by Loren, Celia
Chapter Seven
Katja/Jana/Mystery Girl
The knives and the gun tumble from my hands to the floor, forgotten.
This is not the kind of attack I’d expect from a killer, from a criminal, and I know beyond doubt that he must be that kind of man. I know it, and somehow don’t care. But this is an attack nonetheless, an attack that I yearned for and yield to instantly.
My breasts are crushed against his bare chest, and the feel of his strong arms on my back imprisons me even more than my desire. He’s much stronger than me, much more capable of violence. Even his kiss is like a storm. I can feel the violence beneath his touch, the carefully controlled strength, the self-awareness and control that somehow ignites me with lust. His kisses are overpoweringly intense yet achingly tender, both dominating and willing to please.
“Oh god, Katja,” he moans. “I want you.”
And to my amazement I am kissing him back just as fiercely, just as hungrily, just as wildly. His hot mouth opens and his tongue plunges under mine, setting my spine on fire, making me think what it would be like if I let it go too far. Would it burn me like this, turning my insides into flame?
Would it consume me?
Destroy me?
“Wait,” I breathe.
He pulls back, staring at my face in question.
“Okay,” he pants. “Sure. Yeah. Wait. You’re right. We should wait. No, please, by all means. We’ve got all the time in the world. Nothing to do, nowhere to go…”
Somehow his dry sense of humor always makes me relax, and as I grin I realize I don’t know his name. It’s another reason why I shouldn’t do this, why this is crazy.
Stupid, actually. This is stupid.
But reason doesn’t interest me right now. My animal instincts have kicked in to overdrive and I know that the conclusion of this burning kiss is inevitable. I’ve already decided, for all my pretense of hesitation. It’s a dance as old as time.
“Um, never mind,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. “I forgot what I was going to say.”
It’s enough to know he’d stop if I asked. It’s enough that I do have some kind of control, all appearance to the contrary. But I can’t stop touching him, not even for wisdom, not even to save my life. I find myself kissing him now, straining my entire body to get closer to his, our thighs intertwining. He makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat that makes my legs feel like water.
“No, you’re right, we shouldn’t do this,” he mutters between kisses.
“This is foolish,” I agree. “We should stop.”
“Yeah. Absolutely. Foolish.”
My hands are running over his chest, wandering down his abs, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.
“I can totally stop,” he says, cupping his hands over my ass and pulling my hips sharply, crushing me against his pelvis. “I mean, if you want me to stop.”
A gasp escapes my lips as he presses himself into me, the hardness of his erection tantalizing me even through the layers of clothes he is still wearing. I can feel myself hungry for him, eager to feel him inside me.
“Is that what you want?” He asks.
He’s holding me close, a prisoner. There’s no room for thought. His hands on my ass hold me tight against him, making me feel the unrelenting pressure of his arousal.
“You like that?”
He walks me backward until we slam into a wall and he turns, using his hips to hold me prisoner as he traces his hands over the outline of my bra.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Tell me to stop, Katja.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Tell me what you want, because I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you hard and then I want to fuck you soft and then I want to fuck you again. I want to fuck you until you can’t feel your legs, until you forget your name. I want to lick your entire body, wrap your legs around me, and fuck you standing up. Laying down. Sitting. Backwards. I want to fuck you with my fingers, my tongue, my cock. I want to make you scream.”
His frankness makes me feel dizzy.
“Tell me what you want, Katja.”
“I want you.”
“Yes. Tell me.”
“I want you to touch me.”
My bra snaps off in his hands as if by magic, and my breasts tumble out. He sucks his breath in sharply.
“Tell me, Katja.”
“I want your mouth on me. I want you between my legs.”
“Fuck you’re awesome.”
First he simply closes his hands over my exposed breasts and kisses my mouth, long and slow, acclimatizing me to his intimate touch. Then his thumbs begin to move over my nipples, stroking until they harden and pucker into peaks of pleasure. Then he kisses his way down my throat and clavicle.
Now it’s my turn to gasp as his mouth closes over the tender skin of my nipple, biting and teasing my flesh in his teeth.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, “Wow.”
It’s primal and wild and makes me feel suddenly wet and eager in my snatch. He bites and kisses my breasts, rubs his face in them, touches and squeezes them, all the while keeping his legs firmly planted around me like a hedge. I love it, the mixture of sensations, the sensitivity of my skin, and the sureness of his touch.
“More,” I beg.
As he nips and bites my breasts one of his hands comes up suddenly and firmly between my legs, simply holding me in his grasp, sending a spike of heat all along my pubic mound.
“I want this,” he says, gripping me tighter. “May I?”
I nod, biting my lip in anticipation.
My hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself against the flood of sensations, as his fingers push aside my underwear and begin to stroke along the wet length of my sex.
“Oh baby you feel so wet. I can’t wait to be in there.”
“Yes,” I moan. “Harder.”
He obliges, increasing the pressure and rhythm until my clit is throbbing and screaming under his touch.
“That feels so good. Yes. Harder!”
Tongues of fire connect every part of my body to the concentrated pleasure under his fingers. Just as I’m about to burst he pushes his fingers inside me, thrusting upward, hard.
“Ah!”
“Yeah girl.”
My whole body lurches and stars seem to pop all over my vision, and I feel his kisses again all over my breasts and belly. My body opens around him, desperately adjusting to accommodate. He thrusts even harder with his fingers. Again. And again.
“Yes! Ah!”
“You like me in there don’t you.”
“So good.”
“I like the feel of your pussy, girl. I like the way you smell. I like you wet. I’m gonna fuck you so hard. Harder than this.”
He thrusts his hand again, deeper, and I feel a burst of warmth. My knees start to buckle from the pleasure: in one swift movement he wraps his free arm around my chest and lifts me up, his fingers still inside me, and kisses me as he carries me over to the bed. Somehow he manages to be gentle as he flops me on my back, surging over me with his body until his face stops between my legs. He takes a long breath through his nose.
“You smell so good baby. I want to taste you.”
Then he’s kissing me on my sex, the heat and softness of his lips making me melt. His tongue, rough and wet, follows the path his hands blazed a moment ago. He licks at me, strokes me, and then plunges his tongue inside me, thrusting with it in a dizzying rhythm, circling my clit with his thumb.
“Oh god,” I wail.
I’m coming to pieces. My body is coming to pieces. He sees and pushes me past the brink of my endurance, having no mercy.
“Cum, baby, yeah.”
Now his fingers are inside me again, thrusting, while his tongue sucks and caresses my clit. Who is this man, who finds all the right places for me to come alive in his hands? The pressure, the speed—so wet, so good.
“God!”
“Yeah girl, cum.”
“Jesus!”
“Please!”
“Mmm.”
The orgasm takes me and my muscles clamp down like bear traps, shaking me to the core. My legs and arms twitch, and though I dig my fingers into his hair it doesn’t save me from the white fire, the blinding ecstasy. He presses his tongue against my clit even harder, riding out my fury, and watches me with mischievous eyes. When I slump back to the bed in a gasping heap, he sits on his haunches and rubs his thumb on me, laughing when I twitch.
“Wow,” I pant.
“Yeah,” he laughs. “God you’re sexy when you cum. Don’t worry, girl. The party’s just getting started. I’m gonna make you cum again.”
“How are you possibly still wearing your jeans?” I laugh.
He chuckles. “Priorities, I guess.”
“This won’t work.”
I push him back until he’s standing beside the bed and I start to unbuckle the pants. As I do he runs his hands through my hair, letting his fingertips trace along my exposed throat. I help him step out of his jeans, I can’t help but stare at him for a moment, his narrow hips and muscled thighs exposed before me in naked splendor.
He’s got the body of a god, a rock star, a fighter. He’s got the body of someone who knows how to use their body, someone who uses it all the time, pushes it, punishes it, enjoys it, and loves it. Someone who is in their body. Someone who is fucking sexier than any of the movie stars I idolized as a young girl.
And his dick! It’s right there before my face, fully erect and bigger and smoother than I’d thought it would be.
Of course I’d thought about it.
I may live with nuns, but I am not one.
He grins down at me, guiding my hands to his waist, and sliding them down until he closes my fingers around the length of his cock. Then he puts his hands in my hair and pulls my face towards his hips. His touch is gentle, not rough, but I know what he wants.
“Suck me,” he grunts. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”
The skin of his enormous cock is smooth and glides in my mouth like a perfect fit. His groans of pleasure make me even wetter in my own sex, even more excited, and before long I can feel us both trembling with need.
“Stop,” he moans, pushing my head back. “Don’t make me cum, I need to fuck you.”
Before I know what’s happening, he has me on my back on the bed.
“I need you now Katja. I want my cock in your pussy. I want to fuck you.”
He’s kissing his way up my belly and breasts, my throat and face.
“I want all of you, woman. Tell me yes or no.”
“Yes.”
Yes.
It’s the wildest thing I’ve ever said—yes, yes to this man whose name I don’t know, who I’ve only ever seen once before. A stranger.
Yes.
Yes to my enemy. Yes to impulse. Yes to pleasure.
It has to be yes, I don’t know why; there’s no time to think or explain, but my whole body answers him. My skin is scalding hot, but cold with goose bumps at the same time. My pussy is primed and desperate. My whole body curls towards him, writhing in excitement.
His sensual lips press into a carnal smile that sense chills all the way to my toes.
“Yes,” he repeats. “Oh yes, Katja.”
I don’t bother to tell him that Katja is not my name. Who am I that I am saying yes to him? Even I do not know who I am now.
There’s a foil condom wrapper in his fingers, somehow, and he manages to pry it open with his teeth in between kisses. I feel his heady, heavy bodyweight shift over me as he rolls the condom over the impressive length of his hardware. I like feeling his body on top of me, his size and his strength. I like knowing how strong his body is, how potentially dangerous.
And yet so attentive and delicious.
Wrapped, he uses his knee to pry open my thighs, positioning his cock at the crest of me. His rod is a hard, hot pressure that sears and spears me as he surges his body into mine, a long relentless thrust that drives my senses over the edge.
“God!” I gasp.
“Yes!” He moans.
I am full to the brim with his dick, amazed at the thrilling sensation of his size and power. He thrusts inside me like he belongs there, resting at the peak of penetration with a euphoric but serious look on his face. It’s a moment of strange kismet—a feeling of familiarity, of comfort or rightness, along with intense throbbing sensation. But I try to shake off the déjà vu, gritting my teeth against the pleasurable pressure and tilting my hips to receive him better.
He moans and rocks his hips back, easing the pressure, only to thrust again, faster. We both gasp and tremble against each other at the zenith. Once again he pauses, fully sheathed in my flesh, and now subtly rolls himself inside me. It’s a movement that leaves no part of me unknown or unpleased.
Slow. Sensual. Intimate.
“Oh god!”
My hands fly onto his back, digging in for a hold, as his movement speeds up. He’s rocking in and out, reaming me, his eyes closed as he explores.
“Your pussy is perfect,” he moans. “You feel perfect. Perfect.”
In a sudden frenzy he arches back to bite and kiss my breasts, all the while rocking his cock deep and hard into me in a merciless rhythm.
“Oh, yes,” I almost scream, catching myself at the last moment.
“Yeah girl.”
“Oh!”
One of his hands covers my breast as he fucks me, thrusting harder and faster. My entire body is on fire, a bundle of tingly, drunken nerves simmering towards explosion.
“Oh!”
“Yes!”
“Oh god!”
“Yeah.”
“More! Harder!”
“Oh baby.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
The friction, the heat, the rhythm are pushing me past my breaking point. Our bodies surge and melt together until I can’t imagine my body without his cock inside, pounding, relentlessly wearing away an ache I’d never noticed before.
“God I love your pussy.”
“More.”
“You like it when I fuck you don’t you. You like my cock.”
“Yes. Harder.”
“You want it harder. You like it rough.”
“Give it to me.”
“Say please.”
He thrusts so hard I almost can’t breathe for a minute. My body sings in joy.
“Please!”
“You like it dirty. Your cunt likes my cock.”
“Yes!”
“Your cunt wants it.”
“Please, there.”
“Like that.”
“Oh yes! Please!”
“Oh yeah baby. I like giving it to you.”
“God.”
“Yeah! Oh yeah! Oh girl!”
“Ah!”
Suddenly neither of us can make a sound, locked together in climax. White heat rips through my body until all I can feel is his cock, his weight, and the universe coming apart and back together in my quim. My muscles clench until I feel every heartbeat, every rush of ecstasy like a drug coursing through my veins.
“Oh, Katja!”
He thrusts three more times, letting out a guttural moan, I feel him shudder and tighten and release like a tidal wave crashing. Then with a groan he tumbles down on top of me, sweaty and spent.
Chapter Eight
Katja/Jana/Mystery Girl
Morning light cascades through the window, the brightness luring me out of uneasy dreams. Waking up today is hedonism, a poem, like forbidden pleasure, and as my eyes blink open it occurs to me why.
Sex.
My mind is in a tumult, but my body feels unusually heavy and remarkably rested. The man is still lying mostly on top of me, his body a dense blanket over my tired muscles. We are in the same position as we were in last night when we finished making love and fell instantly asleep like drunken idiots. Neither of us have moved or made a sound since.
It’s the best I’ve slep
t since coming to New York, and it doesn’t surprise me; the sex was out of this world, a respite and a reward in stark contrast to the bleak realities of my daily life. But now it is morning again, and the light is shining. I can’t ignore reality anymore: the man who was my lover last night is once again an enemy. My mind and heart begin to race with fear and worry.
What have I done? Sex can postpone the inevitable only for a short time. When he wakes up, it will be judgment day. I need to get away from him, hide from his boss, and continue my work. I am so very close to the end, too close to lose it all because of this man. But I need a place to stay, a place to work. If the Leo House full of nuns isn’t safe for me, what place is? What is my next move, now that he’s found me?
I have to anticipate the enemy’s next move. Before I get out of bed, before I risk waking him up, I need to think. I must think about what his finding me here in my little room in the Leo House means.
It means that his boss knows enough about me to track me down.
Which means that his boss must know what I have, must know what I am doing. If his boss knows that, then he can guess what I want.
Which means that his boss will never let me get away.
As this hits me, I feel panic rising like bile in my throat. This is it: this is the confrontation I have been building towards for years. This is not the time to be having sex with dangerous strangers. This is the time to be smarter than I’ve ever been, and instead of being smart, I have been so so so stupid that I can hardly breathe.
I cannot let a momentary weakness of lust destroy me.
Oh god how stupid I’ve been!
I reach the obvious conclusion that I am a classic idiot, losing my sense and my pants, over a fine looking and charming man. I hear something in the hallway that catches my attention—men’s voices, whispering in deep, hushed tones.
Someone is in the hallway that does not belong, and my belly goes cold with adrenaline and the sudden, inexplicable sureness of danger.
I jerk my arm and leg out from under the man, making him grumble and flutter his eyes, but at this point I do not care if he wakes up. I force myself up and quietly step into my underwear and bra, trying to remember what happened to my gun. Something tells me I am going to need it, whether it’s because there is an enemy waiting for me in the hall, or only the enemy sleeping in my bed.
