooked about her, holding onto her possessively while my other arm is propped under my head. It’s easy to get the wrong impression about what this is we’re doing.
“Maybe,” I concede. “Either way, I have to take self-responsibility.”
She shifts onto her elbow and looks down at me. “I think you’re doing just fine, Nazár. You’re doing just fine.”
Camila climbs on top of me and bends down, kissing me softly with gentle brushes of her lips and sweet, slow pecks. My arms wrap around her, forcing her to lie on me as she bends her knees, crushing her to my body.
She feels good in this space, her weight resting comfortably on me, and our lips entangled in a sweet kiss, growing hotter by the moment. Camila begins to rock into me, pressing her heat against my rigid cock that seems never to be satisfied.
My hands shift down to curve into the crook of her ass, pulling her harder into me as I claim her lips, refusing to allow this moment to end, though I know that I need to be stronger than this. If I’m not, one or both of us will crash and burn to our detriment. I will hurt her. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.
Fuck! Camila’s a stranger to me. Why does she have me wanting and yearning for more than I know that I deserve? Why does she have me thinking thoughts that haven’t appealed to me in years?
I want to lift her into my arms and carry her into my bedroom. Only if I do that, I won’t stop there. I’ll go beyond the bedroom and take her into my private lair.
I’ve never shared my bedroom with another woman since my wife passed all those years ago. I’m not about to start now. That’s a level of intimacy that I’m not ready for.
“Why doesn’t a woman like you have a man?”
“A woman like me?”
“Yes. Beautiful, sensual, sexy, smart . . . good.”
“You think that I’m a good woman?”
“I know you are. Yet, I sense you haven’t always felt that way about yourself.”
“I haven’t found the right man, Nazár.”
“What’s the right man?”
“The one who won’t judge my promiscuous past. A man who appreciates that I love hot sex as much as a good conversation and gets my blood roaring. Whether he’s pushing my limits in the bedroom or . . .”
She stops and looks away as though uncertain what more she should say. I cup her chin and turn her face back to me.
“Or what, Camila?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” I rasp.
“Or being comfortable with where I am . . .”
“Where are you?”
“I’m trying to figure myself out. I’m just someone trying different things to know what makes me tick, what makes me happy, and what I won’t tolerate. Still trying to learn who I am . . . so . . .”
“So, that means you can’t have someone helping you figure that out?”
“I need someone who will accept and love me as I am. Perfectly flawed.”
My thumb rubs the seam of her lips, and she sucks it into her hot mouth. My eyes grow heavy, and I grumble, “Don’t start shit you can’t finish.”
“What makes you think that I can’t?”
“You said you’re sore.”
Smiling, she says sleepily, “Yeah, you did give me a pretty good banging.”
“But good, huh?”
“Notable.”
“Remarkable?”
“Rare.”
“Special?”
“Definitely that and . . . noteworthy.”
“Noteworthy,” I say in a disappointed tone.
She taps her chin and pretends to think. “Extraordinary.”
“Unheard of?”
“Exceptional.”
“Exceptional?”
“Unprecedented.”
Smiling, I flip her onto her back and say, “I can live with that one.”
She leans up slightly to kiss me and says, “Good,” before she lays her head back on the pillow. I pull her into my arms and kiss her forehead, holding her close. Within ten minutes, I hear soft, gentle whispers of her breaths, and I know she’s asleep.