Perfect Strangers

Alarmed, I say, “Now, hold on a minute—”

“Up you go.”

He stands, pulls me up by my arms, then sits and pulls me face down onto the sofa, my belly over his lap, bare ass in the air. Pressing one hand flat between my shoulder blades and using the other to squeeze an exposed butt cheek, he ignores my frightened bleating and says, “I’m not going to hurt you. I will. Not. Hurt. You. Do you understand?”

I struggle to look at him over my shoulder, but can’t rise because of that big hand pinning me down. “You’re already hurting me!”

“How?”

I cast around frantically for a word, then decide on, “Psychically!”

“I’m hurting your psyche,” he says sarcastically. “Really.”

He begins to slowly massage my butt, running his hand back and forth over my cheeks and squeezing, gently stroking down between my parted thighs.

I fall still and take a moment to uncross my eyes before answering. “Um…yes.”

He whispers, “Liar,” and gently pinches my labia.

My heart pounds so hard I can’t catch my breath. “James…”

“Yes, Olivia?” Calm. Solicitous. He’s completely in control, and he knows it.

“I…I…” As he slowly rubs his fingers back and forth through my wetness, I bury my face into the sofa cushion and squeeze shut my eyes. I whisper, “That actually kind of feels good.”

Laughter warms his voice. “Kind of?”

His fingers slip down farther and begin to stroke my clitoris. Lazily, gently. He’s in no hurry to get to the slapping part of the festivities, and neither am I.

His erection is a hard bulge against my hip, but he makes no indication that he’s concerned with anything other than calming me down and winding me up.

Of their own will, my hips begin to move in time with his fingers.

He pushes my hair off my face and whispers hotly, “You’re so beautiful. You make me so hard. Your beautiful ass and pussy make my dick so fucking hard, and so does your trust.”

I’m gasping for air and trembling madly. I feel like I’m going out of my mind.

He gently tugs on my clit. I make a soft, incoherent moan of pleasure.

In his dark, dominant voice, James says, “I’m going to spank you now, Olivia. Six times to start, then I’ll see how you’re doing. Are you ready?”

Terror lights all my nerve endings on fire. “Not hard,” I plead.

“Not hard, sweetheart,” he promises. “Just breathe.”

The second he takes his hand away from between my legs, I tense in anticipation of what’s coming. My mind explodes with panic.

What the hell am I doing? This is ridiculous! You’re thirty-eight years old, Olivia, how can you possibly allow a man to take you over his lap and spank you like a misbehaving little—

CRACK!

The flat of James’s hand makes contact with my bare ass with a sound that seems as loud as gunfire. I jerk, yelping, my eyes flying open and my body stiffening.

James croons, “Breathe,” and smooths his hand over the stinging spot on my behind.

I’m quaking. In sheer terror or blistering arousal, I’m not sure which. Probably both. The sound was worse than the sting, neither of which compare to the fear I built up in my head over how bad it might be. I was expecting pain, but this is…well, it’s not not pain, but it doesn’t hurt my butt half as much as it hurts my ego to admit that I’m pretty sure I liked it.

The instant James feels the tension leave my body, he rains down five more stinging blows on my bare ass, alternating cheeks as I squeal and squirm.

Then he stops and smooths his hand around, stroking my burning skin and murmuring praises.

Between my legs, I’m soaked.

He commands, “Talk to me.”

I try to stop panting long enough to speak. “I would if I…could form…any words…”

He reaches between my legs and gently explores my folds, rubbing his fingers back and forth over my swollen clit. “Oh fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so wet. You loved that, didn’t you?”

Maybe it’s the reverent tone of his voice. Or maybe it’s the waves of pleasure his magical fingers are producing. Or maybe it’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve let go. Whatever the reason, the logical part of my brain blinks offline, leaving me feeling wild, uninhibited, and blindingly alive.

The words break from my chest in one long, breathless rush.

“Yes I loved it and I want you to spank me until I come and then I want you to fuck me until I come again and then I want to suck you off until you come and then I want to do it all over from the beginning.”

As if from far away, I hear the low, animal growl that rumbles through his chest. Then he flips me over and pulls me upright, settling me between his spread thighs. He kisses me hard with one hand fisted in my hair and the other around my throat as I tremble and whimper with desire.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, but I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he says gruffly, breaking away from my mouth and breathing hard as he looks into my eyes. “You said you didn’t want to jump right into bed with me, and I’m respecting that.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Nooo, I didn’t say that. Whoever said that was a stupid, stupid person.”

“I don’t have a condom anyway.”

And I’m not on birth control, so it’s a definite no-go.

I close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder, hiding my face. A shudder of disappointment runs through me. The ravenous ache between my legs howls with need.

“But we’re not done yet,” he whispers, working at the belt around my wrists.

He unwraps it and flings it to the floor, then tugs on the hem of my T-shirt. I lift my arms overhead, and he drags the shirt off me and tosses it aside. He makes quick work of the hooks on my bra strap and tosses it aside, too, then pulls off my jeans and panties after I kick off my shoes.

Then I’m sitting nude in his lap, resting in the circle of his strong arms.

He begins to fondle me, my breasts and arms and hips, kissing me as he strokes and squeezes me in all my soft, secret places, sighing against my mouth when I arch back and part my thighs.

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 nipples 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 fucking beautiful, I can’t wait to fuck this sweet cunt—”

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

“—my hard cock pounding deep inside you—”

“James! James!”

“—come so deep inside this gorgeous wet pussy—”

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 sex 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.”

The way he keeps calling me sweetheart is screwing with my mind.

Or is it my heart?

“Talk to me,” he says, brushing his lips over mine. “You’re all up in your head. How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Scared. Confused. Satisfied. Thirsty. Worn out. And I need to pee. “Um…I feel good.”

James surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing.

“What?” I ask, a little defensive.

“I think the only time you’re unflinchingly honest with me is when I’ve got my hand between your legs is what. You want to try that again?”

I grouse, “Stop grinning at me like that. It’s not exactly easy for me to talk about my feelings.”

His smile dies. With the speed of two fingers snapping, he grows somber, staring at me with a furrow dug between his brows. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

I stare at him, helpless against his devastating combination of sweet sensitivity and raw masculinity. How is this perfect man single?

I drop my head against his chest and sigh. “Okay, here goes. For starters, I feel—physically—amazing. I mean, wow, James. You’ve reduced me to a smoking pile of ashes. That was incredibly intense.”

When I pause, he says quietly, “I’m glad. Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot to me. You have no idea how special that is, and how much of a turn on it is for me to watch you fall apart under my hands.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Someone’s feeding you lines through an earpiece, aren’t they? You’ve got a team of script writers on call 24/7, and right now they’re frantically scribbling the most outrageously romantic things they can think of and whispering them into your ear. Right?”

“Oh yes,” he says seriously. “It costs a pretty penny, mind you, but it’s totally worth it.”

When I peek up at his face, he’s biting his full lower lip and trying hard not to smile.

He’s so handsome it hurts.

In the dim of the apartment, with only the moonglow and the city lights shining through the windows to light his face, he looks like something from a dream. Part myth and part man, a visiting angel sent in all his dark beauty to dazzle me with his charms.

The swell of emotion I felt earlier returns and begins to expand inside my chest. My heartbeat picks up a notch. I have the strangest sensation of weightlessness, as if gravity has vanished and I’m floating in outer space with nothing holding me down to the ground.

His gaze locks onto mine, and those blue, blue eyes of his…they do what they do best.

Burn.

“Tell me the rest,” he demands in a rough tone, all teasing gone. “Tell me what you’re feeling right this second.”

My lips part. The words are whispered as I gaze into the endless depths of his eyes. “Every single thing I thought I’d never feel again.”

His face contorts. He looks as if I’ve just stabbed him in the gut.

When he looks away, drawing a deep breath, I go cold with horror. What the hell have I done?

“It’s my turn to apologize,” I say stiffly, trying to sit up. “That was over the top. We’re not supposed to be getting person—”

“Stop.”

He grabs my arms and holds me in place so I can’t stand. We sit in silence for a moment as I listen to his irregular breathing and watch the erratic rise and fall of his chest. Then he swallows and slowly exhales, and I catch a glimpse of how hard he’s trying to hold himself together.

“What we just did is about as personal as it gets, regardless of whether or not we exchange histories.” A muscle flexes in his jaw. His voice turns gravelly. “I love that you said that. It was just…unexpected.” His eyes close. “This whole thing is unexpected. I’m afraid I’m not handling it very well.”

I’m drenched in shame. Burning with it. All my skin is peeling off, eaten away by the acid of humiliation.

I took something insanely sexy and fun and turned it into melodrama, and for that I’d like to punch myself in the face.

“I guess I’m not either,” I say, my voice tight. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He swings his head around and stares at me with that same gut-stabbed look. “No, it’s not a bad idea,” he says urgently, pulling me closer to his chest. “Please don’t say that.”

I crinkle my brow, utterly confused. “James, you’re going to have to help me out here. You asked me to be totally honest with you. You asked me to tell you my feelings, and I did. Then you freaked out. Then I freaked out because you freaked out. And now…” I huff in frustration. “I honestly don’t know what’s happening now.”

He rests his cheek against my forehead and quietly sighs, gathering me close against his body and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. “What’s happening is that I’m a fucking idiot.”

When it becomes obvious that’s the only explanation I’ll get, I say drily, “Oh good. That explains everything, thanks.”

He lifts his head and slants me a heated look. “Someone’s looking for her ass to get spanked.”

I smile sweetly at him. “No, actually I’m looking for a neck brace, because these mood swings of yours are giving me a serious case of whiplash.”

I’m about to add another smart remark along the lines of “Did you forget to take your medication?” when I realize that might be a legitimate question.

He could be medicated. He could be completely unhinged for all I know.

His eyes narrow. “If you’re thinking I’m a serial killer or something, the answer is no.”

I exhale a shaky breath. How the hell can he read my mind?

“I’m just fucked up, Olivia. It’s nothing sinister. You’re not in any danger from me. I’m just very fucked up, and I don’t know how to be normal anymore, and I hope…I mean I want…” He blows out a hard breath, then mutters, “Fuck.”

Watching him look so wretched and hearing how negatively he thinks about himself gives me a one-two combo punch of sadness and maternal instincts right in my solar plexus.

“Hey,” I whisper, taking his face in my hands. His cheeks are hot. The stubble on his jaw tickles my palms. “Fucked up I get, okay? Fucked up I’m good with. Me and fucked up are best friends, if you want to know the truth. So don’t feel bad about that. Please don’t feel bad about anything.

“This is completely unexpected for me, too, but I think you’re amazing. I feel amazing when I’m with you.” I pause for a moment. “Actually I feel hysterical and on the verge of a mental breakdown or a massive heart attack most of the time I’m with you, but in a good way, if that makes sense. You make me feel…”

I have to stop to think of just the right word. It comes to me accompanied by a deep sense of astonishment.

“You make me feel alive.”

In the low light, James’s eyes shine like gems. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Wrapped tightly around me, his arms shake. So does his voice when he says, “Same.”

One word. One syllable. Yet it conveys his true emotions more clearly than if he’d gone on and on.

I imagine a tightrope stretched out in front of me, stretched high and taut over bottomless darkness, stretched so far into the distance I can’t see the end. The air is silent and still but tense with anticipation, like a held breath. The only sound is the thundering roar of my heartbeat in my ears as I gaze in concentration at the slender length of cord awaiting my decision. Waiting to find out if I’ll turn around and climb down from the high platform I’m standing on or step forward and give it the weight of my foot.

If I’m going to stop this thing with James, I should stop now. I should tell him it’s too much, too soon, too dangerous a thing to play with. I should tell him to walk away.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Instead, I ease one bare foot off the platform of safety I’m standing on and step out onto the rope.