Slowly, so slowly, with excruciating care, he worked his way inside me. First the fat head of his cock, sliding past the tightest point with a snap of sudden, brief pain that drew a sharp cry from me. He stopped but didn’t pull out, waited and spoke soothing nonsense until my body adjusted to his girth before resuming his slow, deep push.
There was burning, but it paled in comparison to the shivering pleasure that crept over me, beginning where his cock was entering me and overtaking my whole body in the span of moments. The thrill was dark, primitive and frightening but also too dazzling to resist. When I started to try, the restraints at my legs snapped tight, keeping me spread and defenseless against Ivan’s incursion.
“Shh. No, Camilla.” His voice sounded as controlled as ever. “You can’t fight this. You can’t get out of the cuffs. I’m going to fuck your ass, and you’re going to take it. Oh, that’s it,” he muttered as I shuddered and then relaxed a fraction more. “That’s it. Good girl. Just open up for me and take it, take my cock. Tell me how it feels to have me inside your ass.”
“Good,” I moaned. “Full. Hot.” I seemed to have been reduced to single syllables, but the Professor didn’t seem bothered by that. And even his calm was slipping away now, a tremor beginning in his voice to match the one I could feel in his thighs where they pressed so close against the backs of mine. Losing his shit. That knowledge was arousing in itself.
“All the way inside you now. Feels so hot and tight. Your butt is still red and warm from my belt. So good.” He eased out a little and pushed back in, deeper still, with a little grunt that echoed my own. “Oh, yessss…”
He started thrusting, keeping his strokes short and careful. Each push of his cock inside me sent chills racing up my spine and down to my neglected pussy. My brain seemed stuck, unable to quite grasp the reality of what I was doing, what I was letting Ivan do. It felt amazing, no longer painful at all but like sorcery, a dark magic spell of arousal that had me in its thrall.
I was suspended, floating, skating along the thin boundary between pain and pleasure, frustration and orgasm, insanity and sheer bliss. When Ivan pushed a hand beneath my hip to find my clit, I forgot to how breathe.
“Come for me now, Camilla. I want to feel you.”
It took pathetically little time and effort for him to tip me off that cliff. A few strokes, a few cries of pained and ravenous need from me, and I was plunged into an ocean of electric ecstasy, a whole-body orgasm that ripped through me in crest after exquisite crest.
Ivan, his reserves of restraint exhausted, gripped my hips firmly with both hands and began to pump quickly, his rock-hard erection conjuring up aftershocks of pleasure. I could feel another orgasm start to build, responding to the dual stimulation of Ivan’s cock inside me and the mattress edge beneath my pelvis. It shot through me, claiming the last of my breath and awareness, just as Ivan shouted out his climax and slammed deeper still, emptying himself in hot, shuddering bursts.
Chapter Ten
The next evening, as I took my clothes off in what had become our ritual, I studied Ivan whenever I thought he wasn’t looking. His appeal, I decided, was the same thing that made him different from other people. His focus, that ability to attend to something with every bit of his mind, dedicating every powerful brain wave to whatever it was. At the lab, he was tuned to his work with as much narrow intensity as one of the lasers he was building. In a conversation with more than one person, he struggled because there were too many threads to focus on. When he chose one, he did far better.
And in his apartment, when it was just the two of us, all that attention was directed at me. I began to suspect that his real motivation wasn’t to dominate, so much as to ensure that his partner was as focused on him as he was on her. On me.
He’d certainly accomplished that.
“What are you thinking about, Camilla?” Ivan’s question drew me out of my reverie and back to the present.
“You, Professor,” I answered instantly and honestly. I think the answer startled him a little. But he seemed pleased.
“We did something last night that you were scared to try. Tonight I’d like to try something that scares me.”
I couldn’t even begin to imagine what might scare Ivan. I didn’t have time to ponder it, however, because Ivan was gesturing for me to follow him into the bathroom. That setting did nothing to ease my mind, but all he did to begin with was turn the shower on.
“Not too hot,” he said softly, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “Or I’ll never be able to finish.”
“Finish what, Professor?”
Without answering, he took his clothes off quickly while I stood by the sink waiting. Then he pulled me into the shower enclosure, shutting the door behind us.
It was warm, and close. The sight of Ivan’s wet skin made me want to lick him, taste him. But I wasn’t sure if that fit into his plan or not, so I stood where he put me and watched him for further instructions.
“Wash me off.” He handed me a washcloth and nodded at the bar of soap. It wasn’t as fun as licking him, but it definitely still seemed like fun. I grinned as I lathered up the cloth. Starting at the neck, I worked my way down, being careful not to miss any spots. The soap was the glycerin kind, with a musky scent and creamy lather. I recognized the smell and enjoyed knowing that after the shower I would smell of the soap too. A little reminder of Ivan to carry throughout my day.
When I would have lingered over Ivan’s more entertaining bits, he admonished me to keep my mind on my work. Chagrined, I continued down one leg and then finished with the other, finally standing and handing back the cloth. He pressed it back toward me as he stepped into the full stream of the shower’s spray to wash his hair.
“Scrub up.”
This was getting disappointing, and he still hadn’t told me what his scary thing was. But I complied, scrubbing off quickly. Ivan had short hair, it didn’t take long to wash, and then he turned his attention to my hair, making me lean back while he shampooed and conditioned it meticulously. The massage of his fingertips on my scalp as he rinsed the conditioner away lulled me, so I wasn’t expecting the abrupt change of mode when he finished with the cleaning tasks and turned me back around to face him.
He didn’t say anything, just pressed down on my shoulders until I went to my knees. Then, contrary to my expectation, he took his half-erect penis in hand and stroked himself, spreading his legs a little for a sturdier stance. Within a few seconds he was hard and ready, and I licked my lips in anticipation of tasting him.
But he didn’t let me, didn’t bring his cock to my lips as I was expecting and even hoping he would. Instead he kept jacking himself, harder and faster than I would have thought comfortable, and right when I could see the telltale quivers and hear that little about-to-come catch in his breathing, he leaned down and brushed the underside of one of my breasts.
“Hold them up,” he said in a hoarse voice.
I scooped a hand under each boob, lifting them up a little, not sure if that was what he wanted.
And then with a gasp, he was shooting hot jets of come all over my breasts, working himself more and more carefully until he was done. Still panting, he lowered one hand again, swiping his fingers through the stuff on my chest and spreading it over one nipple. Little circles, ringing the already hard bud, drawing my notice to the fact that I was ravenously aroused.
Ivan lifted the goo-covered fingers to my mouth next, watching as I licked them clean. He pushed them in a few times, fucking my mouth with them, and I saw his cock twitch at the same time a sharp thrill of need made me squirm in frustration.
“I didn’t even slip and crack my head open,” Ivan murmured, looking pleased but amused with himself.
“No. Why? Was that a possibility?”
He helped me to my feet and we shared the task of rinsing off. “It’s always a possibility. Most accidents happen in the home. Bathrooms are the most dangerous room of all. You should always be alert and cautious, which is why I nev
er masturbate in the shower. Until today.”
“Wait. This was the first time you ever did that? Seriously?” I could tell the scene was over, and I didn’t even bother with calling him Professor. I was starting to get better at reading his mood about that.
Ivan nodded as he shut the water off and opened the door, handing me a towel. “It’s always scared the crap outta me. I live alone. If I fell and got badly hurt I’d be screwed.”
“That was your scary thing?” I still couldn’t quite wrap my mind around that one.
“Are you…judging?”
“No,” I assured him quickly. “Everybody has different things that bother them. It’s cool.”
But as we ventured back downstairs to watch a movie, I couldn’t help but wonder about Ivan’s ability to cope in the real world, and how reliant he was on the few people to whom he was close. If I hadn’t come along, would he have ever gotten up the nerve to jerk off in the shower? Surely that was standard behavior for guys.
Ivan, of course, was far from a standard guy. And I reasoned with myself that jerking off in the shower was not exactly a social coping behavior. Not something he’d ever be called on to do out in the big, scary, real world. Or at least I certainly hoped not.
* * *
We were in our usual places Thursday night, watching television, when Ivan popped the question.
“Will you come with me tomorrow night?”
I hadn’t expected him to ask, and it took me a second to respond. “Um…like as your coach, or a date, or—”
“In whatever capacity.”
“Sure. How dressy is it?”
“I have no idea, for a girl. I’m wearing a suit and tie, if that helps.”
It did. I was already thinking of my options. Buying something new was out, but I could make do.
“We kind of got off track. Me helping you, I mean.” It wasn’t an apology, but I did feel a little bad. The sex had sidetracked us, and although we’d tried to keep covering social interaction, we usually seemed to cut it short in favor of studying our own interaction. Which was more fun, naturally, but probably not helping Ivan get through his party obligation any more successfully.
“No. I think this has helped, in a way,” he said. “I’ve done more spontaneous things these last few weeks than I ever have in my life. Plus I’m definitely more relaxed.”
That part wasn’t too difficult to understand. We were screwing like bunnies, no matter what other bells and whistles we added, and that tends to ease anybody’s tension.
“So what have you learned, then? Do you have your index cards handy?”
Ivan chuckled. “No, I’ve memorized them. Little white lies, know the context, use transitions and don’t interrupt. Pretend I’m interviewing a new sub at the club, but don’t try to make them talk about something that’s a downer. Since you’ll be there, are you going to give me some kind of signal about that, by the way?”
“I’ll fiddle with my earring or something. It sounds like you’ve got it all down. In theory, at least. The main thing to do is stay calm. And when in doubt, shut up. People like talking about themselves. So let them do that whenever possible.”
Ivan frowned. “I hate talking about myself.”
“Well, I’m still not convinced you’re actually people, honey.”
“I’m a superior mutation?” He seemed eager to embrace the possibility.
“I was thinking more like an alien or a pod person. But sure.”
“Superman was an alien. I could live with that.”
I shrugged. “I always preferred Clark Kent.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I always suspected that Clark Kent was the real personality, and—”
“Superman was the disguise,” I chimed in. “Exactly. Lois was such a fool.”
“Maybe not. Superman was duplicitous, so you can’t blame her for falling for his lies. But at least she knew what she wanted.” Ivan shrugged. “She wanted the hero.”
Chapter Eleven
Friday was surreal, as my day was a mixture of preparing for the fundraising event and preparing for a tropical storm. The thing was winding up in the Gulf, supposed to make landfall Saturday night, but the weather was already getting strange and the tension in town was running high—ever since Hurricane Ike, Houstonians had been particularly edgy about big windstorms. The local news was full of warnings and retrospectives. I had already secured two five-gallon water jugs earlier in the summer, which meant my main preparation consisted of double-checking the first aid kit and camping gear, and stocking up on some canned goods on my way home from work that afternoon.
At home I watched footage of people reminiscing about the hurricane, while I painted my toenails a soft pink. The constant drone of the news and weather reports served as background noise while I ironed the dress I’d picked out. A white and hot-pink floral sleeveless, with a modern flair that somehow saved the pink from looking too girly-girl.
It bordered on too casual but had the tremendous benefit of being a cotton-linen blend, and therefore much cooler than any of my other options. The air felt heavy and sodden, weighing like a damp, hot blanket over the entire city. As soon as I walked outside I knew I’d be covered with sweat that had nowhere to evaporate in the saturated air.
Still, I was happy with my appearance overall. The dress fit nicely and didn’t tend to wrinkle too badly. I’d curled my hair a little at the ends, knowing it would be futile to straighten it, given the humidity. It draped in soft, dark blond waves that swept past my shoulders. Silver sandals, pearl earrings, and I was all set.
I critiqued my look in the full-length mirror and decided I looked the part…whatever part I was supposed to be playing at this function. I still wasn’t really sure. Doting girlfriend, social coach, sex slave? Probably not that last one. Future faculty wife?
Where the hell did that come from?
I didn’t have time to analyze it. Giving myself a last once-over and pronouncing myself as ready as I’d ever be, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door.
* * *
Ivan cleaned up well. He looked so good in his suit and tie, I found myself wondering what he’d look like in a tux.
“White lies, context, don’t interrupt. Use transitions, when in doubt shut up,” Ivan muttered as we abandoned his car to the valet and walked to the department chair’s front door.
“It rhymes,” I realized. “Kind of, anyway.”
“You interrupted me,” he admonished. “Now I have to start over. White lies, context, don’t interrupt. Use transitions, when in doubt shut up. Interview a new sub, but don’t bring down the whole club. Pause because you can’t rewind; true, necessary, kind.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’ll be fine.”
The party was already in full swing when we walked in. In this case, full swing involved soft Latin jazz in the background, a sophisticated babble of conversation, and a sea of nearly identical dark suits broken up by dresses like colorful tropical islands.
“Oh, and remember to smile,” I threw out at Ivan as he steered me toward a tight cluster of suits accented by a peacock-blue dress. “But not too much.”
He shot me an exasperated look, but at least I’d distracted him from the extreme tension I’d sensed as he neared the group, which included his boss.
“Dr. Reynolds,” the older man said as we approached, “I’m pleased you could make it. And who is this?” I caught the flicker of surprise when he realized I was actually there with Ivan.
“Dr. Donovan, Mrs. Donovan, this is my friend Camilla Novak.”
I shook hands and exchanged meaningless pleasantries with the Donovans—she was the peacock-blue dress, and she seemed to view Ivan with new interest since he’d arrived with a girl on his arm—and with the three other suits they were talking to. The names went in one ear and out the other, but I gathered that two of them were alumni, so I did my best to be charming in hopes it would set a good example for Ivan.
He did very well, better than I’d ex
pected. Other than a few too many repeats of “So I was thinking…” he managed to converse at least as well as anybody else in the decidedly nerd-heavy crowd. He remembered his manners, introducing me as he went along—”My neighbor, Camilla…My friend, Camilla…This is Camilla, she works for Dr. Agatha Spiers…”
Never “my girlfriend, Camilla.” Never “my date, Camilla.” I wasn’t aware I’d expected to hear anything like that, until I didn’t hear it and felt disappointed. The party kept me too busy to think too much about it, though.
Over the course of the evening, I decided that Ivan wasn’t nearly as unusual as I’d thought. It seemed at least half of the astrophysicists there were as hyper-focused and introverted as he was, and most of them didn’t even have the looks to compensate for the lack of social ability. I couldn’t help thinking of a bunch of subterranean dwellers, reluctantly emerging into the open-air world to participate in this bizarre ritual, prickling like a bunch of hedgehogs whenever anybody got too close.
That thought led to giggling, which led to Ivan looking at me like I’d gone nuts, but I decided against sharing it with him. Some things were better left unsaid, and I suspected that “hostile astrophysicist hedgehogs in suits” was probably one of those things.
An hour or so into the event, Ivan started to loosen up. I left him for a few minutes to find the restroom, and when I returned he was engaged in a lively conversation with Dr. Yu and two potential donors about the laser ablation “broom” and the many potential practical applications for miniaturized rocket components. I gave him a minute before catching his eye and tugging on my earring. One of the donors was starting to look bored.
Ivan faltered then shut it down, let Yu finish what he was saying then waved at me as if he’d just seen me.
The Theory of Attraction Page 13
