Page 96 of Sigma

Dammit—even now, he has more presence of mind than I do. His fist crushes on his length, and I know he’s a couple quick movements from releasing. I knock his hands away and clutch his cock, lying beneath him. He’s on all fours, head bowed, shoulders tensed, and now I pump his hard, thick length with everything I’ve got, scooting lower and clenching my tits together in one arm.

He thrusts into my hand, and then he can’t thrust anymore, can only push forward harder as I stroke him faster and faster. “Ohfuck, Corinna,” he grates through gritted teeth.

“Paint my tits with your cum, Apollo,” I whisper. “I want it. I want it.”

His eyes flick open and he growls. “You beautiful, incredible, dirty, perfect fucking girl,” he hisses. “So goddamned perfect…”

I want him to come so hard he sees stars. I let go of my tits and cup his balls, press my finger along the underside and against the hard little knot of muscle—he gasps a broken moan, and I press harder, and stroke faster. I feel his arms shaking, feel his cock throbbing. I massage him with my middle finger, slow firm back-and-forth movements, and I feel him writhing, hunching and bowing spasmodically, trying to fuck my fist but too overcome to have any vestige of control over his movements.

He’s growling, now—no longer a moan but a long unbroken growl.

“Oh f-f-f-f-ffffuuuuuck,” he snarls, molars grinding audibly, “Corinna, fuck, Corinna, I’m coming. Oh fuck I’m coming so hard…”

He releases, then, a gush of hot cum splashing against my tits. Another, and another, and I slow my stroking so my fist crushes down to his root hard, and then I twist at the top, and he jets again, another lesser spurt of cum. I am indeed painted with his cum. It’s dotted and pooling all over my breasts, splashed on each tit and between them and all over me.

He’s still coming.

I keep caressing his length and massaging his prostate until he literally collapses to his back beside me.

He takes my hand, the one smeared with his cum, and holds it, heedless of the sticky mess on his hand.

“Ω Θε? μου. Νομιζω σε αγαπω.” His voice is a whisper, so low I’m not sure he spoke at all, and I can’t tell if he spoke English or not.

“What?” I ask with a breathy laugh. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” His voice is suddenly hard, closed down.

I lift up, his cum dripping down to my belly in slow, sticky rivulets. “Apollo, what did you say?”

He shakes his head, forcing himself to his feet. He stands, but on legs as shaky and unsteady as a newborn fawn. He staggers to the sink and grabs onto it. “Holy fuck, Corinna.” This, with a gasping, breathy laugh.

He snatches the washcloth out of the sink, runs the water till it’s steaming, soaks the washcloth and wrings it out. I lie propped on my elbows, watching him. He comes back to me and kneels beside me. Touches my shoulder to indicate that I should lie down, and I do. He gently wipes me clean, almost gingerly. Worshipfully. Discards the soiled washcloth in the hamper.

Then, he just kneels beside me, staring down at me. His gaze is guarded.

I touch his hand. “Apollo. Please. What did you say? Why won’t you tell me what it means?”

He just stares at me, and sighs. Moves to his feet and walks away without an explanation, leaving me puzzled and not a little hurt. But he returns a moment later with his phone, opens it, brings up an app. Stands beside me, looking down at me with that opaque, unknowable expression back in place—the mask is back. For a moment, I’d been allowed behind it. Beneath it. Whatever he said, it freaked him out and he put the mask back on.

He repeats his statement—in Greek, I assume, since I know a smattering of Spanish and this isn’t that—clearly, into the phone. Taps a button on the screen. He hands the device to me and turns away, twists the shower on.

Not looking at me.

Oh my god. I think I love you.

My hand goes to my mouth, a gasp escaping.

No wonder he’s freaked out.

I mean, it was…a heat of the moment thing. Nothing more.

I stand up—my legs are as shaky as his—and stand behind him. He’s at the shower, frozen in place, hand on the temperature knob, staring into nothing.

I touch his shoulder, and he flinches.

“I didn’t mean it, Corinna,” he murmurs. “I don’t even know…why I said it. Shit, I don’t know what that even…is. What it means.”

“It was…” I think of a cute way of saying it. “Apollo, it was just a verbal ejaculation after a physical one.” I lean against his back. “It’s okay.”