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She moved her hands, reached down and back, wanting to feel him. Her hands made it to his waist but were swiftly pulled off his body. She realized, before the final fog of desire took her completely, he didn’t want to be touched on his torso. He hadn’t taken his T-shirt off earlier, this was the first time he’d been bare chested. But they were in the darkness, and he’d pulled her hands off him. He was doing it again. The scars that Colt had spoken of? Even though they were healed, they clearly still hurt. They would be a map to help her reach the rest of his soul. But not for now. For later, for maybe the rest of their lives, she’d be tracing those scars, trying to find her way to him. For now, though, she’d let him have his darkness. One day, she’d see his fabulous body spread out on crisp white linen sheets, in the bright light of day. He’d look like a barbarian invader, tanned skin and broody looks that would bring civilizations to their knees. Sophie closed her eyes and let these thoughts of a future thunder into her. More pressing than his hard cock against her stomach. More invasive. She welcomed it. She opened to them, and let them in.
He grabbed her wrists together putting them back in front of her, on the wall, both in one of his hands. He pulled them up, held them above her head, her elbows slightly bent. Then, his other hand gripped her hip. He held her against his naked, hot body, his thumb on the front of her hip bone, his fingers gripping. Then her bum cheek, he gripped tight. Then, he moved his hand to her front, down, to her throbbing clit. He touched her, thrummed her like a guitar. His fingers slid over her clit, lightly, but repeatedly. She bit her lip to stifle a groan.
He breathed into her ear. Almost like a blow, a purposeful exhalation of air. Almost like asking for something, coaxing, encouraging. Did he want to hear her? She responded by letting the cry escape her lips. He sighed contentedly, a thank you. He liked it. He liked hearing her. He held her against him with one hand, around her breasts, his palm cupping one of them, his thumb brushing her nipple. The other hand, he returned to between her legs. He ran fingers through her slit, from front to back. Then he gently pushed a finger inside her.
She whimpered. He pulled out and then dipped in again, adding another finger. Holding her against him tightly, almost preciously, and then he thrust with his fingers. Not brutal inane thrusting, literally strumming her. His thumb on her clit, pressing, brushing, his fingers inside her. She sighed and leaned back into him, giving him most of her weight. He held her like a doll, tender and caring.
Until he began gently and slowly rotating his hips against her bottom. Again, not thrusting, a slow rolling around, so slowly, it was almost excruciating. Now she heard a guttural purr in his throat.
She tipped her head back, resting it against him. “Phantom…” she called to him, her voice husky.
She didn’t remember feeling such desire pulling at her, when she’d been intimate with men before now. She had such appreciation in his male form. She liked everything about Phantom’s body and everything she was feeling.
He pulled her hands, pivoting her again, snapping her back around to face him. And then he dropped to his knees suddenly. She went wide eyed, staring down at him. He put his hot mouth on her, nuzzling in between her legs, his nose grazed her clit as he licked into her.
She gasped and her eyes snapped shut again. She felt the strength of that pull all the way to the arches of her feet. She felt her thighs cramping up. With one hand he crushed her sternum to the wall, with the other he pushed one of her thighs back to the wall, and dove right in, consuming her. As if her pussy was the ice cream he craved, the ice cream that seemed to undo him.
He was hungry, needy, messy. She felt the coolness of the air under the wetness from his tongue. He dipped his tongue into her deeply, and snorted with pleasure at the moisture he found there. He took his hand off her sternum, he didn’t put it back on her. He shuddered and his lashings with his tongue stuttered a moment. Sophie opened her eyes and looked down. She couldn’t see his other hand but she saw his elbow moving, rhythmically, up and down. He must have been touching himself. The thought that he had his hand on himself left her chanting his name, on repeat, on a loop.
Her hands slid down the wall without him pinning them up there. They came to rest on his shoulders, and she clung on for dear life. Her body shook, her legs were like jelly. She realized she was almost hanging off him. He pulled away slightly. The room was still almost pitch black. Could he see her? She could barely see him, but that was thrilling in itself. She had to ask for him, she had to progress things. She ached to feel him.
“Phantom, I want you inside me so much. I want to feel your hardness right inside me…” she mumbled. She heard him gasp, she realized he liked hearing things like that. “Take me Phantom, I need you, I’m going to scream for you,” she said. She remembered them together in the shop, pressed against each other. And how he’d hardened under her when she had tried to scream. He stood up now and ground himself against her, his hand continued to play her, and she felt the build up within her.
She opened her mouth and screamed. She wasn’t coming yet, but the build up was just as terrifying. Like a rollercoaster going backwards, forced up to dizzying new heights at such a rapid ascent. Like she was on an elevator stuck going up too fast. She let out a long scream.
Like she was fucking the darkness itself.
No one had ever touched him affectionately, like they needed him. Like they wanted him, trusted him. Her arms on his shoulders, resting there, behind his head, around his neck, as she arched into him. Clinging to him like he gave her life. No, normally he took life, normally his victims pushed him away, writhed and flinched and fought against him. She didn’t, she was melting into him. She was screaming for him. The sound excited him like nothing else had ever done.
He was getting close now. His hand on himself, driving him to the edge.
Sophie. He wished he could say her name. He wanted to say to her, I want you to come, and then I’m going to push inside you and I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow. He couldn’t say it. But he wanted to, and the bold thought of it almost made him feel drunk, delirious.
“Phantom, oh, Phantom…” she was breathing, no longer air in her lungs, his name, him, only him.
Her whispering his name almost undid him. Almost. She had completely given herself to him, he knew he held most of her body weight and much more in his hands. He felt her wetness in between her legs, not water from the shower, from her. She arched against him, pushing her body nearer to his, opening up to him. He couldn’t resist moving against her a little. He told himself just a little at first. But the pressure and friction was not enough. He wanted more. So he pushed harder, pushing into her, going through the motions as if he were actually inside her. He wasn’t, he was painfully aware of that. Did he continue for now, or did he hold back and wait to come into her later? He couldn’t make a decision. He couldn’t think. His capacity to think was waning. He was just feeling.
And then he was no longer feeling, but tasting. Her hot, sweet, wet body against his. Her wetness, from her core. Her trust. How long had it been since he had tasted that? Too long. When had he last tasted a warm, naked woman against his tongue? Needing him, trusting him, guard down, letting him in completely?
“Phantom,” she continued to breathe.
Not his real name, he suddenly thought.
He was teetering on the edge now. He had to pull himself away a fraction, he wanted to teeter there, he slowed his pumps, luxuriating in the feeling of breathless pleasure-pain. He wanted to say…
“Eli,” he corrected her with a whispered rasp.
“Eli,” she breathed, almost with relief.
She heard and understood. She always heard him. She always made the time to listen.
She was moving now, too. Pushing herself into him. He picked up the pace, his circular motion became a simpler forward and back thrust. He could just slip his cock inside her here and now. Rather than press against her like this. But he liked feeling her like this, feeling her here, right in front of his chest, hell, right in front of his heart. She was completely exposed, giving herself to him. Needing him. Wanting him. And he was completely naked for her. That in itself was a huge risk, he knew. But he’d stripped his clothes off anyway. He could keep her away, but he wanted to feel her against him. He just wanted a little taste. A little sample of what a normal life would have been like. Normal love making. Normal fucking. Whatever it was they were about to do.
He kept going with his hands, both of them, playing with different parts of her. He kept his hip action going, pushing his hard erection against her, again and again, his piercing caught against her wet pussy lips, teasing himself, pushing himself.
She started tensing under his touch. He wanted to ask, are you close, little Sugar Plum Fairy? He hadn’t wanted to ask anyone anything for years. He wanted to ask her now. He didn’t, couldn’t, but he breathed into her ear again. She had taken that as a cue earlier to share how she felt. She could do it again. She didn’t, she just breathed. He bit her ear lobe, a little snap. Come on, Sugar, talk to me, he urged silently.
“Eli, yes, yes…” she squeaked back at him, her voice rising. “So close, so wet, for you.”
