“Please, Alex, I c-can’t . . . stand it.”
He doesn’t care, and tortures me with this delicious friction further. To add insult to my torment, he slyly worms a finger into my secret hole, which is a sopping and weeping mess. My muscles contract around his finger, and the heat down there is so intense, and I whip my head to the other side and claw desperately at his hair and neck and any part of him I can reach.
Ohhhh. He feels soooooo good. I’ve never had this done to me before, and I never knew such pleasure existed. It makes me feel proud to be a woman, and proud to be made to feel like one by this wonderful, beguiling man, and I’m enjoying this moment for all it’s worth . . . even if I know that this animalistic attraction he has for me won’t last forever.
He whips up his head, and I can see his lips – red and smeared by my juices. He’s smiling, as always.
“You know,” he says, “I brought a condom. Just in case.”
He reaches for his discarded pants.
I’m still panting. “And here I thought you said you weren’t going to seduce me tonight, Mr. Vassar.”
I feel coquettish and desired. A part of me I never knew existed is coming out.
“Mr.” He takes out a gold foil packet from his side pocket and tears it with his teeth. “I like that. None of that reverent ‘your highness’ stuff.”
A damp condom falls out. He picks it up and hands it to me with the most solemn of expressions, although the sides of his glorious mouth are threatening to twitch.
“Care to roll it on?” he says.
Oh no. I can’t. I haven’t done this before.
I can’t . . . I really can’t.
He sees the panicked expression on my face and relents. “Next time then.”
So there will be a next time?
I know . . . he’s right about me. I’ve brow-beaten myself all my life and my confidence is about as big as a speck of dust. It’s going to take a lot to get it balloon into normal proportions.
He positions himself between my legs and rolls the condom onto his cock. I almost can’t bear to look at it. His penis is so huge, so spectacular, so masculine, so merciless. I shut my eyes as he lowers himself upon me. The head of his sheathed penis poises at my swollen sex, ready to enter.
“Take a deep breath, Liz,” he whispers as he pushes himself into me.
Oh, but it’s such a rush. His flesh slams into me headlong, parting my vaginal walls in a sluice. I am so filled, so expanded. He slides into me as deeply as he can possibly go, and clutches at my waist and arms as he begins to stroke into me. His eyes hold mine, and they are bright and shining and mesmerizing as he pounds me and nails himself into me and does all things a man can physically do to a woman when he f**ks her.
I can only arch my hips to meet his, higher and higher, and he is grasping and clutching at me – my sides, my br**sts, my waist, my arms, my hair – everything. His breathing grows more ragged. His hair falls in shivery strands around his beautiful face.
He’s raw sex himself. Intoxicating. Fiery. Passionate.
“Oh God, Liz, what you do to me,” he groans.
A sweet elation fills me as my own wave rises and crests. That I can even do this to him and with him imbues me with my own overpowering sense of awe. I rise and crest, rise and crest like a breaker along the beach, until a sweet white explosion fills me and I completely lose all my senses.
Ahhhhhhhh!
And
Ohhhhhhh
And
a deep, sweet shudder of satisfaction washes through me.
Oh God.
This is where I’m meant to be.
Sheer utter bliss.
12
I spend the next day sleeping it off in my own bedroom. My dreams are contented and filled with smoky images of Alex.
Alex.
I can stare at him – even in a dream – forever. It seems impossible that such a gorgeous and desirable man would want to make love to me . . . which he has done. Twice.
Holy amazing f**k!
In my dreams, I’m with Alex on the beach, and he is making love to me on the sands. Slowly. Languorously. Looking deep into my eyes like he’s savoring every thrust into me. He’s worshiping my body, if that’s possible . . . the temple that is me . . . and he is doing so adoringly, painstakingly, oh-so-sweetly –
“Liz,” he whispers, “I lo—”
Whatever he’s about to say is drowned out in a whirlwind that sweeps the sands onto our bodies. Or more precisely, into my bedroom.
The bundle of kinetic energy jumps onto my bed.
“Liz!” it shrieks. “You’ve got to see this.”
I blearily open my eyes to see Deanna hovering in front of me.
She pushes a newspaper page in front of me.
“Read this,” she demands.
“What is it?”
“Just wake up and read it, OK? It’s important.”
I drowsily get up from my pillow. My hair is tousled and I’m sure I look like a dog’s dinner. My eyes skim across the page, and then they widen.
The headline says:
MOLDOVIAN KING ANNOUNCES THE ENGAGEMENT OF HIS ELDEST SON, ALEXANDER, TO LADY TATIANA OF NUERNBERG TODAY.
It’s like a brick wall has just been slammed onto my face.
13
I knew it was too good to be true. Such things just don’t happen to me. I mean – look at me. I’m not exactly Ms. Redheaded Goddess. Alex and I are like chalk and cheese, or limestone and marble, or whatever metaphor you want to call it.
I don’t belong in his world and I never will.
I knew something like this would happen, and there’s an awful ache in my chest that splinters everything inside it and nothing, and it goes on and on – like a dagger twisting into my soul for the longest time. So painful that it makes me want to throw back my head and keen in anger. I’m hollow and floating and anchored and despondent and a million other things I never want to feel.
Oh, but I’ve been so foolish.
Foolish!
I was right about everything.
Right about how a man like Alex would never want me for something more than a cheap evening of tawdry sex. (Even though there was nothing tawdry in what we did last night.) I have foolishly allowed myself to feel something for this man, and now I must pay the price.
Oh yes. I acutely and deeply feel something for this man. There’s just something about him that is so magnetic and compelling that I have allowed myself to sink in deep – to believe that his beautiful shining eyes and his wonderfully parted lips (moaning my name in desire when he finally released himself into me) were more than mere lust.
Of course, he has never once mentioned the word ‘love’.