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It’s the chase. That’s what I want to tell myself. It’s not that I need to lie to myself. It’s just hard to find the truth in the fucked-up slush I call my heart. Maybe I simply want the things I glimpsed in her, the bravery and the love that made her strong enough to take this–– what’s happening right now––and nine more years of it for the sake of her brother.
My mind tends to be overactive. It rarely shuts down, not even in sleep, but all of my logical thoughts still as I stare down at her body. She’s laid out stiff and straight on the white sheet, her hair fanning over the pillow. I reach for the button of my collar. As it pops through the buttonhole, she gulps. Her fingers dig into the sheet. If her body tenses any more, she’s going to snap like a twig.
I’m many things, including a killer. I know I’m a scary son of a bitch. I own mirrors, and I’m not afraid to look in them. I see what she sees in her eyes. They’re wide and moist in the light that falls from the scullery. The room isn’t cold, but she shivers in her nightgown. Inexplicably, this touches me. The women I usually fuck don’t shiver. To soften it for her, I turn the scarred side of my face away when I switch on the light of her room.
With the sheet discarded at her feet, I take the hem of her nightgown and move it up over her body, exposing her thighs, cotton panties, and her full breasts that, like her eyes, are too big for her body. She’s perfect. Her calves are toned and her ankles tapered. I can see her pubic bone beneath the humble fabric of her underwear, and even the sight of the simple cotton hardens my cock. Careful to tamper my lust down a notch, I take my time to study the swell of her stomach and the way her breasts slightly flattens to the sides. Her nipples are a dark pink, exactly like I prefer. For the moment, those peaks aren’t contracted, but I know how to remedy that, despite her fear. I’ve had enough partners to accurately read a woman’s body and give her what she needs.
To ease the tightness in my chest, I undo two more buttons, letting the cool air wash down my torso. When I climb onto the foot of the bed, the first sound leaves Valentina’s lips. It’s something between a sob and a gasp. I much rather prefer a moan. I fold my hands around her narrow feet. She jerks as if I shocked her with a stun gun. Slowly, I run my hands up her legs, over her hips, and up her ribs. Goosebumps break out over her skin. Careful not to touch any erogenous zones, I reverse the path, keeping the touch light. My cock twitches in the constraints of my pants, pushing painfully against my zipper, but this isn’t about me. It’s about setting her at ease and bringing her pleasure. After a long time of stroking her like this, she’s still incompliant, but her muscles are less tense. With each caress, I move closer and closer to her breasts, until my fingertips skim inches away from her nipples. Even as they finally contract for me with the tips turning into little pebbles, she fights it, pursing her lips almost as hard as she’s squeezing her knees together. She’s holding back, watching my every action, trying to contemplate my next move instead of giving over to the feeling.
“Close your eyes, Valentina.”
“Are you going to rape me?”
I chuckle. “No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Getting to know your body.”
“You’re not going to fuck me?”
“Eventually, yes. When you beg me.”
Her eyes glisten like cold tiger eye gemstones. “That will never happen.”
“You talk too much. Close your eyes and shut your mouth, or I’ll be forced to blindfold and gag you.”
My words have the desired effect. She seals her lips and pinches her eyes shut. I retrace my movements, starting a slow rub from her feet to the underside of her arms. After a few minutes of stroking her like this, a flush spreads over her skin, marring her neck and the upper curve of her breasts. The erogenous zones of her body will be filling with blood, making her breasts heavy and her sex swollen, preparing her for penetration. This is the cue I’ve been waiting for. Drawing circles around her hardening breasts, I close the spiraling trace of my fingers until I’m outlying her areolas. I watch her nipples tighten more, extending into kissable pinnacles I ache to feel on my tongue. Ignoring the hunger that makes my balls draw tight, I roll her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and am rewarded with a gasp that sounds very different now. There’s a crescendo of pleasure and an undertone of shame. The mixture is an intoxicating sound, one I take perverse pleasure in. I want to own her feelings, her whimpers, her pleasure, and her breaths. Like a signal, her hips lift. I know what her body is asking for, and I know she’ll fight it. I need total surrender.
