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He withdrew and chuckled, a wicked little snigger. I waited, the tip of his cock nudged, and he entered me again with the same measured intrusion. He went deeper this time, striking my belly and letting me know he was big. I pictured his thick cock, coated with my juices, and I inhaled deeply. I could do this.
“Too slow?” He dallied inside me, rocking his hips about, making me feel every inch of his girth and length.
“Yes. Oh, please, faster.”
“How fast?” He gyrated against me, when I wanted him to go in and out. He was stirring my pussy, not fucking it. “What tempo, Callie?”
I stuttered, trying to guess at his game. Too fast, he would deny me. I had to think of the middle ground. “Moderato?” I offered.
He withdrew. “A moderate pace. Hmm, let’s see what I can do,” he teased.
He thrust into me, and I sighed in relief. No more tiresome penetrations. Then he slipped backward, sliding out until he hovered at the brink, and another thrust. I groaned in frustration. Still too slow for my needy pussy. I liked the pace, the roughness against the G-spot.
“Not enough?” he chortled.
“Meanie,” I snapped back at him.
“Now, now,” he chastised. “This is my turn. My cock wants to sample all of you, a leisurely indulgence.”
I buried my head in my arms, raising my bottom higher and shuffling my knees as far apart as the vest allowed.
“Teasing me? Tsk. What do you really want, Mausi?” he asked, leaning over me.
I wanted to shout presto, or even prestissimo. The fastest speed on a metronome—the one where the hand whizzed back and forth and sent pangs of anxiety into a musician’s heart. How could anyone play that fast?
“Allegro, vivace, I don’t know… Please, Stefan,” I implored.
“A lively pace. Very well, Mausi. You asked, so you will receive.” He edged his voice with a delicious tone, making it deeper and richer.
I glanced over my shoulder. He’d whisked his pants farther down and pulled up his shirt. Now I’d feel his skin touch mine, his warmth against me. I whipped my head back around and grasped hold of the edge of the life jacket—I’d need it to cling onto.
He gripped my hips, hooking his fingers under the bony part. He took a breath.
He delivered a pounding, energizing, heart-stopping fuck. My breasts shook, swinging about, my hair lashed my face, whipping into my eyes and behind, his hips smashed into my bottom. I felt the surge of my juices as he fucked me in time to his newfound rhythm. I imagined the metronome, ticking away, beating time with his thrusts.
“Uh,” I grunted with each stab of his cock. If my knees hurt, or my elbows, I didn’t notice. I forgot where we were. The strange surroundings and the water lapping about the posts of the jetty blurred into the periphery of my senses.
I took pleasure in his hands, because he used them so sensually. The talon-like grip on my fleshy buttocks, the way he dug his fingernails into me, making me mewl, and the tender strokes across my back. He judged me perfectly, never hurting me or taking me out of my limited depths of experience.
I battled the niggling voices buried in the back of my head. The ones that told me this was not lovemaking, this was raw, sexual energy with little romance and no accompanying tender words. He might pause to snatch a kiss on the nape of my neck, to cup a breast and pinch the nipple or to fasten a grip on my shoulders. However, none of these flirtatious intervals spoke of love. What fired us both into a state of passion-driven hunger was when he looped my hair around his hand and held it tightly. My scalp prickled and my nipples stiffened with excitement. I adored the way he kept me in place, unable to escape his clutches or avoid the inevitable climax—another superlative orgasm.
Stefan came with a cry. His thrusts turned from pummels to gentle knocks as at first he waned then stilled. He remained buried deep inside me, ensuring that every drop of his essence spilled out and filled me.
He had to coax me to get dressed. He retrieved tissues from the rucksack to help clean my leakage, but otherwise, we could do little about my ravished state until we’d made the brief journey back to the house. Fumbling with buttons and shoelaces, I loitered on some other plane of existence. I’d characterize it as an almost drunken stupor. I watched him lock up the boathouse, grinning inanely at him every time he glanced in my direction, to which he would reply with a charming, if condescending, shake of his head. I was quite chilled and relaxed, just as he’d intended. He’d bounced back from his sexual exploits with vigorous energy.
“Come on.” He snatched my hand.
I dragged my dopey feet back up the track.
“I have to go fetch my father.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten his filial duties. The reminder snapped me out of my dreamy state.
He opened the car door for me. “You can stay at the house. I’m not sure how long it will take.”
Alone again. Today was our last day together. Until when?
Chapter Nineteen
