An oppressive, undeniable pressure plagued my lower belly, a clawing, eager churning of desire. It was the same thing that made my breasts swell, made my nipples tweak and ache for touch, shifting so they pressed into the hard line of his chest.
My pulse thrummed in unexpected places - my throat, wrists, temples, between my thighs, my blood surging with need for release, with need for more, for all he could give me.
His teeth snagged my lower lip, sinking in to the point of pain, dragging a shocked gasp from me, giving him the access he was after, his tongue shifting inside to claim mine.
His arms left the doorframe, one going to the back of my neck, crushing into my skull with his own utter lack of control. The other found the sliver of skin where my shirt had slid up, pressing into the overheated flesh, just a chaste, but possessive, contact.
My own hands couldn't seem to contain themselves, curious and searching, moving from his hips and up the firm line of his back, feeling the notches of his spine, realizing I had never noticed something like that before, making it feel oddly intimate to do so now, even though my fingers were brushing the material of his tee and not the flesh beneath. They curled into his strong shoulders for a long moment before drifting back down, sliding lower than before, sinking into his firm ass, using it to pull his pelvis to mine, needing the contact like I needed my next breath, moaning against his mouth when his hard cock pressed into my stomach, confirming he was as lost in the moment as I was, even if all we had done was kiss.
For us, that seemed to be enough.
"Fuck," he growled when my body arched, pressing my chest more firmly into his, his lips breaking from mine, leaving them feeling swollen, tingly, more sensitive than they ever had before. "Ya are gonna fucking kill me, duchess," he told my neck, his lips and scruff branding the skin, lips sinking in, sucking in a way that said I'd have marks there. Marks meant to stay in youth, marks that I oddly wanted, like I needed proof in the aftermath of what had happened between us, like I wanted to be claimed as his in a visible way, a thought that normally would have made me shrink away, run as fast as I could. But with him, yeah, I couldn't seem to stop the odd desire to claim and be claimed, to have the world know about what was between us, this wild, uncontrollable thing neither of us planned on, but had no strength to fight.
His tongue found the dip under my collarbone, making a tremor course through my system.
"Can't get enough of this skin," he rumbled, just barely audible as his tongue and lips confirmed his words, claiming every inch of it that they could, making me suddenly wish I was one for skimpier outfits that allowed more of me accessible to him.
Caught up, my hands left his ass, finding his arms, pulling them, placing them at the hem of my shirt even as my own arms raised, slowly going overhead, inviting him to get more of me, to claim as much of my skin as he wanted.
He didn't even pause, his fingers curling so hard into the fabric that I was sure he would rip it before he relaxed them, finding some sliver of inner control, allowing him to raise the material up just an inch as he lowered down before me, pressing his lips to the exposed skin. And for every inch he exposed, his lips and tongue explored it, tasted it, made sure I would never be able to look at the skin again without remembering this, without thinking of the way he called every inch of myself his.
It wasn't something I would normally allow a man, to stake his claim, to make it so that I felt I was sharing myself.
Sex had always been something simple, something basic and primal. Just bodies slamming into bodies. Just an urge being fulfilled.
This didn't feel like that.
This felt like something more.
Something more than me and my need.
Something more than him and his.
It felt like something I didn't have words for, something that they made songs about, wrote poems about.
Connection.
A desire that was neither mine nor his, but both of ours, something we didn't experience as two separate beings, but shared as one.
This was that thing.
That cheesy word.
That one that made my cheeks heat even thinking it.
Because it sounded antiquated.
It sounded like something sickly sweet.
But I was starting to understand that while it could be that, it didn't have to be that. Sighs and declarations.
It was simply what we were experiencing, something that brought sex to another level. That made it something else entirely.
Lovemaking.
His nose brushed the edge of my bra as his hand fisted the material of my shirt right above the swells.
"These should be outlawed," he growled into my chest.
I felt my lips curving up as he slowly got back to his feet, allowing him to pull the tee up my arms, discarding it over my wrists and hands, dropping it carelessly to the side. My arms stayed raised above my head, and his hands took advantage, softly tracing down my forearms, over the oddly sensitive crook of my elbow, down the ticklish skin of my inner arms before they found my shoulders, fingers hooking the straps of my bra, slipping them off my shoulders before his hands slipped down the sides of my breasts, going behind my back to seek the clasps keeping me from his view.
He paused, eyes finding my face, showing me the heaviness of his lids, the need so blatantly on display in the dark depths beneath.
His fingers made a quick crook, releasing the clasps in record time, the sides bouncing free, loosening the cups, making the straps slip down my arms.
His hand found the center of my chest right below my neck, slipping downward gently, teasing the flesh between my breasts before snagging the bra, pulling it downward, letting it drop to the floor at our feet, keeping eye-contact for a long moment, showing a restraint I knew I could never be in possession of before he finally gave in, his eyes dropping lower, his air hissing out of him as he seemed to sink, right down to his knees again, pressing his head between the swells for a long moment, the movement oddly like prayer, like he was giving thanks to the universe before his head suddenly shifted, his teeth snagging one of my hardened nipples, sinking in without mercy, making a searing hot pain/pleasure take over the sensitive peak, making a choked moan escape me.
Everything about this was new, unexpected, something I found myself wholly unprepared for.
This unspeakable sweetness paired with an almost savage intensity.
My entire system felt off-kilter, on-edge, unsure what to anticipate, yet eager to find out.
Wetness pooled between my thighs even as his tongue lapped over my nipple, easing the soreness before going right across my chest to repeat the same torture.
His hand went down my belly, snagging the front of my jeans in his fist, but not pulling the material down, just grasping it, just promising more, everything, an end to the desire that was bordering between pleasure and pain every moment. But not before he showed me the depth of pleasure that could be brought about from just his lips, tongue, teeth on my breasts, tracing the sensitive undersides until shivers racked my body, only then gently tracing a path down the center of my stomach, his hand finally working at the button and zip, freeing them.
Both hands snagged my jeans, easing them down my hips, thighs, knees, calves, helping me step out of the cuffs, leaving me in nothing but simple black panties, something I might have tried to make pretty had I known tonight would be the night we finally gave in, finally stopped fighting what was between us.
His hand moved up my ankle, calf, thigh, making the muscles there shiver in anticipation before his finger suddenly shifted inward, stroking between my slick folds through the material of my panties, making my hips slam back on the door, sure my legs were going to give out at the stab of desire that shot through my core.
Stab.
That was the only way to describe it - sharp and violent.
"Soaked," he rumbled, his forehead slamming into my hip, his back and chest shaking as he took a deep, steadying breath, seeking control he was
quickly losing.
I knew the feeling too well.
Even as my hands tried to grab his tee, tried to expose some of his flesh to mine, to feel the warmth, the strength against me, his head shifted, his lips sucking my clit through my panties, making a moan break free from somewhere deep inside
"Oh my God," I gasped, hands slamming on his shoulders, not sure if my legs were going to be able to hold me up as his hand yanked my panties to the side, his greedy tongue sliding up my pussy to work fast, relentless circles around my swollen clit, making the orgasm build with a startling speed and intensity, a coiled spring deep inside.
I hadn't even been able to draw a breath as he worked me with precision, seeming to sense the inevitable even before I did, two fingers sinking inside me, turning, raking across my top wall at just the right moment, dragging a screaming orgasm from deep within me, a climax that made me fold forward over him, his head pressing into my belly as I held on, riding the waves as I held onto him for stability.
"Been fuckin' dreamin' of that sound for months," he declared, easing me back, pressing me against the door, dragging my panties down to meet the rest of my discarded clothes on the floor, bringing stark contrast to us.
Me, completely bared to him.
Him, still fully dressed.
Inexplicably, the moment felt all the more intense for it, more erotic, more... well... everything.
"Fuckin' beautiful, Lou," he declared as his eyes moved over me, landing finally on my face. "And sweeter than I could ever imagine," he added, making my sex clench hard.
At a loss for the right words, not sure if they existed in that moment, my hands moved down, pulling him back up to his feet, my hands slipping under his shirt, dragging it up with greedy fingers, needing more of him, all of him, needing to show him some of the pleasure he had shown me, the need to satisfy someone else never as intense as it was in that moment.
He stood there, allowing me to discard his shirt, running my fingers down his body, fascinated by the way his muscles contracted at the contact.
My hands found his button and zip, working them, then pulling his jeans down his hips, something that filled my system with anticipation.
I could feel his gaze on me, but couldn't bring myself to look away from the skin that was being exposed.
Because Adler was a commando kind of guy.
I'd learned that back in a hotel room in AC. But I had only gotten an eyeful of his ass. While that was a lovely sight, this full-frontal view was creating chaos in my body, my sex clenching painfully at the idea of his cock, as impressive at it had felt when I ground against it weeks before.
A whimper escaped me, my head slamming into his shoulder as I took a shaky breath.
"That's a sound a man likes to hear when a woman sees his cock for the first time," he rumbled, sounding a mix of amused and turned-on.
Finding control I didn't think I could in the moment, I slowly lowered myself down before him, hand closing around the base of his cock, holding it as I leaned forward, took him into my mouth, hearing and feeling the hiss of his breath as I started working him - slow and precise at first, then harder, faster, taking him deeper, spurred on as his hands moved - one sinking into my hair, tugging slightly, the other bruising into my shoulder as my mouth filled with the taste of him.
"Fuck," he growled, using his hand to curl deeper into my hair near the roots, yanking backward, watching with intense eyes as his cock slowly slid out of my mouth, ending with a small pop as I sucked him harder at the head.
He folded forward, claiming my lips for a searing moment while his hand dug in his discarded jean pocket. I heard fumbling then the thump of his wallet hitting the ground after he found what he was after.
That arm went around my hips, pulling me to my feet and against his chest, my nipples twisting tighter as his hair teased over them.
Once on my feet, his hands sank down my back, sinking into my ass, pulling until I was on my tiptoes, then off them completely.
My legs wrapped around his hips, feeling his cock slide against me with a shiver that shook my whole body.
A growl escaped Adler as he turned, leading us back to the living room, turning again to sink down on my couch, pulling me onto his lap.
My ass settled down onto his thighs, his hands moving away, working the condom free, then protecting us, his entire body tense as he did so, as ready for this as I was.
"Feel like I've been waiting for this for-fucking-ever," he rumbled, hand moving between us to grab his cock, sliding it through my folds, finding my clit, and tapping against it until my hands found his shoulders, digging in hard enough to guarantee crescent marks in the flesh for days to come.
"Ya gonna ride me, duchess?" he asked, eyes hooded, jaw tight enough for a muscle to tick there.
As an answer, my hips rose up, allowing him to slide his cock back down, pressing hard against the entrance to my body for a long moment, both of us poised in this odd in-between before I let out a shaky, held breath, and slowly lowered my hips down, feeling his cock breach me, slip in deeper to claim every inch.
"Fuck," I moaned as he settled impossibly deep.
Beneath me, his hips twisted in a circle, making my hand pound down on his shoulder.
"Fuck me, Lou," he demanded, doing another delicious twist.
"Only if you keep doing that," I told him, lifting up a bit.
"I can do that," he agreed.
We found a rhythm like old lovers, his hips twisting each time at the exact right moment no matter how fast and frantic my own hips got as the need gripped my system, making my chest tighten, my body slick with sweat, my moans become choked whimpers.
"Come, Lou," he demanded, voice rough with his own need for release.
His hips shifted as his hand slid between our bodies, and the orgasm ripped through me, fast, violent, overwhelming, making my head slam into his shoulder, crying out my release into his neck, feeling his cock surge within me as his breath exhaled while he found his own release, my name like a prayer on his lips.
It wasn't long until the aftershocks overtook my body, every nerve ending overworked.
"Christ." He broke the silence first, his hands moving up and down my back soothingly, teasing the strands of my hair.
"Yeah," I agreed, pushing back, looking down at him, almost feeling like I was seeing him through different eyes, as cheesy and romantic and unlike me as that sounded.
My hands rose, reaching for his head, holding his hair with one hand, working his band free with the other, sliding it onto my wrist so my hands were free to sift through the silky strands, softer even - I was convinced - than my own.
He pulled me forward, sealing my lips to his, lacking the hunger but not the heat.
But it was a different kind, warming my very veins, filling my system with something I wasn't sure I had ever truly felt before.
Contentedness.
By the time Adler pulled away, my lips were tingling, my heartbeat thrumming, my blood racing.
It felt like ages before I could force my eyelids open, finding his gaze already on me, looking tense, hesitant, but determined.
"Ask me, Lou," he demanded in a soft voice, barely loud enough to be heard.
"Ask you what?" I asked, feeling my brows draw together.
His hands sank into my hips, squeezing.
"Ask me."
I took a breath, not sure I was ready to hear it, but realizing that he was ready to tell it.
"What's your story, Adler?"
NINE
Adler
I didn't remember my early years.
A pity, that.
Since it was likely the only time in my life that I had been loved, that I had things like security, stability, glimpses of happiness.
There was a scent that - when I smelled it even years later - gave me a feeling of contentedness - something I was convinced my mother must have smelled like. Cocoa butter. It must have clung to her skin while she rocked me, nursed me, hummed me to sleep
the way I heard mothers were known to do.
I had nothing else, though. Not a single memory of her face, her eyes, her hair, what her voice sounded like.
Just a scent that could catch me off-guard in years to come, give me a momentary false sense of security.
She'd been the one to give me one of my names. The one I was born with, but not allowed to keep, one I never would have known had I not seen my birth certificate before it was burned.
Andres.
That was who I had been for three years.
Andres Adler from Venezuela, born to a woman named Josephine who had been merely twenty-two at the time.
Father unlisted.
Father not present at the time of birth.
Of course he wasn't.
He'd been doing a bid at Vista Hermosa, one of Venezuela's most brutal prisons.
I would learn later that he had been serving time for rape.
I'd done the math once, figuring out he'd gone to jail just a month after I must have been conceived, leaving me to wonder if that was how I had come into the world - by force, by blood and pain and screaming, if that was what had formed me, just pure brutality.
It would make sense in a way.
As awful as that was even to think.
I had no idea how I came to fall in my father's grasps, never to see my mother again, assuming she'd been killed since that was the type of man my father was.
All I knew was he was all I knew.
He was who threw food at me, told me to quit my bitchin' if I cried over something, expected me to man-up at the tender age of five.
We didn't stay in Venezuela.
It wasn't my father's country after all.
He'd been born in Scotland, raised there for a decade or so before he was carted off to Russia by his own father who, by all accounts, was every bit as cold as my own old man.
When he told me stories about his own past, there was never a mention of a mother, of a love, of anything soft and feminine, anything warm and homey.
When I was young, I thought little of this, never having known such a thing existed, so not knowing to question the lack of it.
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