by Stella Noir
He's strong and is able to pull the tight jeans down and off with a lot less effort than I would need. I step out of them, grateful that I decided to shave my legs this morning. I know I did it for him. Just in case. There was no reason to believe this would happen, but I wanted to be prepared nevertheless.
I blush when his hands wrap around my ankles and he pushes my feet apart, forcing me to take a wider stance.
"Hands on the window," he commands.
He hesitates. This doesn't feel safe. Pressing the palms of my hands against the window to steady myself seems about as safe as holding onto the thin air.
"Don't be scared," he says, as if he could read my mind. "You're safe."
I decide to trust him, and place my hands on the cool glass in front me, as he beckons me to lean forward. I instinctively hollow my back, knowing that it will grant him a much nicer view of my ass. Luckily, that ass is presented in one of the best garments my closet has to offer. Another thing I planned with him in mind. I'm wearing a black lacey thong that matches the bra he so quickly cast aside.
He hums in appreciation.
"Good girl."
I'm thankful for the darkness surrounding us because I'm sure my ears must be fiery red right now. This is killing me.
He graces stroking caresses along the side of my torso, his fingertips barely touching my skin, while I feel that every single hair on my body is standing up in expectant attention.
I feel so exposed, especially knowing that he's standing behind me still fully closed. I want to see him so badly, but all I can make out are his shadowed movements reflected in the window.
He shifts one of his hands back up to my chest, pinching my left nipple in an embrace from behind while his right hand wanders around to my back, teasing the hem of my thong.
I'm trembling with anticipation and involuntarily spread my legs even further apart when his hand wanders down between them, moving the fabric aside to create leeway for his intrusion.
I almost die of embarrassment when a slick noise reveals the extent of my arousal when he lets a finger slip between my lips.
"So ready for me," he purrs, adding another finger, and then a third.
I tilt my head back. The groan that escapes my lips speaks of both pleasure and pain as he stretches my wet center. He bends his fingers in a way that causes them to push against the sweet spot that even I have trouble finding.
I howl as he continues pleasuring me expertly with his fingers, enjoying the feeling too much to be embarrassed about any of this, the exposure, the fact that I'm basically naked while he's still fully clothed, the fact that I'm now rocking back and forth unconsciously and pretty much fucking his hand.
"Come," he hisses.
Not yet, I want to argue, but my body has other plans. The build-up has been too long and too intense. I yearn for release and as soon as he says the word, I can feel the first waves of my orgasm impending.
I lose myself in the bliss, rising up on my toes and throwing my head back while my muscles clench around his fingers. He painfully pinches my nipple with his other hand, adding an extra sensory thrill to my climax.
It doesn’t last long, but is so intense that I almost lose my balance afterward.
He catches me, his left arm wrapped around my upper body while his right hand stays in place between my legs.
I can feel his hard length pressing against my back through the fabric of his suit as he leans forward to whisper in my ear.
"You did good," he praises. "But we're only getting started."
I'm still in a lust-filled daze when his hand retreats and he turns me around in one swift motion.
"On your knees."
I obey immediately, sinking down to my knees, my legs trembling, while i continue holding on to him. My naked back faces the city below us. My eyes wander up to him, waiting for his orders.
My heart jumps with joy when he starts to undress. He gets out of his suit jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, nodding towards me.
"You take care of the rest," he says. "Now. Get me out."
I do as I'm told, stroking his hard length through the fabric of his pants before opening his pants to set him free.
I can't hide my surprise when I realize how big he is. Of course, he loves seeing me react like that; what man wouldn't?
He gets rid of his shirt, and just as I want to lift my eyes up to admire his muscular torso, he grabs the back of my head to push me forward, forcing his steeling length inside my mouth. He doesn't stop pushing until the tip of his imposing member pushes against the back of my throat, causing me to choke and struggle instinctively for air.
Just when I begin to fear that I'm about to faint, he lets me go. Saliva is dropping down from the side of my mouth onto my knees as I gasp for air. He only gives me a few moments to collect myself before plunging his length inside my mouth again. He fucks my throat relentlessly, using me for his pleasure.
No one has ever face-fucked me like this, let alone the first time. It's strange, but I like it. I've always been the good girl, but when he calls me that and uses me like this, the term takes on a whole other meaning.
I'm too flabbergasted to react when suddenly he stops. He lets go of my head and leaves me waiting on my knees, while he turns around and walks away, stepping out of his pants and boxers in the process.
I watch the shadows dancing on the valleys of his strong muscles, outlined by the city lights that allow me to have a first good look at his godlike body. He leaves the room and disappears down a dark hallway to the right, only to reappear a few moments later. I hear plastic ripping.
"Get up," he orders, as he approaches me, rolling a condom over his hardened cock.
I stumble to my feet, and as soon as I do, he scoops me up as if I weigh nothing. I shriek in surprise, and then a wave of horror hits me when he pushes me up against the allegedly safe window behind me.
"No, don—"
He hushes me and before I know it, I feel his tip parting my wet lips as he shoves himself inside of me in one harsh thrust.
"My turn," he announces, as he starts pounding in and out of me without mercy.
I'm torn between lust and terror. I literally fear for my life and hold on frantically to his shoulders while he seemingly takes for granted the stability of the window, bringing me closer to another climax with every pistoning thrust.
CHAPTER TEN
Lily
I've never woken up not knowing where I am. That's just not something I do. I never get excessively drunk, I've never had a one-night stand, I have never passed out in a random place because of intoxication or exhaustion.
Until today.
My body is sore and my limbs feel heavier than they have ever felt before. When I try to turn over, I realize that it's not my limbs that feel so heavy, but someone else's.
I'm startled when I see his face this close to mine. He's still fast asleep, his dark hair ruffled and fresh stubble starting to show on his strong jaw. Despite his rugged appearance, he looks peaceful and soft. It's mesmerizing to see his face as relaxed as this. It's so odd.
I have seen him smiling, angry, brooding, but I've not seen him like this before. Never peaceful. Never relaxed.
Maybe it's because there's no room for sadness when he's sleeping. The sorrow is always present, no matter whether he's smiling or casting me that grim and sinister look when he's annoyed or angry. Everything about him is painted with that heavy grief, but right now it's nowhere to be seen.
We're in a bedroom that seems to be as big as my entire apartment. The drapes are closed, but I can see the sunlight peaking in here and there. It's bright outside, but I have no idea what time it is.
I don't even remember how I ended up here in his bed. We were in the living room. He fucked me up against that window, the horror of the glass potentially breaking mixed together with my lust as I reached another orgasm with him buried deep inside of me.
Slowly, the memories return.
He waited for my climax to recede and then
carried me over to the sofa, where he continued to fuck me from behind while I supported myself on the backrest. That's not where it stopped, though. I told him I needed a break, but he didn't give me one. Instead, he pushed me down into the cushions, choking me and straddling my ass with his hands while he continued plunging into me.
He's huge, and that position made him feel even bigger. My center throbs at the memory, and I can also feel the aftermath of his harsh treatment. I've never been this sore after sex.
He came while fucking me on the couch, and I thought that would be it, even though I felt ready for another climax.
Even in the darkness, he could tell when I threw him a begging look. I wasn't done, and when I saw his face in the shadows, I knew he wasn't either.
That's how we ended up here. He picked me up and carried me down the hall to his bedroom, our lips glued together in a wild kiss.
This is where it ended. He went down on me, torturing my sensitive clit with his skillful tongue, while I begged for him to stop without really meaning it. My resistance just egged him on, and soon he was inside me again, rhythmically thrusting his girth in and out while still teasing my swollen nub.
I may have passed out directly after that last release, or maybe while dozing off in his arms. I can’t remember.
I turn around to look at his peaceful face again. It's hard to believe this man is the same one who fucked me like a savage last night.
My center throbs at the memories, and for a moment I wonder whether I should wake him up for more. But he's fast asleep and it feels wrong to disturb him.
And I really need to go to the bathroom.
His right arm lies heavily on top of me, so I carefully roll out from underneath him to get out of bed. I didn't realize I am completely naked until now.
There's nothing to wrap myself up in nor do I see my clothes lying around anywhere, so I instinctively cover myself with my arms even though there's no one looking at me.
I step out of the room and need a moment to find my bearings. On top of my vague memories from last night, it was also dark when we got here. I don't recognize anything from the night before, and it takes me a while to realize that I'm at the end of the same hallway he disappeared down last night to get a condom. There are two doors to my left, one to the right and an archway that presumably leads into the living room and the open kitchen area.
The first door on the left leads to the bathroom, and as with everything in this penthouse, it's excessively lavish, even though the interior is kind of spartan. There's a huge whirlpool on the opposite side of the room with little stairs leading up to it. The rainshower next to it is big enough to fit three people, and the entire wall to my left is a mirror, and it has a modern vanity in front of it. Yet, it's pretty obvious that a single man lives here, and not only by the modern style and the anthracite and white color scheme. There are hardly any beauty products, the towels are a cool steel gray color and everything has its purpose. There are no decorations whatsoever. I know the place would look very different if I lived here.
When I'm done peeing and washing up, I notice a gray bathrobe hanging by the door and decide to wrap myself in it. The fabric is incredibly soft and nothing like the stiff towels that I have at home. I sigh when I tie the robe's belt around my waist and step back into the hallway.
Jed seems to still be sleeping, so I decide to turn left instead of right and have a look at the living room that acted as our playground last night.
My jaw drops in astonishment when I walk into the brightly lit room that is as big as a hall. The sun is shining in – no drapes keeping it out – and just about the entire outside wall of the room is a floor-to-ceiling window with the exception of small corners, one on the left and one on the right. One of the corners hosts the seating area with the sofa where we fucked.
I step in closer and blush when I see smudged prints on the window showing where my naked body was pushed up against during our play last night.
My clothes are still lying in a pile where he undressed me. I find the last item he got rid of – my thong – tossed on the sofa. I gather my clothes, but don't put them on yet. Instead, I leave them in a neat pile on the sofa, glad to see that my purse is still right where I dropped it when we arrived last night.
I take a long, drawn-out look around the room. I’m no different than any other would-be journalist – I harbor the same questionably problematic trait that qualifies people to succeed in my line of work, and that trait is curiosity. It may be a bad excuse and I know I shouldn't be doing it, but when I notice a bureau with photos lined along the top of it on the other side of the room, I can't help but be drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
I hesitate a moment, listening to whether I can hear Jed stirring in the background, but the penthouse is completely quiet. Because we're so far up, I can't even hear the traffic and city noises below.
I slowly cross the room, trying my best to be quiet. The bureau is steel gray, similar to the color of the towels in the bathroom and the sofa. That seems to be his color.
I lean forward and inquisitively inspect the photographs. Two stand out in particular. They are rather small, just measuring about five inches on the longest side, and framed in thick black frames, making them even less obtrusive. One shows a portrait of a very young woman who must be in her early twenties, or perhaps even a year or two younger. Her dark blond hair is pulled up in a messy bun with strands falling out of it left and right, and she's smiling at something – or someone – behind the camera, not facing the lens itself. She's beautiful in a very poised and polished way, and she’s not wearing much makeup or donning an elaborate outfit. Her face is fresh and clear, partly due to her very young age, but also because of her expression and the lack of paint on her face.
The same woman appears in the second picture – standing next to him. My heart stops for a moment when I see the two of them. He's wearing his uniform, smiling proudly into the camera, his arm draped around her shoulder.
And it looks as if she's pregnant.
I gasp for air as I take the photograph off the bureau so I can have a closer look at it. She's holding her belly in a way only pregnant women do, even when there's not that much to show yet. Her belly is still small and the baby bump is only visible because she's wearing a tight-fitting top.
Does he have a wife and child? Is that why he's so seclusive? Where are they? How come he never mentioned her?
Because you never asked, the voice in my head reminds me.
Of course, I didn't ask. As far as I can remember, he's not wearing a ring, nor did Joe ever mention that he's married.
But maybe he was at some point.
"What are you doing?"
His voice startles me so much that my hands jerk, causing me to lose their hold on the picture frame.
He darts forward, catching the photo just before it crashes to the ground as I watch, my eyes wide in horror.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jed
"I'm sorry!" she exclaims, looking at me with a terrified face. "I didn't mean to –"
"Didn't mean to do what?" I bark at her. "Go through my personal things?"
She bites her lower lip and takes a step back, away from me. I don't like seeing her scared like that, as if I was about to hit her. As if I'd ever do something like that.
I ignore her and place the picture back where it belongs, turning it slightly away so Victoria's smile won't haunt me while I talk to her.
"I'm sorry," she repeats. "But it's not really like it was hidden or anything. I mean, I didn't open any drawers or – "
"Doesn't matter," I hiss, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her away from the bureau. I don't like her standing so close to it, to her.
"Hey!" she protests, struggling to free herself from my pinching grasp.
I let go of her when we reach the seating area at the other side of the room, close to where I fucked her last night.
She rubs her arm gingerly and casts me a reproachful look.
"No need to use such force on me," she complains.
I glare at her. "I saw it fit."
"Who is that?" she asks, nodding toward the bureau across the room, her voice angry. "Is that your wife? Are you married?"
Instead of giving her a reply, I turn and walk past her over to my in-house bar.
"What the – ?" she exclaims when I pour myself a Scotch. "Are you seriously drinking now? This early in the day?"
"I am," I say, as I take my first sip to calm my nerves. I never drink first thing in the morning, but this is an exception and I don't care what she thinks. She can be as outraged as she wants.
"You should be glad that I do," I tell her, narrowing my eyes as I look at her. "It calms me down – and fuck, I do need to calm down right now."
She looks worried, her blue eyes opened wide in confusion as she stares at me. I'm only noticing now that she's wearing one of my robes. It's way too big on her and makes her look even smaller in comparison to me than she already does.
A cold sting drives through my heart when I realize that I like seeing it on her.
"I seriously hate people going through my personal stuff," I say, taking another drink, focusing on the warm burn as the amber liquid courses down my throat into my reeling gut.
"Yes, you mentioned that," she says, hugging herself as if she was trying to protect herself from me. "And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. Occupational habit."
She smiles at me, her attempt at a conciliatory gesture.
I shake my head and taste the strong alcohol again. This Scotch is smooth, very smooth, unlike the one we were drinking in the bar.
"But still," she says in a soft voice, "would you tell me who she is? Are you married?"
"No and no," I say. "I don't want to talk about it."
She lets out an indignant huff.
"Don't you think I have a right to know?" she asks. "After what we did last night, I'd think that –"
"No," I interrupt her. "You have no right to snoop through my stuff and ask me personal questions. No interview, no probing into things that are none of your business!"
