Rook hangs his head back and expels a breath at the root-bound ceiling.
He’s throbbing beneath my hand, hard as stone, and his sudden hunger for me is like a drug.
I stroke him and he rocks his hips forward, working himself against my touch, building the friction.
I’m impatient for more. Desperate for more. Everything about Rook is a mystery and maybe feeling him inside me might make him less of a question.
Maybe I will finally understand something real about him.
I pull back his underwear, releasing him, and he hisses in the flickering candlelight.
I take him in hand and stroke him from base to tip, feeling the thick swell of the head of his cock in the curl of my fingers.
Dropping my hair, Rook sheds his coat, shrugging it off easily where it pools at our feet in the dirt, then he hooks his hands around the backs of my thighs, lifting me into his arms. My legs wrap around his hips and suddenly I’m there, my damp panties lined up with the head of his cock.
I’m a little afraid of what this all means, afraid of the doubts that might creep in after, for him and for me. I’m afraid that I might be changed forever after this and that there’s no returning to the life I had.
Rook presses forward, and the head of his cock digs into me.
I moan out in the semidarkness.
“Kansas.”
The nickname sounds like a plea on his lips.
I look down at him.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me to stop and I will.” He swallows, waiting, his Adam’s apple dipping in his throat.
For a brief moment, his green eyes glinting in the light, I think I see him, the true him beneath the gauzy layers of his unknown story.
Tell me to stop.…
Almost like a plea. Like he’s begging me to run to safety.
But my entire life has been lived by safe measures, by clearly defined rules and expectations.
I kiss him. Slowly, gently, a brush of his tongue against the tip of mine.
His breath is hot.
Mine is quick and shallow.
We are strung tightly, holding ourselves back, a crumbling dam trying to withstand the force of a thousand pounds of rushing water.
Another press of lips.
I want to feel something so desperately I want to cry.
So I close my eyes, ward off the stinging in my sinuses, and sink into the feel of him, the rush of the encounter, the fire and the fear and the illicitness of it all.
“Don’t stop,” I say against his mouth, and he exhales, relieved, and yanks my underwear aside so he can plunge inside me.
He’s rough, possessive, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thigh as he controls us both, as he leads the pleasure.
“You feel so fucking good, Kansas.”
