It is all so shameful it is exciting. I look away.
‘I want you to see what I am doing to you.’
I meet his eyes in the mirror. He kisses my neck and I moan and try to turn towards him.
‘No, watch.’
Throbbing with excitement I gaze at the mirror. I have willingly spread open my sex and allowed him access into my most intimate part. I feel his fully clothed body brush against me. Vaguely: buttons pressing into my back…soft wool against my bu**ocks and thighs.
‘I love your skin. It is like the finest silk.’
Then his hand is moving towards my navel and sliding downwards without any resistance. All the while he is watching me watch myself.
His palm comes to press on my pubic bone and I watch the palm make circles. The circles become tighter and tighter until they are moving the flesh over my clit. Suddenly his index finger taps on the nub and I shiver with helpless wanting.
‘Not yet,’ he whispers. ‘I will decide when you come.’
Then his fingers move quickly in a sweeping motion along my crack, gathering juice. There is more than enough there. The lubricated finger circles the swollen, throbbing bud. Watching him pleasure me is the most unexpectedly erotic thing I have experienced.
I draw a sharp breath and long for the feeling of being full. That feeling of having him inside me, but he does not give that to me. Instead he rubs around my sex, his fingers are cunningly methodical. The same movement again and again.
In minutes I feel the waves coming, but as I push eagerly towards them, towards release, his fingers stop, and even though I press my hips towards them, they stubbornly refuse to move, until the waves dissipate. I sag against him, frustrated, and he slowly pushes his finger into me.
‘Wet, hot and tight,’ he murmurs.
I look at his large hand; the thick, masculine wrist peppered with silky hair working me. Again that longing to be filled, not with one finger, but with the magnificently thick, long shaft inside his trousers. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out, Fuck me.
‘Kiss me,’ he orders.
I twist my neck around and give him my mouth. His tongue enters it. I suck greedily. A finger becomes two and increases speed. Just as I am beginning to enjoy the rhythm the fingers are withdrawing, slipping and sliding around the lips. He takes his mouth away as his other hand leaves my waist and cupping my chin, holds it facing the mirror.
I stare at myself in shock. At his big hand moving and the glistening redness of my engorged sex—it is as if it is alive. A shameless greedy creature. And suddenly I am coming and… hard. Real hard. I open my mouth in a shout as my knees buckle and I feel myself losing balance. His hand tightens like a vice around my waist.
When it is over I lean my head back against his chest for a moment.
‘Hold onto the chair,’ he says, and bends me over. He puts a hand on my back at waist level and pushes down, so my hips are angled, my sex is more exposed. I hear his zip and the soft sound of his trousers dropping. Putting his palm on either side of my face he turns my head and makes me watch what he is doing to me.
‘I want you to watch me f**king you.’
With wild eyes I look at the image our bodies make as he grabs me by the hips and his proud c**k disappears inside me.
‘Now, let me hear your cries. Purr for me, Lana,’ he commands and rams ferociously into my willing, dripping wetness.
I cry out with the sensations: the fullness and the depths that he has gone into.
It is surprisingly painful, but such is my need to have him inside that I welcome the pain and push back against him, to take more of him. So he goes even deeper, until his thick shaft is buried all the way to the root. I grunt inelegantly. One hand falls on my back, pushing me into the armchair, while the other grasps my shoulder.
‘Ah.’
Suddenly, the animal in him takes over. With bestial urgency he drives into me. Harder and faster. Grinding me against him. The solid armchair rocks with his thrusts. And at that moment I am utterly possessed by the man. His to do anything with.
As he slams into me I realize that the palm of his hand that is pressed against my pubic bone is bringing forth different sensations. The rubbing is causing me to crest again. It is explosive this time, it makes my body convulse uncontrollably and lasts, even past his last urgent thrusts and his own groan of release.
I feel his body slacken against mine. With both his arms around my waist he straightens me, and holds me close to him while he is still inside. I look at him in the mirror and find his eyes unreadable.
Wordlessly, he withdraws out of me and goes into the bathroom.
Without him in the mirror I seem alone and abandoned. On trembling legs I move to hide my nakedness inside the bathrobe.
Nineteen
I am so anxious about my mother meeting Blake that I forget to warn Blake of her wasted appearance. It is only when she opens the door in her best blue dress, a new blue scarf, and smiling through freshly applied lipstick that I realize what she must look like to a stranger. But when I look up at Blake he is smiling and suave. He hands my mother the bouquet of flowers he has brought for her and steps through the door into our home.
‘Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Bloom. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too, Mr. Barrington.’
‘Please, you must call me Blake.’
‘And you must call me Nys.’
‘Nys? Ah…French.’
‘Yes, not many people know that. My mother loved the sound of it.’
‘I agree with her. A pretty name it is,’ he charms.
‘Come in, come in,’ my mother invites.
Blake takes my hand. I am surprised at how casually he does it. As if he has done it many times before. My mother has decorated the table with fresh flowers and candles. The door to the small balcony is open and the sound of children swearing floats up. My mother quickly closes the door and puts on some music instead.
‘Something smells very good,’ Blake says.
Mother glows with pleasure. It is obvious she is taken with Blake. ‘Oh, it’s just chicken and rice. A Persian recipe.’
‘With fruit?’
‘Yes, pomegranates. How did you know?’
And so the night goes with my mother glowing and impressed and Blake urbane and genteel.
When the food appears it is delicious. Blake makes it a point to polish his plate. Occasionally, he looks with adoring eyes at me, and other times reaches for my hand, never too obvious, and so real it makes me freeze uncomfortably. Once he even reaches forward and lightly brushes his lips against mine. I blink with surprise and glance at my mother, but she is smiling happily at me. Another time he looks mockingly into my eyes as he strokes the inside of my wrist. I turn away in confusion. This Blake I cannot understand or deal with. This Blake is dangerous to my well-being.