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He began massaging my nipples, and to my surprise, I could feel him beginning to harden again inside me. He hadn’t pulled out. We were still connected…
I opened my eyes and looked down then. I could see the landscaping below me. Not a soul was in sight. He was stroking my back, in no rush to pull out.
I could hear the voices downstairs. Embarrassment flooded over me. Had they heard me? In my mind’s eye, I pictured what I looked like, bent over, on a balcony with a stranger’s dick buried deep inside me. I remembered that he was getting hard again…
I straightened, attempting to pull away, but he grabbed my hips even as I straightened, keeping my body locked against his.
“Where do you think you’re going?” There was no amusement, no gentleness in his tone. He sounded angry.
I wiggled against him, trying to wordlessly separate myself from him. Finally, he stepped away, freeing his dick from inside me, but it still nestled against me, ready for another round.
I turned around, pushed away from his arms, and took a step back. I began to straighten my dress. I abandoned my bra since I had no clue where it was, and put the straps of my dress back up on my shoulders. I fixed my dress where it had been bunched around my hips.
The whole time I kept my eyes cast down. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
What had I done? Oh God, what was I about to do again?
I had fucked a stranger at a charity event after I had aimed a gun at a man’s head with every intent to pull the trigger.Who the fuck was I?
Finally, I looked up, and he looked back at me. His steel gray eyes guarded, his expression inscrutable. He looked perfectly put together, perfectly at peace, as if nothing had happened.
For whatever reason, that made me feel worse. I was thrown off by my actions, my pussy was swollen from our lovemaking, and he was completely unmoved.
I had to leave. I had to get out of there.
“I have to go.”
He reached out a hand to stop me, but I pulled away, stumbling as I did. It didn’t stop me, though. I had to get away from him…from myself.
And so, I ran.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dario
The waterfrom the showerhead beat at me from all sides, falling down my shoulders, trickling down my back, and then down my legs.
My eyes were closed, one hand wrapped around my dick as I got myself off.
It was a daily ritual now, a ritual I blamed on her.
I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing her. I woke up in the morning, my dick hard for her. If I hadn’t been worried about being arrested, I would have kidnapped her.
Fuck it, I still might.
I braced myself on the cold tile beneath my hands, imagining that the hand wrapped around my dick was hers, imagining that my face was buried in her pussy. And if I breathed in deeply enough, I could smell her in my memory, taste her pussy on my lips.
I could hear the sounds she made when she was about to come. I could feel her ass pushing up against my thighs.
In my imagination, the night hadn’t ended with her running away from me. Not even close. The night had ended with me fucking her until her pussy was almost swollen shut, fucking her on that desk in the room off the balcony, then laying her on thefloor and having her kneel over my face, as I impaled her pussy with my tongue.
I pictured her riding my face, her landing strip tickling my nose, her wetness all over my face. My dick grew even longer and thicker in my hand as I let that thought linger.
I could taste her. Her sweetness. I grunted as I came, feeling spent. I let go of my dick and braced my hands against the walls of the shower. I couldn’t keep going on like this.
It had been two months already. I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around my waist. I grabbed another and wiped my face. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I knew I looked tense and angry. No amount of physical release by my own hands was enough.
Now that I had had a taste of her, now that I knew what it felt like to be part of her, my mind was occupied nonstop by thoughts of her.