“Do you know what I want of you?”
I looked at Javier the next morning, over breakfast. On my plate was a single, from what I could best guess, pancake. But it was crispy on the outside. Atop it lay a small pile of blueberries. I watched as Javier sliced through his pancake, exposing the still-soft interior.
“What’s this?” I asked, ignoring his question. I had thought about what I had said to him the night before. Yes. For some reason, I wanted to fight that. I wanted to buck.
“It is called oladi. It is a typical Russian breakfast. Hearty, tasty, not too fattening. Most importantly, filling.”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at it. “Is it a pancake?” “Essentially.”
“No honey?” I asked, smiling briefly.
“No. Now, do you know what I want of you?” He stood up, then, his pancake half-eaten, and came behind me. I felt his body heat, felt his presence. And then I jolted when I felt his large hand on the back of my neck. He swept my hair to the side, exposing my skin, and traced a finger over the vertebrae bump.
Trying to ignore the effect his touch was having on me, I sliced through my pancake and put a piece in my mouth. It was delicious, the crispy outside a perfect match for the soft, rich interior. The blueberries added just the right level of sour-and-sweet.
“Mm,” I murmured, nodding. “This is good.”
I felt his fingers begin to coil my hair, and I shivered, thinking idly that he was going to knot it. I yelped when he tugged it back, pulling my eyes up to his so that I saw his face upside-down. He leaned lower to me and rubbed his lips on my forehead. I wilted. I shook.
“Do you know?” he whispered, his voice like the sharp blade of a knife.
I swallowed. “No,” I admitted. I felt embarrassed to say it. Should I know, though? How could I possibly know?
“Then I will show you,” he said, letting my hair unravel from his fingers, and then smoothing it down over my left shoulder. His hand
coming close to my breast made me hold my breath, and it was when he finally retreated to his side of the modest round table that I exhaled.
I looked at him, and he merely gestured at me to finish my breakfast.
I did. I listened. I ate it all up. It did taste good.
*
Afterward, he led me back to ‘my’ room, and entered it with me,
closing the door behind him. I went to the window and looked out at the beach and palm trees, the crystal-blue water, and the cloudless sky.
“Can we go to the beach today?” I slapped my mouth in horror. I couldn’t believe I had just asked his permission!
But he ignored me, and came to me, wrapping me up from behind his arms around my hips, his hands interlocked, resting against my pubic bone, making my pulse quicken and, inexplicably, my mouth water. I slowly became aware of his arousal pressed against the small of my back.
He unclasped his fingers, and ran one hand up my belly, to my side, and around the curve of my breast, before slipping his fingers beneath the thin strap of the white summer dress he had provided me. His fingers left trails of fire on my skin.
He moved his hand downward, cupping my breast, his thumb, and forefinger settling around my nipple, bringing it to bear nearly instantly. I sucked in air, began to pant, and unconsciously arched my back, pushing back into his body, as he began to roll my nipple. It was tantalizing, his touch so deliberate, his desire so plain. He seemed to care not about my desire, whether or not I wanted this. There was something freeing about that.
His touch grew rougher. He cupped hungry handfuls of my breast. I sighed, leaned my neck to the side, and felt his teeth there, grazing my skin, his warm breath sending goosebumps erupting along the length of my arms.
I noticed then that his other hand was moving down my thigh, and he found the end of the dress and slipped his hand up. I shook, knees trembling, and made a half-hearted attempt to close my legs, but he merely slapped away my other thigh as if out of annoyance.
“Don’t,” he warned me. I was utterly unable to resist.
Returning his hand to the cleft of my hip, I found myself grinding my backside against his hard manhood, he ran a finger down the crease where my thigh joined my body, and I shivered, remembering then and there that he hadn’t provided me with any underwear.
His finger moved to a more intimate place, and when he dipped into my slit, I jolted, pushing back, crunching my stomach forward as if to deny him. He pulled me back up straight by my breast, and I shivered and moaned as he dragged his finger up my womanhood, my swollen pearl sparking with sensation. I had no idea I was so wet, but I could feel it on his finger against me.
“Javier,” I whispered. “What are you doing?” I was so very aware of his erection now, and I pushed back into it harder, hardly believing I was doing this. What was he doing to me? Where had my resolve to fight back gone?
He let go of my breast, curled my hair into his fingers again, and tugged it back, drawing my face upward. He kissed me along the hollow beneath my jawbone, and I shivered yet again, unable to truly believe that this was happening.
The hand in my lap began to explore, and tease, and Javier plucked from my mouth whimpers that grew more desperate the longer he played with me. When he found my entrance, I shut my eyes, and dipping his finger inside me to just the first knuckle ignited a flame of longing within me. I spread my thighs farther apart, finding myself in the irreconcilable position of wanting him to stop, but not wanting him to stop.
I urged him on, pressing myself onto his finger, hints of pleasure thrilling through my body. I was wound up. The coil inside me had tightened. I felt the welling in my belly, the urgency. I tilted my face up, caught the side of his lips, and wet them with my tongue.
He pulled back, eyes flashing, and tugged my hair again. I was once again staring at the ceiling while he teased my sex, while he kissed me along my jawline. I wasn’t allowed to kiss him. At least, not yet.
He took one of my arms and coiled it behind my back. I offered no resistance. He pressed his body up against mine, trapping my arm there, and all I did was lean forward, push my bum into his crotch, and gyrate his hips so that his teasing fingers would stimulate me more. I was lost to him. I simply wanted release. It was what I craved.
I felt his tongue on my neck, the warm, wet dabs he left on my skin. I could smell his breath, the blueberries still strong on it. He was tumescent now, his manhood as hard as an iron bar. I desperately wanted to grasp it, feel it in between my fingers, to feel it inside me.
He pushed a digit inside me, and I moaned loudly as he found the mottled skin on my front wall, and pushed hard while his thumb circled my pearl. I was in heaven. I could have climaxed right there if he kept going for just a few seconds more.
But he withdrew his caresses. Appalled and exasperated, he pulled back from me, and I turned around. His trousers were tented, and he was panting, longing in his eyes. A light sheen of sweat could be seen on his forehead.
“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice gruff. “But it will not be in this room. We will be going somewhere new.” He turned then and left.
Instinctively I sent my hand to my yearning nubbin, but after a few moments stopped.
I don’t know why I stopped. I wanted that release.
*
That night I woke. I couldn’t sleep. All I could do was think of Javier, his touch, his restraint. Why did he hold back? That I was thinking these thoughts awakened me to the fact that I had resigned to this. I wanted this. I wanted him. It was… it was frightening, the realization. Somehow, in just a few days, he had put me under his thumb. I longed for his approval. I longed for his touch.
Even Scarlett was just a distant voice in my thoughts. I was consumed in the here and the now, the surreal way I was living, locked away like some princess in a tower. But he was no prince. He… he was different.
Unable to even shut my eyes, I feverishly tried to recreate the intensity of his strokes upon me. But I couldn’t, and I was left dissatisfied, unfinished.
I couldn’t believe that he had made me behave the way I did. I couldn’t believe that I had longed so openly, moaned so audibly, and pushed my hips back into him so desperately.
I was angry, angry that he had forced me to show my hand like that. Even I didn’t know where it was all coming from.
All I knew was that the ‘tomorrow’ he had told me we would complete our dance couldn’t come quickly enough.
*