The bartender came back and set my drink down, nodding at me while his eyes lingered on my chest for a few seconds before turning and walking off. My “date” was apparently running a tab. He reached out then and put one hot, heavy palm on my knee.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathily. Ridiculously, I was still sick at the thought that he had seen my poem. It should be the least of my worries right now. But even so, my self-conscious nature was tenaciously stubborn. It wasn’t often that I exposed myself so starkly, and every time my thoughts rested on what I’d done, what he’d read, I felt uneasily nauseous. Would he mention it? Would he say what he had thought of it?
“I’m telling all these men who are staring at you,” he said firmly, answering me, “that tonight you belong to me.”
My stomach lurched crazily at that, and I quickly grabbed my glass and drank half of it down. If I didn’t keep my buzz going, I’d never get through this in one piece.
“What shall I call you?” I queried hesitantly, having to raise my voice a little to be heard over the gibbering din around us.
“While I’m inside you, or otherwise?” he replied deadpan. Again, my stomach flipped.
Then a sardonic smile broke across his face, lifting only the right half of his mouth. It was as if the scar had partially severed a nerve on the left side. When he was talking, you didn’t notice it at all, but when his lips curved; it was obvious. I found it almost unbearably sexy.
The way he was talking to me, taking control of the situation, commanding practically every atom of my being with just the force of his presence alone, was intimidating the hell out of me. I’d never met such a presumptuous man. Especially when it came to the way he was talking about sex within just a few seconds of having met me. Even now, he was looking at me - not just as if he wanted to eat me alive - but like he was about to.
“You may call me Adam,” he said finally. “And you, should I call you Eve?”
Another half-smile played about his lips, both mysterious and mocking.
“Ah, actually, my name is Ruby Evelyn Sweet, and I go by Ruby,” I stammered out. Why was I so damned nervous?
“Ruby,” he said softly, and a chill ran down my spine. “Okay, Ruby,” he continued, “should we go and fuck now, or do you want me to feed you first?”
I could tell by the way he was saying it that the ‘should’ part simply referred to the order of things. His intent was not to ask me if we could do so, but only to ask me when. I also got the sense that he didn’t ask that very often.
I paused too long and so he answered for me by calling the bartender back over. “She’ll have another Jack and Coke, this one a double, and bring us an order of Clams Casino.” The big, hulking man took off to fill our order, and I wondered at how the people around Adam seemed to be overly-intent on making him happy. Not just the guy behind the bar, but me, too. For example, I didn’t even know what in the world ‘Clams Casino’ was. And I didn’t care. I also didn’t care that he had taken over and made the decision. It had been the right one.
Seafood was light, and clams were particularly inoffensive as far as meat in a shell went. You had to really be in the mood for oysters, and even mussels were a little ‘fishy’, so clams sounded perfectly agreeable. I certainly needed something in my stomach, and soon. I was already half on my way to piss-damn-drunk, and I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. By now, I couldn’t tell if it was the booze making me woozy, the lack of caloric intake, or Adam’s heady nearness, but with his order, I could eat enough to fortify my energy and still not be too full. And the second drink was another welcome suggestion. I needed all the liquid courage I could get, and glancing askance now, I saw my first one on the bar and noted that it was already drained fully-dry. I didn’t even remember finishing it, much less setting it down.
“Let’s get the rest of the shit out of the way,” Adam said abruptly, and I looked up and met his eyes. They enveloped me, sucking me in, and I found myself nodding dumbly in response to his words. I was so distracted, busily soaking in his long, muscular, lanky body, his black jeans, black boots, black shirt and black jacket. I also liked his black hair and those unbelievable gray eyes. That hook in his nose suited him. The more I looked at him, the sexier he got.
“I have no communicable diseases, past or present. In fact, I have no health problems whatsoever. I am, however, sterile. And I don’t like to fuck with a condom. If you have anything I should know about before we get down to business, you need to divulge it now. I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” His eyes were practically searing into me. He obviously wanted an immediate answer.
“No, ah, no – nothing you need to know.” He kept staring at me in pointed silence, so I just kept going, filling in the blanks; “I’m not on the pill. I always use condoms. I just went to the doctor a while back and got a clean bill of health in every area. And I’ve ah, remained shall we say, ‘dateless’ since then.”
“How many men have you been with?” he asked me coldly.
“What?” I replied, taken aback.
“How many?”
I was about to tell him to kiss my ass and storm off, but his fingers tightened on my knee and he leaned towards me, just a bit. But it was enough. I smelled him, smelled his spicy, musky scent. I saw his heavy pulse thudding steadily and strongly in the side of his neck. I wanted him, then. I wanted him bad.
“Seven,” I said without any further hesitation.
“Make that eight,” he said firmly. “And with me, there will be no condoms. Not now, not ever.”
“How do you protect yourself then?” I blurted out, a little embarrassed by how forward I was forced to be. Then again, he was being much, much more so.
“I don’t fuck whores,” he responded. And that was the end of that.
The Clams Casino came, and it was delicious. They were broiled or something, on the half-shell, seasoned with bacon, shallots, peppers, parmesan, and a mixture of other rich spices. They were decadent and sensual, just the right texture and taste. And the double Jack and Coke went along with them just fine.
Before I knew it, we were done. I had set my coat and scarf on the bar beside me, and he rose wordlessly and scooped them both up, letting me know without even saying anything that he’d decided it was time for us to go. I felt myself trembling and began wondering, where was the fearless woman who had just strode purposefully in there off the street only a short little while ago? She had disappeared the second I’d stepped within Adam’s orbit. Suddenly, I was timid, tentative, and utterly unsure. To still my wildly-careening nerves, I focused on the pressure of my tongue as I thrust it nervously against the hot, moist roof of my mouth. It was a trick I’d taught myself long ago.
I sat anxiously-silent as he stood in front of me and dressed me like a life-sized doll, pulling on my coat, arm by arm, buttoning it, and then wrapping my scarf around my neck. As he did so, his fingers grazed my throat and I felt an instant, electrifying shock. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity had just vaulted violently through the core of me. ‘Dear God,’ I thought, ‘I’m in real trouble here.’
Adam reached out and casually tossed a $100 bill on the bar behind me. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me down off the lofty leather stool. Dragging me along behind him, he forced his way through the humming crowd of warm bodies between us and freedom. As soon as he pushed through the heavy glass double-doors and out into the frigid night and the still-bustling sidewalk, he let go of my fingers and wrapped his arm fully around my waist. He was holding me so tightly, it was like he was trying to prevent me from escaping. But I had no intention of going anywhere. Not now anyway.
“My place,” he said, and I nodded numbly even though he hadn’t been asking, he’d been telling.
As he whistled for a cab, thick, fluffy, white snowflakes began to fall. I stuck out my tongue and caught one on the end of it. I tasted it, felt the icy blush of it melting instantly in my mouth. Then I gazed up at Adam, realized that he’d been staring at me the entir
e time. By the look in his eyes, I thought he was going to kiss me. Only he didn’t. He turned back towards the road, saw the coming cab, and practically lifted me off my feet as he walked us both towards it.
It pulled to a swift stop in front of us, and he opened the door and thrust me inside. It wasn’t overly-forceful, but neither was it gentle. As he settled into the seat beside me, he gave the cabbie his address and shut the door. A second later the tires screeched a bit against the pavement as the driver jerked back out into the flow of traffic. We were on our way.
I was freezing, my legs chilled from the outside air. The cab’s heat was billowing back towards us full-blast, yet still, I was shaking. Possessively, Adam put his hand on my thigh. It was so hot, it felt like a branding iron. My breath hitched in my throat as he began to slowly slide it upwards. Instinctively, I put my hand on his wrist to stop him.
“Ruby,” he said sternly, and I shivered. “We’re both in this for the same thing. We’re not getting to know each other. We’re not dating. We’re not headed towards some romantic climax here where the both of us will eventually fall in love. We’re using each other. For sex, for fulfillment, for whatever it is we need out of this; you and I. But both of us know that we’re going to fuck tonight. That’s why we’re in this cab right now. You seem to be forgetting that. So I’m reminding you nicely. Once. Next time, I won’t be so kind. Now take your hand off my wrist, and spread your goddamn legs.”
My head was spinning, I felt like I was falling, and his words were ringing in my ears. There was no argument to counter what he was saying. I had placed my ad to find a man, just such as this. He was right: there was certainly no point in balking now.
Biting my lower lip, I slowly opened my legs a few inches. With a sigh of frustration, he gripped my thigh harder with his right hand, and with his left, he reached over and shoved the other leg wide. My eyes shot up to the back of the cabbie’s head, and then over to the rear-view mirror. He couldn’t see us. Thank God.
Adam went back to sliding just the one hand up towards my panties. When his fingers touched the soft sliver between my thigh and the wedge of thin, slippery fabric covering my sensitive juncture, I moaned softly. I licked my lower lip, a clear invitation for Adam to kiss me. And that’s when he said, “I’m going to suck your nipples, lick your body, eat you until you scream. I’m going to taste every last inch of your sex tonight. Only, I’m not going to kiss you on the mouth. Don’t ask me to, and don’t try to kiss me. Are we clear?”
Shocked stupidly silent, I mutely nodded again. Whatever he wanted, I would do it. Yet now that he’d told me I couldn’t kiss him, there was nothing I wanted more. I wondered briefly why he had a problem with it – if he was one of those people that thought kissing on the mouth was too personal, or if he was ashamed of his scar and thought I wouldn’t like the way that it would feel against my mouth – but then his fingers bounced over the thin band of elastic at the edge of my panties and grazed across the hot, wet satin in the middle, and my thoughts abruptly scattered. As long as he wanted to lick me down there with those lips, I certainly could not complain.
Suddenly, Adam pulled off my scarf and put his free hand along the back of my warm, bare neck. As soon as his fingers touched my silky skin, I moaned again. With one of his searing, rough palms against the tingling tissues there, and the other one busily playing a scorching tune along my nether crease, my mind went absolutely blank. But as his long, tensile fingers began stroking my neck and my satin-clad cleft at exactly the same time, same way, same cadence, I had to wonder; how come all men didn’t know how to touch women like this? How could it be that some stranger knew my body better than guys I’d “dated” for months on end?
He paused for a moment and a second later, I felt his hand move gradually but purposefully back towards the side of my panties. Helplessly, I held my breath. Sidling carefully under the ridge of soft elastic, he slowly made his way beneath the edge of fine cloth and over across my bare, naked lips. And I had waxed it all there, too. There wasn’t a strand of hair left on my pubis now, nor was there ever. That was the way I liked it.
Adam immediately began rubbing up and down across my slick, pliable skin with the back of his index finger, while angling carefully against the tight fabric to make enough room. He stroked slowly and relentlessly, from the top of my wet, slick slit, all the way down, grazing his knuckle methodically over my throbbing clitoris each time. It was quickly starting to fill with blood, becoming swollen and turgid as it instantaneously responded.
My mouth was open, eyes closed, mind focused on his touch. He began his erotic, gentle caress at the nape of my neck again, while far below, his knuckle grazed up and down, up and down, stimulating me so sensuously, so deliciously, it was practically precious. My legs fell open wider of their own accord as he stroked delicately, provocatively working both places, both sensitive and stimulating stretches of bare flesh. The duality of sensations was mind-bendingly erogenous. I wanted it to go on and on.
He set up a softly-indulgent rhythm, stroking my clit with his knuckle, dipping lower until it was coated with slippery, hot wetness, then dragging it slowly, inexorably upwards again and again, his other index finger mimicking those very same actions against the baby-fine skin stretched tightly over the knobs of my upper spine. My hips were moving slowly, mirroring his movements unconsciously.
I was dragged down into the dark and misty depths of an erotically tender moment that stretched on and on; mesmerized by his subtly gentle ministrations. Every muscle in my body had gone slack. I was spellbound.
Then, without any warning, his hand at my neck reached up, his fingers snagged a big fistful of my hair, and he wrenched my head painfully backwards. At the exact same time, he torqued his other hand up and plunged his finger deep inside of me, shoving it so hard that his lowest knuckle rammed into the rim of my opening with such force, he literally shoved my entire lower body back against the car seat. It was so abrupt, so shocking; it made my heart pound in my chest and my breath hitch sharply in my lungs.
“Uhnn,” I gasped out in surprise, my eyes flying open and seeing only the roof of the cab. My head was pinned effectively by his grip in my hair; I couldn’t move an inch. Keeping me anchored in place up top, down below he began to plunge his finger into me without mercy, and all the while, I bit my lips to keep from crying out again, my teeth digging so deeply into the densely-delicate tissue, I literally tasted blood.
I felt my nipples harden against the fabric of my dress, felt my stomach clench, my thighs tremble. My hands were lying uselessly on the seat on either side of me, my fingers clasped into feeble and impotent fists.
My calves were shaking, arched so high in those cruel but beautiful, spiky shoes. My startled heart was still galloping. What was I doing? Why wasn’t I fighting back? The fist in my hair was no longer painful, but it was sharply and utterly controlling. The finger inside me, however, was quickly threatening to shove me over the edge. I couldn’t let that happen. Not here. Not so quickly. Automatically, my knees began to close.
“Keep those damn legs spread,” Adam growled into my ear, and I moaned from acrid frustration. Still, I submitted. I felt my entire sex fluttering in supplication. I suddenly wanted him to fiercely ravage me – take everything he wanted and more.
As if he could read my mind, he pulled his finger out and then plunged it deeply up inside me again. But instead of continuing to saw it in and out in a sadistic rhythm, he merely leaned forwards and held it there, pinning me cruelly to the seat with the force of his pitiless invasion alone. I felt his hot breath against my neck while, with his thumb, he began to stroke the tiny, swollen nub of my clitoris. Once more, it was too much; the sensations were literally drowning me. I started to close my legs resolutely against him while picking up my useless hands and pushing them ineffectually against his rock-solid chest.
Only he didn’t fall back. He just shook me callously with his fist in the back of my hair. I automatically dropped my arms and froze, like
a cat that had been snatched up by the scruff of its neck. “Be still,” he whispered ruthlessly, and I found myself slumping weakly into the seat, my neck still wrenched back heartlessly, my legs held open compliantly as he continued to work me. It was apparently what he wanted. I heard his breath begin to quicken oh, so slightly.
“Take your right hand and put it on me,” he said finally, his voice still a grating whisper. “Feel how hard I am.” I felt the hot air tickling my ear lobe as he leaned more heavily into me, my expensive gold hoops jingling together slightly with his words.
After dropping off his chest, my hands had fallen back onto the seat along both sides of me, my fists clamped shut so tightly my nails had begun digging into my palms. With difficulty I straightened my fingers, somewhat startled by how badly they were trembling. I tried to bring my head down so I could look at him, but he shook me again with the fist in my hair, and I once more became immobile. Everything except my right hand that is, which now was starting to reach towards him as commanded.
My fingertips grazed his jacket zipper, then his belt buckle, then his jeans. I felt the fly and pushed against it, cupping him. And when I realized how rigid he was, how large, how even through the thick heft of stiff fabric, I could feel his enormous, throbbing organ, I almost started to cry. Not from sadness, not from joy, but from relief.
This was what I wanted. This was what I needed. This was going to somehow, some way, save me from myself. I wanted him to hurt me with that beast. I wanted him to take it out of his jeans, force it into me, and then pound me with it, until all my inner fears, pain, and demons, were utterly crushed into oblivion.
I heedlessly thrust my hips towards his hand, begging for succor. In response, he rammed his finger more deeply into me, flicking his thumb against my clitoris so fast I almost screamed. I was abruptly no more than two seconds away from an earth-shattering orgasm. But instead of continuing on to quickly pluck the shattering climax right out of me, he simply let me go. He released my hair, and pulled his hand out from between my legs, knocking my hold off his erection in the process.
Beautiful Agony (A Tale Of Savage Love, Part I) Page 4
