I was immediately taken aback. As his tongue had pushed through my teeth and plundered me, ravishing my mouth as if he owned me, I had honest to God felt weak in the damn knees. I remember how I’d thought what a terrible, terrible mistake I was making, even as I had been melting into his arms. It had just been so damn long since any man had kissed me. So long, in fact, that the last person who had kissed me had been not a man - but a boy.
And oh, hell but did Victor know how to kiss me, too; how to hold me so passionately and kiss me so fiercely, taking my mouth like it was some sort of conquest, while seeming almost as if he could read my mind at the same time. I was so totally inexperienced then, and yet it had seemed as if Victor had known even better than I had what I truly wanted and needed from a man. And the kissing was only the beginning.
Each time he touched me that night, I had felt my hands shaking and my heart pounding. Even though he’d never really done anything inappropriate, never touched me in a place that was out of line, he’d still turned me on so thoroughly, by the time I’d gotten home my panties had been soaking wet. Just from making out! I’d been utterly swept up in it, in him, in everything.
The relationship had started out intense from that very first night, and had simply gotten more and more so with each day that had passed us by. By Christmas, just a couple of short weeks later, he had given me a diamond and emerald necklace. Soon, it had gotten to the point where I’d felt like I couldn’t even breathe without him there.
But even as clouded as my mind had been with lust and passion and infatuation, it was clear from the very beginning how unhealthy it was. He downright controlled me, whether he had intentionally set out to do so or not. He’d wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, where I was going; each and every moment of the day. And every available waking moment I wasn’t in class, he wanted to spend it with me.
He had quickly hired some damn good people to take over some of his day to day responsibilities at work, while he had managed to continue doing most of whatever was needed from him over the phone, over the computer, or via telephone and internet conferences, usually only actually going into the office while I was off at class. Regardless of the fact that he had physically taken a step back from his business and delegated some of his duties to his new financial managers, he had still ruled his companies with an iron fist, even if it meant that he stayed up all night and worked while I slept; he still always got his work done.
I, however, wasn’t quite so strong-willed. He wore me out, exhausting me to the bone physically and emotionally. Often we’d have oral sex until I couldn’t possibly go anymore. I still hadn’t let him actually make love to me all the way - not then, not in the beginning - but still, he’d go down on me for hours. I’d literally beg him to stop while grabbing him by the hair and wrenching against his head until he’d finally let me go.
Except he’d only lift his face up and grin at me, so cunningly, like a naughty boy who wanted more cookies even though his Mommy had told him “no”. And then he’d simply flick his sweaty hair casually off his forehead, pull my hands away, pin my wrists to the bed, and keep pushing my body even further; driving me to what seemed like the ends of the earth and beyond before finally letting me go.
I don’t know why, or how, but it had just all started getting so blurry around that time; my friends, my school, my family, everything. Anything else in my life besides him seemed as if it was merely a dream. He was the only true reality. His penthouse was my world, his bed my universe, his body my sustenance.
At one time I’d wholeheartedly thought that he would never be able to get serious with me. And then all of a sudden, I was having to admit that not only was he sincere about dating me; he was honest to God sincere about owning me. And still, as frightening as that was, I hadn’t known how to pull away. My grades were slipping, my priorities were getting jumbled, and my body and mind were beginning to feel as if they actually did belong to him. I hardly even knew who I was anymore. And by the time I finally let him take my virginity; Tempest Blaine had disappeared, and all I was at that point, the only thing that I had been, was what he had somehow made me.
Now, getting ready for my wedding to someone else, and thinking back to that night we had actually, finally, fully made love, I still felt my face flush, even though so much time and space had gone by since then. Perhaps other people might have thought I was weird or unfaithful or uncouth for thinking about making love to another man on the cusp of saying the vows that would promise me to another man for the rest of my life. But it was actually more important now than it ever had been before, and in fact, I had kept myself from thinking about it, had forced myself to forget it for so long, knowing that to allow myself to do so would also mean that I was allowing myself to once again, be lost.
Thinking about that here, and now, on the actual verge of my wedding, was honest to God the only place I could have thought about it these past two years, without being in danger of dropping everything and running right back to him again. Had I done it at any time before this day and before this hour, I would’ve made a fool of myself by seeking him out, and begging him to take me back. I knew it as sure as I knew that the sky was blue, the ocean was wet, and that he had not only taken my virginity and broken my heart; but that he had stolen the best part of me forever.
Now, however, I not only could think about it, I actually had to. I needed to remember it, dissect it, and let myself re-live it this one last time. And then I could say ‘goodbye’ to that part of my life forever as I moved on faithfully towards my new husband; saying my vows with faith and honor, and then giving myself to Charlie completely for the very first time in our lives.
So, in the tiny little sitting room/office at the back of the church, the place where everyone had cleared out to give me my privacy to get dressed and to calm and center myself before the ceremony, I now settled myself down on the Priest’s little black vinyl couch and began to let those final memories wash over me. Memories about the drowning depths of our passion, and the last night I’d spent with Victor that had been my absolute undoing: the first and only time that he and I had made love. Actually, if I were to be totally honest about it, I’d have to admit that it wasn’t so much “making love” as it was him taking me; owning and possessing every last part of me, down to my very core.
I couldn’t believe how accepting he had been of the fact that I had put him off for so darn long. I had spent four and a half whole, long, difficult months, barely holding him at bay. It had been a struggle every single day, too, but I had just believed so fully that one day soon he would break up with me, just like he did with every other woman who had come before me. If it hadn’t been for that, I absolutely would have had sex with him sooner, because oh God, but how I had wanted him. Yet I had feared deep down in the heart of me that if I had let him take me, if I had let him inside of me, then the challenge would be gone and he’d finally be able to walk away from me, and I simply did not want to lose him.
At first, it had been about keeping my chastity for chastity’s sake, then it had been about keeping my virginity because I hadn’t wanted to just be another of his “whores”, and then finally, it had been about holding off just in order to try and somehow hold on. But if I had thought he’d get tired of waiting and bail on me after just a few weeks, I’d been seriously mistaken. Six weeks had gone by before I’d even let him go down on me, then another three months had gone by and he’d simply gorged himself on my body every single chance he got. Eventually during that time, I had begun to trust him enough that I, too, provided oral sex for him, but it had been totally unequal for the first two months after I’d started letting him be “intimate” with me in that way. And those had been some unbelievably intense months – or so I had thought at the time. In reality, I had no idea what else I still had in store for me.
But back then, when we’d started so slowly, I’d never in my life thought I’d enjoy oral sex; at last not like that. In fact, the thought of someone eating my
pussy in high school had downright revolted me. I’d graduated with never giving away more than a simple half-dozen or so “pecking” kisses. I hadn’t even had a guy grab a breast, or stick his tongue in my mouth, or place my hand on top of his erection over the outside of his pants (which each and every other girl in school had at least done that). Like I’d realized earlier, there just hadn’t been anyone in school that I had felt that way about. I had kept all the boys at arm’s length, and they’d had no choice but to let me.
Once most girls had gone to college, if they had still been virgins like me, they typically quickly made up for lost time. But I’d had my own personal reasons for not letting any guy get too close to me; reasons that ran deep and dark and terrible, and centered around wicked and shameful secrets which no one other than my own mother even knew. Guys had tried, here and there, but something inside me forced me to keep them all at arm’s length. And then came Victor, and somehow, someway, the overwhelming force and intensity of the control that he had over me, affected me in such a way as that I was finally ready to take that plunge into intimacy for the very first time in my life.
Victor had been pretty shocked, too, to realize that he had been the only guy that I had ever even really kissed. And it hadn’t been a pleasant and tender moment, either; it had been that total and complete ravishment on the boat on Grand Lake our very first date. I think that’s why I had let him do it, too – because he had been so powerful and consuming. I simply hadn’t been able to tell him “no”.
As far as the oral sex went, he had waited that full month and a half before insisting on that, although I probably would have gone along with it if he had insisted sooner. But he had touched me before then - my breasts, my nipples, and sooner or later, my pussy, too, running his fingers along my panties and caressing my moist lips through the damp satin down there before finally sliding his fingers beneath fabric. The first time he’d touched my clit, I had actually screamed. I hadn’t known that anything in the world could actually feel that damn good.
So when he had gone down on me, I’d been understandably embarrassed; half out of my mind with want and need, and half ashamed and mortified. And I think that my recalcitrance and my utter innocence had driven him half-insane with desire. But it had also imbued him with an almost infinite and boundless patience, that there was no way in hell he would’ve otherwise ever had.
He’d had to get me drunk first, of course, but it wasn’t weird or anything - like date rape - because I had asked him to do it, making him pour me glass after glass of expensive champagne until I’d thought I could finally go through with it. And even then, my hands had been sweating and my legs had been trembling violently.
I’d wanted the lights off, but he absolutely wouldn’t hear of it. On that he was immovable. He said he’d had to wait long enough for his prize, so he damn well was going to enjoy it to the fullest; and I couldn’t argue with him there. I’d kept my eyes screwed tightly closed, my fists clenched at my sides as he’d slid off my négligée. It was red satin, unbelievably sexy against my red hair, and he’d bought me satin bikini panties to match.
First he unlaced the ribbon down the front, then he’d pulled the straps off one by one, sliding it sensuously over my torso, across my hips, and down my legs, then dropping it onto the floor. Reaching up, he’d unpinned the bun my hair had been held up in, and it had come spilling silkily down across my shoulders. He’s spent a long moment, just burying his head in it and rubbing the soft tresses across his face before moving lower down and beginning to kiss me.
I had been sort of propped up against the headboard, but he’d pulled me deftly down so that I was lying flat. Then he’d begun sucking my lower lip into his mouth and then running his tongue lightly along mine. At that I had moaned, and down lower against my leg, I’d felt him hardening through his pants. I’d felt his erection pressing up against me at times before, but for some reason, this time it had made me feel dizzy, hot, as it the room was spinning.
I was nervous, anxious, slightly frightened, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I suddenly wanted to cry. Victor moved down then and began to kiss and suck my neck. When he got to my nipples, which were now bare since he’d pulled off my négligée, he bent forward and licked them softly and gently. Then he started sucking them harder and harder, until it was beginning to get a little uncomfortable. I started to shift a little beneath him, and that was when he bit me.
It wasn’t hard, really, but still, I gasped. I had felt him smile against my breast as his tiny bit of five o’clock shadow scratched my delicate skin. He moved over to bite the other nipple and I gasped again. He kept on, torturing them long after they had become red-hot and swollen, until I was twisting in near-agony beneath him. Then he finally began to move on, licking and nibbling his way down my ribcage and stomach, until he was right above the waistband of my panties. He reached up and grabbed them, intent on pulling them off, when I lunged up automatically and gripped them fiercely with both hands, holding them in place.
“No,” I told him pleadingly. “No, not yet.”
“Yes, yet,” he told me, then he shoved my hands to the side and snatched them down all the way, over my thighs, knees, calves, and ankles, and then he tossed them on the floor next to my top.
I was left shivering beneath his gaze, covering myself with my hands, shocked that he had pulled my panties off without my consent. Then again, the refusal had been little more than half-hearted. Perhaps his idea of helping me through this was pushing me when he thought I needed it. In all actuality, I was acting like a child. But what he didn’t know, what he couldn’t know, was that I had those bad things in my past that made sex a rather scary proposition. Not because I’d been sexually abused by a man, but because I’d seen my mother physically abused by a man. Repeatedly. To the point where I had wanted him dead. And then, one day when I was twelve, I’d gotten my wish - in a way so tragic, and so damaging, I’d kept myself closed off from everyone else from then on.
But not anymore. Not with Victor. Right now, he was running his hands up my calves, driving me insane from fear and pleasure, both. When he got to my crotch, he told me, “Move your hands, Tempest.”
“No,” I breathed. The champagne was making me numb, making my head seem as if it was underwater. I felt half-hysterical.
“Tempest!” he said sternly. When I still didn’t budge, he sighed, then he gripped my wrists and pulled my arms away, pinning them to the bed on each side of me. No longer able to cover myself, my pussy was now abruptly exposed before him.
I had shaved it completely, not knowing what he’d like but knowing darn well that’s the way I liked to keep it. I could only hope it did not disgust him to see it bare like that. For a long moment, I heard nothing, and I began to fear the worst.
Opening my eyes just a crack, I had focused on his face, and what I had seen there was nearly indescribable. He had looked insatiably overcome with lust and desire, and even, oddly, just the tiniest bit of hesitance. But mostly, he looked as if he was staring at a plate of the most delectable, appetizing dessert that he had ever seen.
“Oh, God, he wants to actually eat me,” I thought in wonder. The whole idea, the whole proposition just seemed so damn bizarre. But then he wedged himself between my legs, shoving them open as he settled his wide chest in between my thighs. Having him down there was so damn erotic, I hadn’t expected that. I had been glad for his California-King, over-sized mattress, because as tall as he was, were we just on a normal-sized bed, half of him would’ve been dangling off. As it was, however, he was comfortably positioned right where he wanted to be.
I kept my eyes on him, transfixed almost. I had thought I wouldn’t be able to watch, and yet all of a sudden, I couldn’t look away. He still had both of my wrists trapped in his hands, and yet he no longer needed to subdue me. I was still scared, still reluctant, but I realized then for the first time, just how bad I wanted him to lick my pussy. And I didn’t just want him to kiss at it and delicately swipe at it w
ith his gentle tongue, either. All of a sudden, I had wanted him to ravage me raw. I just wished I’d had the guts to tell him so.
He bent down then and rubbed his chin against my shaved pussy lips. The feeling was instantaneous and electric. I began to moan. Then he began to lick and bite me in the juncture between my thigh and where my pubis started. At that, the muscle there began to twitch wildly as he worked at it, and it tickled and felt erotic and erogenous all at once, and I could barely stand it because the dueling sensations were excruciating. I heard more noises and realized I was moaning even louder. Then he bit my actual pussy lips, hard. First the left one, then the right.
He began to nip and suckle at them, and I began to buck my hips, totally without any conscious control. I wanted so bad for him to lick my clit then, so I could feel his tongue doing to me the things only his fingers had before. Mindlessly, I thrust my pussy up towards his face again, and he seemed to know right away what I needed. Letting go of my wrists, he’d surprised me by using his hands to spread my pussy lips wide open. I’d seen some poorly made porn back in my early days in college, courtesy of my dorm-mate who was trying to broaden my horizons, but I didn’t remember the guy ever doing anything like this. It seemed like he’d just half-heartedly licked the girl half a dozen times without the help of his hands or anything, and then she’d supposedly cum, screaming bloody murder all the while.
A second later, Victor had stretched my pussy lips open all the way, and still looking down, I saw my own clit become exposed, growing larger and more engorged as the cool air began to surround it. My stomach had clenched then, in an eager anticipation. I didn’t really know the extent of what was about to happen, but I damn sure wanted it. And that was when he had bent his head forwards and began to lightly flick his tongue against me. I moaned and gyrated my hips some more as he started to lick me softly up and down. The faster he’d licked, the louder I had moaned. Abruptly, he’d angled his hands upwards and pulled up against my pussy lips, and I had no idea what he was doing. But when he licked me again, I realized that he had just positioned my clit in such a way so as for me to get the full sensation of his tongue’s ruthless assault against it.
The Bride Wore White (The Captive Bride Series, Book I) Page 3
