Chapter Four #2
Why did this man want to remain anonymous? It didn’t make any sense. But he began to kiss down the side of her neck, and any thoughts of sense fled.
Sense didn’t matter. What could possibly matter more than this?
Whatever could?
She moved her hands up his body and began to unbutton his shirt.
She separated the fabric slowly, breathing out as she touched his skin.
She could feel chest hair, rippling muscle.
She began to tremble. This was almost too much.
But it was also not enough. She couldn’t imagine if they were trying to do this with the lights on.
The truth was, she was so attracted to him she could hardly breathe.
It was crazy that she could feel this while they couldn’t even see each other. What would’ve happened to her if the lights were on? What would happen if he realized that she was not the specimen that he was? Because he was something else altogether. And it was soul-crushing.
Incredible.
She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and took a tactile tour of his torso. Moving her fingertips down his pectoral muscles, his abs and back up again. He gasped when her fingertips grazed his nipples.
Her own breath became shallow, and when her fingertips met the closure on his pants, she hesitated.
“Yes,” he said.
She undid them and brought the zipper down.
His breath hissed through his teeth. She found herself being pressed against the wall, his hands moving over her body, her curves.
Cupping her breasts, bringing his fingers down her hips and to the hemline.
He pushed the fabric up, and even though he couldn’t see, she felt herself getting overheated. Blushing.
He moved his hand between her thighs then, stroking her lightly over the fabric of her panties. She was wet.
She was glad.
It would’ve been awful if nerves or something equally unworthy had kept her from enjoying this to the absolute fullest. Because she definitely deserved to feel everything.
Then he moved his fingers so that they delved beneath the fabric, and she gasped as the rough pad of his fingers made contact with her slick, sensitive skin.
She had never been touched intimately before.
Nothing could’ve prepared her for this. Certainly not the touch of her own hand.
He played her body expertly, the pad of his thumb moving over the sensitized bundle of nerves there at the apex of her thighs.
He stroked her. And she cried out. The pleasure was white-hot and electric.
Incredible. Unreal.
He kissed her then, continuing to stroke her with his finger, pushing one deep inside of her as his tongue slid against hers.
And she fractured. Dissolved into a million pieces. She crested so quickly she was nearly humiliated by it.
And when she came down, she realized that her fingernails were digging into his back.
That she was calling him Baby.
Clinging to him.
Begging.
He took her clothes off. Easy. The darkness did nothing to diminish his skill.
He stripped her dress off and threw it down to the floor. He unhooked her bra with one hand. He gripped her panties and tore them away from her.
And then he picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her at the center.
She was breathing hard, and she could hear that he was divesting himself of the rest of his own clothing. Thank God. Thank God.
When he joined her, it was all the heat of his skin and the strength of his body.
He was kissing her. Down her body, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. She had no idea what he would do next or where he would go.
He kissed his way down her inner thigh until his mouth met the most intimate part of her.
Then he licked her. Going deeper with his tongue, painting her with unimaginable pleasure as he ate her like she was the finest delicacy.
She was trembling, shaking. There was no way she could come again so soon after that incendiary orgasm.
But she did. Crying out, bucking her hips up off the bed.
He growled and gripped her hips tightly, holding her against his mouth as he pushed her further, higher than she had ever gone before.
She was on the verge of telling him to stop.
But she didn’t want it to stop. Not ever.
She came again on a harsh cry, and he made his way up her body, pressing his mouth to hers.
Then the blunt, heavy head of him pressed against the entrance to her body, and he entered her in one smooth stroke. It didn’t hurt as bad as she expected, but there was still some pain. Still, the darkness shielded her from revealing herself with her expression.
He took it as a cry of pleasure, and he began to move.
She clung to him, arched her hips in time with each and every thrust.
And when he began to lose control, she reveled in it.
He pressed his forehead against hers and growled against her mouth. “Beautiful. Perfect.”
Beautiful. Perfect.
He couldn’t see her, and yet he said that all the same.
He had never seen her face, and yet he called her beautiful .
All he could do was feel her, and he called her perfect .
It was perfect. He was perfect. And so was this. It was everything. Everything she had always been afraid to dream of.
He moved his hands down beneath her ass and lifted her up off the bed as he thrust hard inside of her, over and over again.
“I can’t,” she gasped.
“You will. Come for me.”
She shook and trembled, cried out as the orgasm swept over her. And she was gratified when he met his own release, a shout of triumph on his lips as he poured himself inside of her.
And when it was over, she could only lie there, the darkness pressing in around her. She turned toward him, grabbing hold of his arm and holding onto him.
She just had sex with the man of her dreams.
They were together, in bed. And yet they weren’t together. She felt like she had lost him. He said nothing. She was hungry for the sight of him, but also afraid. Something felt irrevocably changed.
She could not quite say what it was. He didn’t hold her.
“You should go,” he said.
“Oh, I—”
“I’ll text you. But I think it’s best if we don’t…linger here. On this.”
“Okay.”
She felt absolutely disintegrated by that. She wanted to stay with him. All night. But he wanted to be finished. She had a feeling that this had done something to him emotionally, but he wasn’t telling her what it was.
Maybe this was why he wanted anonymity. He was physically perfect. He had done things to her that had forever altered the way that she felt about her own body.
Perhaps his emotions were the problem.
She had been foolish enough to think that he was emotionally available because of the texting.
But there was a reason he wanted the distance.
And it wasn’t the same reason that she wanted it.
She stumbled around the bedroom, collecting her clothes.
“If only I could turn a light on—”
“No,” he said, his voice hard. Harsh.
And she felt that tickle again at the back of her brain. She dismissed it as she made the decision to abandon her underwear and simply put on her bra.
Her shoes, she knew, were in the other room, and she walked out of the bedroom, searching for them with her feet. She found them and slipped them on.
And then she stood there for a long moment in the darkness. The silence.
Was this it?
He said that they would text, but she had a horrible feeling that this wasn’t the beginning of something at all.
She had a feeling that it was the end.
She had been so afraid of that. So really, what was keeping her from running back in there and turning the light on?
You care too much about him. About what he wants.
It was true. This hurt. But she really did care a damn sight too much about why he was the way he was to violate what he’d asked for in some way.
So she stumbled out of the hotel room and into the hallway. Knowing that she was changed forever.
Devastated that it wasn’t in the way she had hoped.
Now suddenly everything felt terrible.
Absolutely everything.
She had no idea how she was going to survive the devastation of Christos Onassis without the man that she had come to love.
But she had the feeling she was going to have to figure it out.