“How did you know I was coming tonight?”
“Woman’s intuition.”
I brought you something.”
He pulls his left hand out from behind his back and brings a sprig of flowers to my nose. It smells like raspberry and honeysuckle.
“What is it?”
“It’s freesia. It reminds me of my days as a young boy in France. I want to take you there someday.”
I take the flower from his hand and carefully tuck it behind my ear. “Perfect.”
He brings his hands up to cup my face. “I’ve missed you.” His hand trails down to my neck and he leans in until his lips are hovering over mine. “I was thinking about you every day.”
“I was thinking about you, too,” I breathe.
He runs his tongue over my top lip as his hand slides between my legs. “What were you thinking about, ma chérie?”
I draw in a sharp breath as his finger finds my clit. “I thought of you and me … fucking.”
He strokes me softly. “Did you touch yourself?”
“No. I wanted to wait for you.”
I whimper when he shoves two fingers inside me. He drives his fingers back and forth as I whine with pleasure.
“Oh, please.”
“Please, what? What do you want me to do?” He slides his fingers out and begins caressing my clit again.
“Please, fuck me.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
He tilts his head back. “No?”
“I don’t want to do it like that.”
“You mean, you don’t want me to fuck you from behind?”
“Yes, I do. But … I was thinking ….” This is it. I have to just blurt it out or I’ll lose my nerve. “I want to try something different.”
He removes his hand from between my thighs and steps back. “What do you want to try?”
“I have this fantasy and I was hoping you could help make it happen.” I step forward and grab the dangling drawstrings from his hood. “I want you to pretend … to take me by force.”
He doesn’t speak or move while I count off the seconds in my head. Finally, at one hundred twenty-two seconds, he speaks.
“How long have you fantasized about this?”
“Since I began touching myself. I … It’s stupid. We don’t have to do it.”
I lay my hands flat against his solid chest, staring at the dark fabric of his hooded sweater. He presses his fingers against the bottom of my chin to tilt my face up.
“I don’t want to frighten you. I want to please you.” He kisses the corner of my mouth and I close my eyes, trying to remind myself to focus on my objective. “Would this fantasy bring you pleasure?”
I open my eyes and gaze into the darkness where his eyes would be. “I’ve been pleasing myself to this fantasy for years. Is that not normal?”
He chuckles softly. “There is no normal in the privacy of one’s bedroom. What pleases you pleases me, ma chérie.” His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me flush against him so I can feel his erection growing against my belly. “But we need some ground rules. If you are not enjoying yourself, you must say something. A codeword.”
“How about … freesia?”
I can practically hear him grinning beneath that hood. “Okay, and if you want me to stop, you have to say rose. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I coil my arms around his broad shoulders and he lifts me gently so I can wrap my legs around him. He kisses me slowly and I can feel myself growing slicker with every passing moment. He presses my back against the wall and I moan into his mouth as he grinds the solid erection in his pants against my clit.
I pull my head back and smile. “I trust you.”
He moves his hips slowly, crushing me with the force of his manhood. “You shouldn’t trust me.”
He thrusts harder and I cry out. “Ow.”
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“How about about this?”
He reaches up and pinches my nipple, hard. I let out a screeching yelp. He claps his hand over my mouth and I continue to cry as he sets my feet down on the carpet and shoves his other hand between my legs. He rams his fingers inside me and the sound of my muffled cries seems to spur him on.
“Do you want to be fucked?”
“No!” My reply is smothered by his hand.
“What do you say?” he growls.
“No. Please. Please don’t do this.”
He’s silent for a moment and I begin to worry that he’s going to back out. Then he slowly slides his fingers out of my pussy and begins to massage my clit. Softly at first, then roughly.
“Ow.”
My knees begin to buckle and he presses his chest against mine to keep me propped up. “Don’t fucking move,” he whispers in my ear. “Or I’ll kill you.”
My stomach roils at the tone in his voice. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I try to push him away and he removes his finger from my clit so he can grab both my wrists and pin them against the wall. “I said don’t fucking move.”
I stare in the dark hole of his face, my chest heaving as I pretend to struggle free. He leans in and kisses my neck and I whimper. No. This is not part of the fantasy. I want to tell him to stop, but I can’t form the words.
He licks his way up my neck and to my ear and he kisses my ear so tenderly I could cry. Stop, I want to shout at him. Please stop this torture.
He moves to my mouth and kisses me the way I’ve only ever dreamed of being kissed. I can’t breathe for the longing that’s building inside me. His tongue strokes mine so lovingly and his lips are so soft and firm all at once. I have to stop this.
I lift my leg and knee him in his groin and he bumps his forehead against mine as he curses in French.
“Merde!”
I race into the living room and he chases after me. He catches up to me in the kitchen as I’m reaching for the knife drawer. He grabs my hair, yanking me backward.
“Help!” I cry out and he covers my mouth again as he bends me over the counter and forces my cheek against the cold tile.
“Shut the fuck up!”
It’s a low, snarl. An animalistic and primitive warning. A tone so cold and threatening it makes me long for the beautiful voice that’s haunted my dreams for the past week.
His fingers woven through a large chunk of my hair, he tightens his grip as he pushes my face into the countertop. With his other hand, he undoes his belt and pants, then he forces his way inside me.
I whimper with pleasure, then I remember this is supposed to hurt. “Ow.”
He thrusts into me and my belly slams against the sharp corner of the countertop. I cry out again, but the pain is real this time as the counter digs into my stabbing scar. Again he pounds me harder, and harder, one fist clutching my hair, the other covering my mouth. How is he supposed to hear me say freesia or rose?
A real tear rolls down my temple and onto the tile and, without knowing, he rubs my cheek against it. Driving my healing wound into the edge of the countertop. Repeatedly and desperately I cry out, but his hand muffles my howls.
“I’m moving my hand, but you are not to say a fucking word. Understand me?”
I nod my head and he slowly removes his hand as he drives into me. I sob through gritted teeth and he uses the hand he just removed from my mouth to reach forward and stroke my clit. He’s determined to make me come.
“Oh, please. Please stop.”
“Shut up.”
He buries his cock so deep inside me, I fear he’s going to pierce my vital organs. All the while, he caresses my clit until I turn to jelly beneath him.
“Freesia. Freesia!” I whisper before he can come inside me.
He eases me off the counter and my legs are so weak. It makes it easy for me to pretend to collapse onto my knees on the kitchen floor. He wraps his thick arm around my waist and lifts me off the floor. Then he turns me around and cradles my face in his hands.