Chapter 3 #3
His hands went to the buttons of my blouse.
His fingers, usually so steady, fumbled.
I helped him, my own trembling fingers tearing at the fabric until it gaped open.
He pushed it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the crystalline floor.
His gaze burned over my plain bra, the swell of my breasts.
He didn’t hesitate. He hooked a finger in the center, tugged, and the clasp gave way.
Cool air and his hot stare hit my skin. My nipples tightened into hard peaks.
“Fuck,” he breathed, one hand coming up to palm my breast, his thumb circling my nipple.
The touch was electric, a direct line of pleasure that made my knees buckle.
He held me up, his other arm banding around my back as he lowered his head.
His mouth closed over my nipple. He sucked, hard, his tongue flicking the tip.
A sharp cry tore from my throat. I arched into it, my fingers spearing into his dark hair, holding him to me.
He lavished the same attention on the other breast, biting gently, soothing with his tongue until I was panting, writhing against him.
His hand left my breast, sliding down over my stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of my skirt.
He found my panties, the fabric already damp.
He rubbed the heel of his hand against my pussy through the cotton, a slow, grinding pressure that had me seeing stars.
“Virgil,” I gasped, my head thumping back against the wall.
“Tell me you want this,” he growled, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties and skirt, dragging them both down my legs in one rough pull. “Tell me you choose this.”
“I want it,” I choked out, kicking free of the fabric. “I choose this. I choose here.”
A savage satisfaction flashed in his eyes.
He stood, unbuckling his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp sound.
He pushed his trousers and briefs down just enough to free his cock.
It was thick, rigid, the head already glistening.
He fisted it, giving it one slow stroke as he looked at me, bare and pressed against the glowing wall.
He moved back into me, his body hot against mine.
The head of his dick nudged at my folds.
I was soaked, ready, my body clenching around nothing.
He notched himself at my entrance and paused, his breath shuddering against my temple.
“Look at us,” he commanded, his voice strained.
I turned my face toward the wall. Our reflection was crystal clear.
Me, pinned, my breasts flushed, my legs parted around his hips.
Him, poised to bury himself inside me, his face a mask of intense concentration.
It was the most explicit, most real thing I had ever seen.
Then he thrust. He filled me in one deep, relentless push.
I cried out, the sensation of being stretched, claimed, completed overwhelming every thought.
He was everywhere, deep inside, his pelvis grinding against my clit.
He held there, buried to the hilt, letting me feel every inch.
“You see?” he gritted out, his hips giving a shallow rock. “This is real. This is now.”
He began to move. Withdrawing almost all the way, then plunging back in, setting a rhythm that was punishing and perfect.
Each thrust rocked me into the wall, the cool quartz a contrast to the burning heat of his skin.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper.
The room was filled with the sounds of our fucking—skin slapping, his guttural groans, my high, broken whimpers.
The crystal seemed to amplify it, to glow brighter with every drive of his hips.
I was hurtling toward something, a precipice that had been building since the moment I’d stepped into this house.
“Come for me, Anna,” he demanded, his mouth at my ear.
“Let me feel you come on my cock. Show me you’re here. ”
His hand slid between our bodies, his fingers finding my clit.
He rubbed tight, fast circles exactly where I needed it.
The dual assault—his dick pounding deep, his fingers on my pearl—was too much.
Pleasure coiled, tight and unbearable, in my belly.
“Virgil!” I screamed his name as it shattered.
My pussy clamped down around his shaft, wave after wave of blinding release tearing through me.
I shook, my nails digging into his shoulders, my vision going white.
He fucked me through it, his rhythm turning frantic, brutal.
With a raw, ragged shout, he drove in one last time and held.
I felt his cock pulse inside me, hot jets of his cum filling me up.
He shuddered against me, his entire weight sagging forward, his forehead falling to my shoulder.
We stayed like that, locked together, breathing in ragged unison.
The crystal’s glow softened to a gentle luminescence.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. He braced one hand against the wall to steady himself, his head bowed.
When he finally looked up, the cost was written plainly on his face.
He looked drained, pale, the fierce energy from moments ago completely spent.
He leaned heavily against the quartz, his shoulders slumping.
My desire, my choice, had fortified him.
But stabilizing the house through my storm had taken everything he had.
I slid down the wall, my legs unable to hold me.
I landed on the cool floor, staring up at him.
The thrilling surrender curdled, just for a second, into something heavier.
Something like responsibility. He looked down at me, his chest still heaving.
A faint, weary smile touched his lips. “Welcome home,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Then his knees gave way, and he slid down the wall to sit beside me, our shoulders touching in the quiet, solid light.