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Wake up, Lina. Tell me the fuck to stop.
But she sleeps, and I reverse the direction of my hand, pushing the inky blackness up her pale legs until there’s a balloon of fabric around her waist. I torture myself with playing a guessing game of how slick her slit is underneath the matching black silk.
After years of fantasizing about touching her, it’s as much as I can take. I pride myself on being strong when it matters, but when it comes to her, I’m weak. I’ve always been weak for her. It’s my weakness that’s put us in this fucked-up situation, but as long as I have her in my bed, messy in my sheets, I can’t make myself care. I can’t even summon guilt. I’ve lost my conscience a long time ago in a cold cell behind bars. The only thing I can focus on is the hardness of my cock and the need to get off.
Pulling off my clothes, I get down on the bed beside her. I press my side against her breast and hipbone. Gently, I run my fingers over her arm, down and up, over her breasts. Her nipple turns hard for me, every time. Good girl. There are plenty more games we’re going to play where she’ll give me her body, and I’ll learn how to read it. I’ll learn how to please her until she screams. My hand moves over her stomach and between her legs where her skin is warmer, damper. Fuck. Down her thigh and knee to her ankle. With every stroke my cock thickens more. Christ, does she know what she does to me?
The high of having her here, like this, of doing to her whatever my heart desires, is like a drug. I could punish her because she conspired with her father and gave her virginity to my enemy. I should punish her for defying the most important rule I laid down when I brought her to my house. Most of all, I want to punish her because she turns me into a weak man for wanting her. Or, I can admit the truth, that I’m a broken man who doesn’t need a reason. I want to punish her because it makes me hard. I’m a bastard and a devil, because I’m going to use her.
Grabbing my cock in my fist, I drag the head over her naked hip. The contact with her skin makes me hiss. In one of the most defining moments of my life, she sleeps soundly, unconscious to the madness of my lust. It’s been six years since I laid my hands on a woman’s body, six years since I buried my cock in the velvet fist of a pussy. My load is about to blow, and still, she doesn’t move. I’m a shipwrecking storm, and she’s the welcoming quiet of the ignorant beach.
It takes everything I’ve got and some more to pull away from her unconscious body and pump into my fist. I groan, none too softly. If she’s going to wake up it’s now, but she sighs again. I thrust faster, squeezing the base until the pain becomes a trigger for the pleasure. I fuck her black-clad body so hard with my eyes, I shoot within seconds like a horny teenager watching his first porn. My breathing is heavy. Her panties are soaked with my cum, the slickness wasted on silk instead of skin. The sheets are soiled too, and it’s not enough, not by far, but I fucking promised myself it wouldn’t be like this. All I can do is pull her against my softening cock and close my eyes.
If I didn’t touch her, it doesn’t matter.
It’s a lie, because in my head, it’s the same.
Still, on a demented level, I’m happy. She’s here, and she’s mine. I love her in silk, but I prefer her naked. If she has to be dressed, I’ll take any color over black. She’s my wife, not a widow. I keep on telling myself that until my body slows down enough for my lust to take a secondary place to filling my lungs with oxygen, to simply living. Slowly, our breathing falls into sync as if it has always been one.
The time on my wristwatch shows it’s past five in the morning. I have to get up for my work out and run. I’ve been out cold for over four hours, the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep I’ve had in six years. I take a moment to enjoy the warmth of Lina’s body. I’ve fucked a lot of women before I laid eyes on her, but I’ve never slept next to one. It’s a first, and I like it. I like that it’s her. I like the way we fit. My hand seems to find its way all by itself to the delicate column of her neck, always drawn to her body, always needing to touch. Pushing the nightdress off her shoulder, I press my lips against the exposed skin.
