Masked Innocence. Alessandra Torre

      Thirteen

      After Brad thoroughly touched, licked and coaxed the Russian through three orgasms, she fell, exhausted, on the bed, a smile plastered to her face. She reached for me, pulled me to her lips and kissed me once, gently. Her hands turned my head and I felt her breath on my ear, her accented voice speaking. “Thank you. For sharing.”

      I tried to think of an acceptable response, but my mind was useless, drugged with champagne and sex. I smiled, and she rolled over, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her body. Brad gathered our clothes and pulled my arm, tugging until I was upright and naked in front of him. He looked down, staring at my nakedness, then leaned over, kissed me gently along my cleavage, scooped me up and carried me out of the room and into the other bedroom. He avoided the bed, setting me on the floor, and I looked up at him in puzzlement.

      He lay on top of me, completely bare, his arms keeping him light on my body. “I haven’t come yet,” he whispered.

      I smirked. “I know. But I’m a little tired. I was thinking about going to bed.”

      He nuzzled my neck, biting it gently while he pushed against me, his shaft sliding up between my legs, almost inside me, but a fraction too high. I groaned, untangling my legs from underneath his body and wrapping them tightly around him, my pussy now impossible to avoid, my need wet against him.

      “Going to bed, huh?” His arrogance in my ear, my moan in response. His cock, so close, so teasing, there but not yet inside, lying hard against my ass instead.

      “Maybe I’ll stay up a little longer.” I gasped as he was finally there, just the tip of him inside me, and I dug my heels into his back, panting, trying to push him farther in. He leaned down, whispered something against my mouth, then kissed me, softly, sweetly. As un-Brad-like as anything I could imagine. He tasted my mouth, trailed kisses along my jaw, sucked gently on my bottom lip. And when I finally relaxed, finally surrendered to his mouth and kiss, my legs going slack, he pushed his cock all the way in, taking my breath. I almost orgasmed right then, my need had been so great, then so fulfilled, his cock insanely perfect inside me. It took about a minute of deep slow strokes, almost painful in their perfection, and then I was done, shattering into pieces in his arms, my mouth open, frozen, as the swells washed over me. I was whimpering by the time I was done, and he held my face in his hands, looking into my eyes, his fire burning into me.

      What had just happened, in the other room, that had been us, an experience we had shared, the blonde somehow an extension of our union. But now, alone in the room with each other, I was captivated, held in his arms, him filling me, his strokes quickening, our eyes locked in identical pools of lust. Then he took in a quick breath, closed his eyes and buried himself deeper, his thrusts stronger. I wrapped my arms and legs tight around him, riding his wave of orgasm, burying my face in his neck, his strong heat inside me.

      He rolled over, pulling me with him, and I lay limp across his chest. I ran my hands down the clefts of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his muscles tight from exertion. His eyes were closed, and I pulled myself up until my face was above his. I ran my fingers lightly over his face, awestruck at the beauty in his strength. God, I was in trouble. In more ways than I could count. I didn’t know what I would become if I stayed with him, to what further depths I would plunge inescapably into, a slave to his sexual drugs. And I didn’t know what I would become if we parted, and how I would ever again find sexual satisfaction without the man.

      We could just stop in, see how it works and leave. I made a mental note not to fall for that one again.