Perfect Strangers

24

I’m in a thick, sweet stupor of pleasure.

I’ve never been petted like this. Certainly not by someone who looks like he does, or by someone for whom the mere act of exploration and appreciation of my body seems so sacred. He’s learning my curves with his hands, mapping the hills and valleys of my flesh with his avid eyes. I’ve never seen a man look so enraptured. So spellbound and beguiled.

Simply put, it’s intoxicating.

“I love the way you look at me,” I whisper as he gazes, mesmerized, at his hand cupping my breast. Any self-consciousness I might have had about my body has evaporated by the awed way his eyes drink me in.

He lifts his gaze to mine. The intensity of emotion reflected in his eyes is stunning. For one heart-stopping moment, I can’t breathe.

“And I love to look at you, beautiful Olivia,” he whispers back, his voice hoarse. “It’s a privilege I don’t deserve, but one I’m so grateful for.”

A lump forms in my throat. Something inside my chest tightens. I suddenly feel as if I’m going to cry.

He knows. I know he does, because he wraps me up in his arms and squeezes me tight, kissing my neck and shoulder and rocking me gently. I don’t understand what’s happening, why this should suddenly feel like…like so much.

But it does. Whatever’s happening between us, it feels big.

It feels real.

And that feels terrifying.

When I inhale a hitching breath, he murmurs my name. It sounds like a prayer.

Then he’s kissing me again, passionately, making low noises deep in his throat. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and lean against him, sucking in a breath through my nose when his clever fingers find the center of me.

He pulls a cushion off the back of the sofa and repositions it. “Lie back.”

I recline, stretching out on the cushion and lifting my arms overhead so all of me is available to him.

Blue eyes burning, he murmurs, “Christ. Look at you.”

I’ve never felt this pretty. Pretty and feminine and powerful, all because this beautiful man is worshipping me with his possessive hands and ravenous eyes.

He bends over me, cupping my breast and drawing one of my n*****s into his hungry mouth. As he swirls his tongue around and around, stopping occasionally to suck, I sink my fingers into his hair and exhale a ragged breath, my heart beating like a hammer.

The hammering gets worse when James whispers against my skin, “I want to spank your pussy.”

He lifts his head and stares at me, waiting for an answer.

Instead of words, I simply hold his gaze and part my thighs.

His eyelids flutter. He moistens his lips. The pulse in his neck is going wild.

I’m not sure which one of us is more excited, him or me.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

I whisper, “I know.”

Somehow, I actually mean it.

He kisses me, softly, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, all the heat I saw from moments ago has hardened into something different.

Something darker…and far more dangerous.

Electricity crackles over my skin, pebbling my flesh into goosebumps. In the same moment that James lifts his hand, I stop breathing, my eyes widening and my heart exploding with small animal panic.

His arm flashes down. He slaps me smartly between my spread legs.

It sends a violent shockwave of pleasure jolting through me.

I moan, arching, my eyelids sliding shut and my thighs opening wider.

At my reaction, James inhales a hard breath. Then he lets loose a stream of the hottest, filthiest words I’ve ever heard, spoken through gritted teeth as he slaps me again. And again.

And again.

Delirious, I cry out, writhing in his lap like a wild thing, something released from its shackles. Any shame I might have expected to feel is absent. There’s only the throbbing wet heat between my legs, the incomprehensible pleasure of his hard hand colliding with my tender flesh, and the hypnotic sound of his voice as he praises me and tells me everything he feels in the most shockingly obscene and thoroughly erotic language.

“—so f*****g beautiful, I can’t wait to f**k this sweet cunt—”

My climax hits in a series of violent contractions that leave me screaming.

“—my hard c**k pounding deep inside you—”

“James! James!”

“—come so deep inside this gorgeous wet p***y—”

I sob, overcome with sensation, oblivious to anything but his voice and the convulsions wracking my body, knowing in a hidden dark corner of my brain that we’ve each unleashed something in the other. Something long suppressed or forgotten, some unnameable, powerful force that only time will reveal to be good or bad.

This casual summer fling has the potential to burn the whole city down and leave a path of smoking ruins in its wake.

Then it’s over, and he’s kissing me.

And I’m a crying, shaking mess in his lap.

“Hush. Sweetheart, you’re okay. It’s okay. Here, put your arms around me.”

His words are so gentle now. So tender. The contrast shreds me up even more. He gathers me into his arms, cradles me against his chest, and starts to rock me, smoothing his hands over my hair and down my back.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know why I’m c-crying.” I hiccup, sniffling, my face buried in his neck.

He says warmly, “Because I’m a s*x god. Obviously.”

I start to laugh through my tears. “I could’ve been faking it, you egomaniac.”

He tips my head up with a finger under my chin and looks deep into my eyes. Smoothing a thumb over my wet cheek, he murmurs, “Except you weren’t faking it, sweetheart.”