Saving Aurora

Chapter 9

Aurora

Looking up, my breath catches when I see the look of burning desire in

his eyes. For me. Before I know what’s happening, his hands are

gently cradling my face as he pulls me into a deep, wet kiss.

Breathless and off balance, I grab hold of the man’s waist and lean into his

strength. Opening myself up further, I taste the warm bite of the onions he ate

with his hamburger earlier. Hungry for more, I find myself rising on my tiptoes. I

shiver as the man’s groans of pleasure reverberate through me.

All too soon, he pulls away and rests his forehead against my own,

whispering, “You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I catch his eyes. The burning desire has warmed into amber pools. I find

myself tightening my hold and swaying further into his body.

No one has ever kissed or touched me the way this man does, with so much

demanding passion, tempered with an almost tender gentleness. I feel my resolve

begin to crumble as my desire for him grows. I should be disgusted with myself,

standing here naked, vulnerable, and half-wanting this man to do whatever he

pleases with me—with my body. Instead, all I feel is confusion at my growing

attraction to this man who won’t even tell me his name.

I may be a virgin, but I am neither naive nor clueless. I’ve read NC-17 Harry

Potter fan-fiction, watched Maple Colors, the Japanese erotic animated series,

and have listened to enough of my friends’ s****l exploits to know what I’m

getting into by being intimate with this man. So, unless he has two d***s, I doubt

anything about being with him would surprise me.

Releasing his hold on me, the man steps back, and in one fluid movement,

reaches behind his shoulders to pull his shirt up and off.

I lean back, taking in his bronzed chest flecked with coarse black hairs. All

man. Unlike the boys I’m used to seeing.

Shaking slightly, I find myself reaching out and placing my palms on his

hard abs. I feel his intake of breath. It emboldens me to run them up his warm

skin until I reach his pecs dusted with wiry, coarse hairs. He holds his breath.

The thought that I have that much power over him sends a thrill of excitement

through me.

The idea to thumb and tease his n*****s comes naturally.

I give into the impulse.

It feels right.

“I only have so much control, Princess,” he groans, grabbing hold of my

wrists and pulling them off his chest.

I bite my lip, attempting to hide my smile.

The man lets go of me and moves toward the large glass shower. Opening the

door, he leans in, and with a long arm turns the knobs until the rain-like

showerhead is spraying down from overhead. It is a hell of a lot nicer than the

shower they’ve been making me use since I arrived.

My smile slips as my thoughts wander back to my grim reality.

The man turns back around and motions me forward. I move toward him

obediently, needing to feel closer to him.

When I’m within touching distance, he snakes his arm around my waist and

pulls me against his solid frame. Sturdy and safe, I can no longer deny that I

want to take refuge in this man’s arms.

Cupping my cheek, he tilts my face up so I’m looking into his melted

caramel eyes. I let my body fall into his as he touches his lips ever so lightly to

my own. I blink up at him, unsure if I’ve imagined the gentleness of his feather￾light kiss.

Pressed against him, the hairs on his chest scratch by breasts, sending tingles

of pleasure through me. Reaching out, I place my hands on his hips, anchoring

myself as I feel my body responding to his.

“Check the temperature to make sure it’s comfortable,” the man tells me,

moving out of the way and reaching down to begin undoing his belt buckle.

The thought of his naked body fills me with nervous excitement, so I quickly

turn and step into the shower.

The steaming spray engulfs me, and my muscles have no choice but to relax

under the constant battering. Standing there, I let myself drown in the deluge.

For a moment I forget everything and enjoy the sensation.

I’m startled back into the present as the man steps into the shower behind

me, the glass door rattling and then clicking closed. The thick steam combined

with his solid presence in such a small space suddenly becomes oppressive.

“Relax.” He grips my arms and slowly turns me to face him.

Now faced with a very naked wet man I attempt to step back, but his fingers

dig into my arms, holding me in place.

I stare.

I have never been this close to a naked man before; unless there was a

computer screen between us. This man is unlike any I have seen. The perfectly

waxed, shaved, and bronzed male models; with their clipped pubic hair and

perfectly tanned skin are nothing like him.

I continue to stare.

I can’t help but smile at the sight of his tan lines banding around his thighs

and waist. The dark hair around his broad half-erect p***s stands out even more

against the pale skin the sun hasn’t reached. I have this insane desire to reach out

and touch him, to feel the smooth hardness in my palm.

“It’s not going to do anything I don’t let it.”

“What?” I look up at him confused.

“My c**k. It’s not suddenly going to leap out and attack,” he teases with a

slight grin.

“Oh,” I say, unsure of how else to reply.

Should I comment on the size and say “It’s big” or “I’ve never seen one like

that.” I bite my lip and stay silent, deciding to let him make the next move.

I don’t have to wait long before he’s wrapping an arm around my waist and

pulling me in close, pressing his lips to mine. I respond, relaxing under the now

familiar taste and feel of this man’s kiss.

I find myself reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck and lean into

him, while one of his hands cups the back of my head and pulls me—if at all

possible—closer. I’m jarred back to reality when I feel his thick erection

pressing against my hip. Pulling out of the kiss, my body is kept in place by the

tight hold he has on me.

For the first time, I notice his long lashes are now wet spikes, adding to the

intensity of his golden eyes. Effortlessly he spins us around so that he is now in

front of the sprayer.

Releasing me, he takes a half-a-step back, moving fully underneath the

showerhead. The man reaches up and pushes back his hair, letting the spray hit

his face. I watch as the droplets slide down his chest, catching in the tuffs of hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mumbles over the spray, bending down to

grab a small washcloth and a tiny unwrapped bar of bland smelling hotel soap

from the shower ledge. The man briefly runs them both under the spray, wetting

the two items, before vigorously rubbing them together. Once he is satisfied, he

turns toward me. “Spread your legs.”

I widen my stance slightly, nervous.

“Further,” he commands, stepping even closer.

As I inch my feet apart, I have a good idea where he plans on using that

washcloth, and the thought of him rubbing the rough fabric against my sex

excites me.

“Use my shoulders to steady yourself.” The man squats down in front of me.

I flush in embarrassment and rock backward as his face becomes level with

my crotch.

“Hold still,” he admonishes, palming my ass and pulling me back toward

him.

It’s one thing to have him touching me, another for him to be staring directly

at my bald and ugly hoohah and flabby thighs. I can almost hear my mother’s

voice in my head telling me I should have used her old Thighmaster.

Starting with my inner thighs, he runs the sudsy washcloth roughly against

my skin before running it between my legs in the same vigorous manner. I hold

my breath, suppressing a moan as his motions press against my c**t. I dig my

fingernails into his shoulders and can’t control my hips as they rock against his

palm. All too soon he stops, leaving me aching for more.

“Sir,” I groan softly, but he either can’t hear me over the spray or ignores my

plea.

With one hand he spreads open my outer folds.

I can feel myself getting wet as he begins to gently and methodically clean

me, running the cloth up and then down, on either side of my c**t, once—twice

—three times. The rough nub of the cloth sends shockwaves of pleasure

throughout my body as he continues to ignore my throbbing c**t.

“Sir,” I groan again. The man looks up with his amber eyes burning and

gives me a cocky satisfied smile. He knows what he’s doing to my body.

“Now the rest of you,” he says, standing up and thoroughly rinsing off the

washcloth before soaping it up again.

“I can do it,” I say, annoyed and not just a little frustrated as I make to grab it

from his hand.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to wash me too,” he says, outright

grinning at my wide-eyed expression. “You first.”

The man gently runs the cloth around my neck and down onto my breast,

teasing my n*****s in the process. With his free hand, he begins to lazily run his

fingers along my side, making me giggle uncontrollably. He tosses the cloth onto

the floor and wraps his arm around me as he continues to tickle me relentlessly.

“Stop,” I sputter, drowning under the spray as I laugh, trying to escape his

hold, which is only causing me to wiggle against his naked body even more.

“Are you ticklish or something?” he asks, grinning down at me and

continuing to run his torturous fingers lightly along my side.

“Yes,” I gasp out, pressing my palms against his chest and creating a space

between our bodies. He takes the opportunity to dip his head and catch my

nipple between his lips.

I sway toward him as the pleasure of his twin assaults engulfs my senses. My

knees start to give way as my body begins to come undone.

“Fuck.” The man pulls me into a quick, hard, wet kiss. “You’re amazing,

Princess.”

Breaking away, he picks up the discarded washcloth and continues what he

started. This time without the tickle-induced pleasure. I’m unsure if I should be

disappointed or not.

It’s hard to be too upset when the man begins to shampoo my hair and

massage my scalp. This man may be a lot of things, but unfortunately for me

he’s also the best hair shampooer I’ve ever experienced. Describing his strong

fingers as they slowly worked through my hair, gently tugging at the roots

doesn’t do the feeling justice. It’s something you need to experience yourself to

truly understand. Somewhere along the way, from his first rough kiss to his

gentle and methodical rinsing of my hair, I became completely comfortable

being naked with this man. His touch no longer startles me, but only makes me

want more—like an addict.

“Move over,” the man says against my lips, breaking me out of my relaxed

haze with a soft kiss. “Let me quickly wash up.”

Blinking up at him, I take a step back and allow him to stand more fully

under the spray. I watch in fascination as he quickly and efficiently washes. His

muscles ripple as he rubs the bar of soap roughly over his face and chest, the

foamy bubbles catching on his chest hair before being washed down. I watch the

rivulets of water flow until they come to the wiry mass just above his half erect

penis.

I stare transfixed as the man cups himself, washing his balls thoroughly

before stroking himself. Without a thought, I step closer, my hand itching to

reach out and touch him.

“Like what you see?” The man’s voice startles me. Looking up at the gold

flecks sparkling in his eyes as he stares down at me, I bite my lip unable

—unwilling—to admit the truth to him: that I do like what I see.

Dropping the nearly disintegrated soap bar onto the shower ledge, the man

cups my face, gently using his teeth to tug the lip I have been biting before

soothing it with his tongue. Leaning into the kiss, I moan with desire as he

plunders my mouth. The man’s hands move down my back, sending sparks of

pleasure in their wake until he’s cupping my ass and grinding our bodies

together.

“I need a taste,” he growls.

He places his hands on my hips, and my heart races as he steers me

backward so I’m pressed against the rough tiled wall of the shower. I bite my lip

in anticipation as he squats down in front of me.

“Lift your leg over my shoulder,” he instructs, his large hand gripping the

back of my thigh to guide my movements and opening me up further to him.

“Sir,” I cry out; unsteady on one leg. I reach out and grab his arms.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Princess,” the man states, gripping my hips more

firmly in his hands as he turns his head and begins nipping and sucking on the

delicate flesh of my inner, flabby, thigh.

I can’t control my reaction—I’m beyond trying to—and gasp as I’m hit with

a bolt of pleasure.

“I can smell how wet you are,” the man mumbles against my skin, humming

with pleasure.

Another burst of pleasure hits me as he runs his tongue lightly along my bare

folds, teasing me.

The first, only time, I let a man go down on me was anticlimactic in every

sense of the word. I have no doubt this time will be different. This man is

precise, patient, and exacting.

After a few more all too gentle swipes of his tongue, I’m burning with

frustration. My hands find their way into his hair as he begins his unrelenting

assault on my c**t. I’m gasping for breath now and leaning back against the hard

tiled wall as I push my s*x further into his face, all in an attempt to get what I

need from him. Release from this torture.

This man has a power over me that I can’t explain. Everything about him

makes me come apart with pleasure.

It doesn’t take long until he has me writhing against his hold, and then all too

quickly spent and out of breath. I would’ve fallen onto the hard tile floor if he

hadn’t caught me in his arms.

Gripping my ankle gently, the man sets my foot back onto the tile. I sway

slightly as I catch my balance. Standing up, he holds me securely against his

chest with one arm around my waist while his other hand tangles in my hair,

tilting my head back. He kisses me, robbing me of what little breath I have left.

Before I have a chance to enjoy the assault, the man is tucking my head

tightly against his shoulder.

I feel him press a kiss to my forehead, causing me to melt further into his

arms.

He says something that I can’t make out over the noise of the shower spray.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head up to look into his face.

The man grins down at me, slowly gliding his hands down my back until

he’s palming my ass. I can feel his thick erection wedged between us and I find

myself growing excited once again. He grinds our bodies together for several

pleasurable moments before he pulls away entirely. Switching off the shower, he

opens the door and steps out.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, he quickly runs it over his body and then

wraps it around his waist before turning back around to offer me his hand. As I

place my hand in his and step over the threshold, I feel like I’m entering an

entirely new world, one where I feel completely and utterly comfortable with

this man. Against all rationality, I feel safe with him.

Somewhere between my shampoo and the breathtaking orgasm, I came to the

unconscious realization that I want to have s*x with this man, that I want him to

be my first. I know next to nothing about him, but for some insane reason, I trust

he would never hurt me. With his strong, capable hands and warm wet mouth,

not to mention his talented tongue, I have already experienced some of the

pleasures he has to offer. Every cell in my body is humming—craving—for

more.

“Let’s warm you up.” The man takes another warmed towel in one hand and

with the other, palms my ass and moves me closer to his body.

I can feel a contented groan reverberate in his chest as he leans down to

nuzzle my neck.

No longer shy, I lean into his touch, letting my hands run down his sides to

anchor my hold on his hips. The man drops the towel and, using his free hand,

draws me in closer.

“Sir,” I laugh, pushing against his chest and away from him as he

intentionally runs his fingertips lightly along my side. Tickling me.

“What?” He feigns seriousness as I squirm against him. I feel his cock

thicken between us, and my own nervous excitement grows. I’m ready. Ready to

give myself to this man.

“Please,” I beg between breathless laughter.

A loud knocking on the bedroom door breaks the playful spell. I jump at the

sound, and my heart leaps into my throat, making it tight and constricted,

reminding me once again where I am.

The trapped feeling resurfaces, suffocating me.

Enfolding me in his strong arms, the man holds me firmly against his solid

chest. I breathe easier knowing that he doesn’t want to let me go either.

The knocking persists and a muffled raised voice follows it.

“Wait here.” I feel the man’s low growl against my cheek.

Pulling away, he picks the large towel off the floor and wraps it tightly

against my body, fending off the chill that’s set in. “Don’t move.”

The man jerks the bathroom door open and closes it with a snap behind

himself. I move closer and press my ear to it. Holding my breath, I listen as the

bedroom door opens. A muffled masculine voice is speaking in broken English,

and the man replies sharply in what I think is Mandarin. The inaudible

conversation continues for another minute, and I jump when the bedroom door

slams shut.

A moment there is another loud crashing sound and I quickly back away

from the door. Retreating to the corner and sitting on the closed toilet seat, arms

crossed over my chest as I hold the towel more securely against my body, I

barely breathe as I strain to hear any sound coming from the other room.

The man begins speaking English, and I move cautiously back toward the

door in the hopes that I might be able to make out some of the conversation.

There are pauses when he speaks, but I hear no one answering him. He’s either

talking to himself or on the phone.

Slowly, I turn the doorknob and open the bathroom door a crack—just

enough to peek out. From where I’m standing, the man’s lean back, rippled with

muscles, is to me while he stands talking on the phone. I can’t help but

appreciate the view of the low-slung towel around his waist highlighting his

perfectly formed ass. His empty hand rests on his hip, elbow c****d, in a stance

of confident power.

He slams the receiver of the phone back down, and I quickly shut the door

before he can turn around. There are several moments of silence before I hear his

muffled footsteps approaching the bathroom. I resume my place on the toilet seat

as if I’d never moved and wait for him to enter.

I wonder which version of the man will be returning to me. The scowling

angry one or the playful teasing man that I’ve grown attached to.