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His hands are on me, my breasts, and suddenly, he is shucking off my nightgown over my head. I help him by slipping off my fragile panties.
And I’m naked, and he is naked. The sheet is off. His penis rises – hard as brick. I seize it, my need escalating. He flips me onto the bed so that my back is pressed deep against the mattress. I’m sinking into it as his hips straddle mine. My skin is overheated and the ache in my loins actually surpasses anything I have ever experienced before.
He murmurs, “I need you, I want you. Please – ”
Such is his urgency that I don’t caution him when his bare cock stubs my pussy hole. I’m already so wet I’m practically oozing. We are too caught up in our shared fervor for condoms. Besides, I’m on the pill, and he hasn’t had sex with anyone for two years. So I’m willing to take the risk.
Little did I know then that the risk I’m taking will be far eclipsed by what will be coming.
“May I?” There is such heat in his voice.
His eyes burn into mine, and I nod.
His cock plunges into me. It occurs to me that his unbridled lust is more out of prolonged abstinence than any raging attraction for me. OK, maybe both. It certainly hasn’t been two years for me (not even two months, I believe) and my vaginal canal is once again pushed apart by that familiar rush of spearing flesh.
He begins to move inside me in earnest – short, sharp bursts of penile activity that is more enthusiasm than technique.
As he fucks me, his mouth bends down to kiss me again. He is a phenomenal kisser, even if he does not have as much finesse as a stud. But I don’t mind. He is perfect in every other way. Thank goodness he is huge. His girth stretches me and fills me right up to the cone of my cervix.
I lie back and let him move within me. I close my eyes to savor him. I almost can’t believe it. I’m making love to David Kinney. I envision all the girls on my old Internet fan board turning green with envy.
His breathing grows more labored. His cock stabs me with more effort and alacrity. I brace myself to ascend the familiar upslope. I need him to give me more time. I try to angle my hips upward to meet the force of his thrust, but he quashes me flat.
Just as I want to whisper to him to give me more space – to allow me to shift a little – he utters a cry and floods my vagina with his semen. Oh! I sink back into the mattress and let his warm tide gush into me. I’m disappointed because I haven’t come yet, and there appears to be no chance of that now because he is pulling his softening and very wet penis out of me.
This was not how I envisioned my first sexual encounter with Ethan Greene to be. I had expected more . . . fireworks. I wanted more time and latitude and longitude. I wanted to be fucked out of my brains. I wanted to scream into the ceiling and be infused with so much pleasure that my head would burst. I want him to make me cum and cum again until I’m hoarse and ragged and out of my wits.
He rolls off me, still panting. I manage to catch his eyes, which are glazed as if he is on a drug trip. Has he taken any drugs before I came in? I doubt it. I certainly haven’t seen any lying around. He was perfectly lucid.
He lies on his side, not speaking to me.
Instead of calming down, his breathing grows more labored.
I sit up, concerned.
“Ethan? Are you all right?”
How much do I know about him anyway? He hasn’t complained of asthma attacks, but then . . . you never know.
His eyes are closed and his chest is moving up and down – like bellows being pumped. Suddenly, his face contorts with agony.
Now I’m alarmed. I touch his arm.
“Ethan?”
His eyes snap open. In them, there is a strange light, as though the room has shifted to another angle within the space of seconds. His features have gone calm.
Transformed.
“Who the fuck is Ethan?” he growls.
12
“Ethan?” I cry out, frightened.
His green eyes have gone extremely dark, as though they are now fuelled by a different fire. They take my naked body in, roaming down my breasts, my belly . . . my wet, just-been-fucked pussy. And I’m scared, because the fire in his eyes is suddenly so monstrous, so feral, so surreal.
It’s such a sudden and total switch.
He’s looking down at me as if I’m a delectable meat morsel. He even licks his lower lip – a sensual swipe of his wet tongue.
“Ethan?” He grins, as though he is remembering something and finding it hilarious. “Fuck Ethan. I’m Lothar.”
“Lothar?” The fear is evident in my voice. He is perched above me, all a hundred and ninety plus pounds of him. His hand strokes my arm.
“Yeah.”
His hand moves to my right breast. His fingers and thumb encircle my nipple. He plumps it up with slow, deliberate, oscillatory movements. As though he’s trying to tune me up like a radio dial.
