His lips were gorgeously shaped, made to torture me with hard kisses. I breathed the word please against his teeth. Pain was an aphrodisiac for me, which he knew from our as-yet-undiscussed encounter in Via Sofferenza. My pussy was ready for his possession, wet and aching. I shoved my clit against his bulging cock, trying to assuage the need he’d aroused with his grasping kiss.
With a grunt of capitulation—or lost control—he caught me up in his arms, trapping me against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist and cinched tight as he kicked his jeans away. There was no time to get to the bed, or even sink to the carpet as I angled my hips to receive his thrust.
He pushed inside me without pause or hesitation, his cock a thick, blunt force shoving through my slickness. I clutched his shoulders, squeezing them, digging my fingernails into his skin and crying out as he drove deeper, deeper, deeper. How deep and hard could he go?
Once he was seated to the balls, he started pounding into me, bringing both pleasure and fear. Would he hurt me? Really hurt me? Did I care?
He yanked at my cami again, not stopping until the cotton gave way. He ripped it halfway down the front, baring my breasts, and fucked me like he wanted to hurt me, jerking, thrusting, impaling me on his cock. He used the wall for leverage and collected my arms from around his shoulders, bringing my wrists against the wall and pinning them as he worked my pussy with his oversized shaft. I fought against his grip so he would hold me harder, and he did, his fingers cinching my wrists so firmly that I could feel my pulse against his skin.
Our eyes met again. Because I was hiked up, legs clinging to his hips, we were on the same level. There was almost too much within our eye contact, considering our near-death experience, and the arousal and pain. His lips attacked mine, kissing, biting, imparting dominance, teasing me to greater heights of pleasure. He was so much in that moment, so unbearably overwhelming. Tender, cruel, huge, forceful, all of his body possessing mine.
With other partners, I usually let my mind wander at this point, reaching for climax on my own secret-fantasy terms. I would imagine being grabbed, forced to the floor, whipped with a cane or belt, so I could get in the right headspace to come.
But in this case, my mind went nowhere but to the man banging me against the wall. Every time my eyes opened, they fixed on his, and I saw those fantasies in his commanding gaze. My climax built without the need to imagine other scenarios.
No, he gave me all I needed, hurting me, biting my nipples again, spanking my ass every so often as I rode his cock. They weren’t playful spanks, they were hard spanks. My ass felt like it was glowing. I was alive, awash in pain, and his cock was hitting my g-spot over…and over…and over…
He braced me against the wall and clapped a hand over my mouth. I realized I’d been moaning—loudly—and I still moaned, letting out the buildup of pleasure in the only way I knew. When my orgasm came, my moans turned to smothered cries. He redoubled his thrusting efforts, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… I clenched around his cock, squeezing every last paroxysm of bliss from my climax.
Then he was gone, pulling out of me. His hands released my wrists and fastened instead around my hips. He lifted me off his cock and held me against the wall, groaning, spewing cum on my ripped cami and my breasts. The wetness left hot tracks on my bare skin.
I looked down, wondering why he’d done that, then I realized he’d pulled out of me because we hadn’t used protection. In the midst of that craziness and heat, we’d completely forgotten about safe sex.
I tried to care, but I could barely care. I was alive, and Devin had fucked me more intensely than I’d ever been fucked.
“I should have stopped to put on a condom,” he said when he found his voice. He touched an edge of my ripped cami like someone else had ravaged it. “I’m not in the habit of barebacking, I swear.”
I glanced down at his heavy cock, covered in nothing but my pussy’s slickness. “It’s okay. I didn’t stop you,” I said, still hazy from my orgasm.
“I should have stopped myself.” He rubbed his forehead, then touched my shoulder, not all there himself. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m clean. I’m usually very safe.”
“Me, too. I try to be careful.” Now that I’d come down from our passion—and my orgasm—I was starting to realize what we’d done, the way we’d mindlessly attacked each another as soon as we were alone, and screwed like animals. I’m alive. You’re alive. Let’s fuck.
“I didn’t come inside you,” he said.
“I know. Thanks.”
I couldn’t read his expression. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, at that moment. What had we done? What should we do now? Not knowing what to say, I pushed from his arms and stumbled toward the bathroom.
“Ella,” he called after me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I just need to…”
I closed the door and sucked in a breath, running through the last ten minutes in my mind: Enter the hotel room. Exchange a few sentences. Kiss. Embrace. Fuck each other like the world depended on it, processing a near plane crash with violent sexual energy. I could still feel him inside me, pounding me hard and rough against the wall. His cum was drying on my stomach and my ruined cami.
I turned on the shower without looking in the mirror, and took off my cami, throwing it in the trash. I stepped into the shower and stood under the water, washing away his cum and my lingering wetness. I had no worries about an accidental pregnancy. I was on backup birth control in case a condom ever broke. Kids weren’t in my life plans. Attachments to men weren’t in my life plans, especially pilots who lied about the safety of planes.
He also saved your life… He saved everyone’s life by landing that jet.
I couldn’t think about that right now or I’d fall apart. I couldn’t think about the determined set of his shoulders as we glided, or the tension in his fingers as he worked the controls. Oh God, I couldn’t fall for a pilot. What had just happened between us was hot, but it meant nothing. It was instinct. Impulse. Letting go of disaster and embracing life.
I silenced my thoughts and stood under the water for a long time, listening to the whine and hiss of the showerhead, letting steam and soap wash away the last of my lingering anxiety. When that anxiety was gone, exhaustion replaced it, bone deep weariness exacerbated by gravity. I had to lie down.
I turned off the water and dried my body. Only then did I glance in the mirror and see the scratches on my back, and the bruises on my ass where he’d spanked me. They would have turned me on if I wasn’t so wrung out and tired. I wondered if Devin was still in my room, or if he’d gone to his own room down the hall. I wondered if he’d want to talk about what had happened.
When I came out of the steamy bathroom, he was asleep under my covers, the outline of his body a careless, heavy sprawl. One muscular arm rested above his head, his fingers splayed against the pillow. When I moved closer, I noticed his blond lashes twitching, perhaps in a dream of airplanes and leaking fuel, and remote islands. My luggage had been delivered while I was in the shower, and his lay beside it. Captain Devin Kincaid was apparently spending the night.
Now that his intent, pale-blue eyes were closed, I could study him without feeling endangered. He looked a little less daunting in sleep. His lips were slightly open, and the tense lines around his mouth had relaxed.
I slid into the other side of the bed, and he reached for me without waking, drawing me against his body. Like me, he’d been too tired—or too disinterested—to put on clothes to sleep. It was dark outside the hotel window, the surrounding buildings quiet in the light of the moon.
I’d already forgotten what island we were on, and I didn’t care about getting off it. Screw the ACE Consortium in New York, where Dr. Leo waited to exploit my scientific theories. I didn’t want to think about that now, didn’t want to think about anything. I snuggled closer to Devin’s body and let my mind drift.
Chapter Six: Devin
I spent the night dreaming of dying engines and disappearing islands, and an
ocean that stretched forever with nowhere to land. Then I’d awaken and sigh against Ella’s neck or shoulder.
I wanted more of her. I was in a state of arousal all night, wanting to fuck her every time she moved against me, but I restrained myself, even with my hand curved around her ass. I was still groping her when I woke before dawn. I didn’t want to dream about oceans anymore.
I untangled myself from her sleepy limbs and looked around the hotel room. Clean, rich, floral, touristy, everything in voluptuous lines. I moved to the balcony door and looked out. We’d been too distracted last night to even close the curtain. It was still dark on the island, our hotel surrounded by low-lying shadows, and mountains to the right. Straight ahead, nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see. Asleep or awake, I couldn’t escape that water.
I turned away and went to the bathroom. I had a room a couple doors down, but I couldn’t leave Ella, not after last night. I showered in her bathroom, using the travel-sized toiletries she’d already cracked open. The shampoo smelled like coconuts and sugar.
I expected her to be awake by the time I finished my shower, but she was still sleeping, her face turned into the pillow, her chest rising and falling in deep, slow breaths. My cock started to fill, thinking about yesterday’s impetuous, unrestrained fuck, the way she’d gasped and struggled against me while I took her like a maniac. I wanted to slide under the covers and drill her again, but that would be…complicated.
Last night was one thing, when we were both adrenalized from a fucked-up experience, but morning sex had a different emotional cachet. I avoided it as much as I could. In the real world, with my usual submissives, I took great pains to wake up alone.
Of course, Dr. Ella Novatny was nothing like my usual submissives. She might look like them on the surface—short, blonde, curvy—but the difference was in her eyes. When she looked at me, it was without artifice or calculation. She didn’t want anything from me. She just studied me with her gaze full of curiosity, trying to make sense of who I was.
And who was I? I was that man who’d played with her at Via Sofferenza, and been too chickenshit to confess it the next day. But she knew. After last night, she had to know.
I looked back into the room, at her black, nerdy glasses on the table. What if I threw them over the balcony? Maybe she’d be as blind as she’d been at Via Sofferenza. Once she couldn’t see, I’d take advantage of her in sadistic, perverse ways. I’d tie her down and show her that brains weren’t everything. I’d shove my cock between her lips until she choked and cried, all the while taunting her with threats. Get it wet, slut. It’s going in your ass next.
I stopped the fantasies there. Otherwise, they’d overtake my reason and I’d try to make them happen, and nothing more could happen between us right now. I needed to call the Gibraltar offices, and reply to the backlog of messages on my phone. I needed to get Dr. Novatny to New York, to her brainiac think tank, then I needed to get to The Gallery so I could disperse my pent-up sexual energy. Kari, Hanna, Lola, Rachel, Amelie, Allie, Fifi, Gretchen, Bren, Sara… There were so many in my contacts, all well-trained submissives willing to please me in exchange for orgasms and pain.
But right now, I was in the middle of the ocean with Ella, unable to tear my eyes from her pretty features. Her orgasm last night had been different from what I was used to. Purer, somehow, unadulterated by BDSM-club give and take. Now, in sleep, she didn’t look like an award-winning theoretical astrophysicist engaged in the study of the universe and the curvature of space-time.