Alice Close Your Eyes

You want to know me, he says, and his hand is in my hair. The scent of him fills my mind. He tips my head back and kisses me openmouthed, laying a first easy claim to the inside of me. I feel his attention, all his focus on me. He has tasted me now. He can smell me. His hand moves down the front of my body to my breast, and I feel my nipple gather in his palm. His body stiffens, slows for a moment, and I sense the predatory tension in him.

One of my hands is flat against his chest, the other clutching the doorknob at the small of my back. But I know from his kiss and the boldness of his hand on my breast that I won’t be leaving until he has fucked me. The inevitability panics and excites me. This could hurt, it could be awful; I could get pregnant. A procession of frightening consequences marches through my mind, but every protest is swept aside by the simple, profound need of his to fuck me. Of my need to let him.

He reaches under my shirt, subduing me with the weight of his body, and unclasps the front of my bra. He moves back, assessing, arrogant, and lowers his head to my breast as he unbuttons his jeans, then gathers my skirt to hitch it over my hips. He strokes me through my underwear, one finger teasing at the hem as if there is a choice in this for either of us.

I open my mouth and he kisses me again, puts words literally into my mouth.

You wanted to get caught.

He drags one knuckle over my clitoris and traces my lower lip with his tongue.

Wanted to get fucked, didn’t you.

He slides a finger under my panties, inside me, and I hear the breath hiss past his teeth as we discover together how wet I am. His one finger is joined by a second, and he draws them up my folds, over my clitoris, circling.

He moves back to see my face, my bare breasts, then his mouth returns to mine. His mouth is hotter, more demanding. He licks my teeth and bites my lip. His fingers are back inside me, two and then three, his eyes on my face as my resistance dies away.

I begin to move with him, following his rhythm. The tips of my breasts are drawn up tight against the rasp of his shirt. I test him with a twist of my wrists and feel the fingers of both his hands tighten against me. This comforts me somehow. I know he won’t let go, will not stop, and the knowledge gathers between my legs like lightning in a storm, and with his mouth over mine I am coming. Pain and desire meet inside me, sharp as a thunderclap. My cunt grabs and releases, clenching hard around his fingers, an undulating ripple moving upward through my body. I am still coming when he lifts me up and open, his hands around my knees, then pulls me down on top of him. He is huge and I feel the invasion of this, but I spread my legs and let him in until he’s buried inside me, immediately orgasmic, pounding his need to the depths of me with long, firm strikes against the wall of my cervix. He shudders, and I feel the trembling pulse of his ejaculation—the final evidence of his domination, of my surrender.

Yes, he says, oh, fuck yes.

I open my eyes, blink into the morning light with the blood still roaring in my ears. The sheets are damp, my limbs buzzing as though I’ve just taken a hard electric shock.

Jack’s face reforms in my mind’s eye. It’s his smile I see as I drift off to sleep, my hand still clamped between my legs.

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