для читателей старше 18 лет
The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. We strongly suggest storing this book in a place where young readers not meant to view it are unlikely to happen upon it.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owner of the following wordmark, mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mercedes: The Daimler Chrysler Group.
The first encounter
I woke up to the sound of cars crunching along the gravel road. It didn’t take long for me to realize the noise was slipping through the window I’d left slightly open earlier at night. Feeling a bit too lazy to get up, I leaned back against the pillows and started in-bed muscle stretching routines, eyes following the rays of sunshine dancing on the rouleauRouleau (fr.) — a type of roller blinds. The fabric of a rouleau moves up till it forms a roll, well-hidden in a specifically designed holder. that was shielding the room from the outside world.
Sitting up, I scanned my surroundings and spotted the calendar hanging just above the bureau. My gaze landed on the heavily underlined bright red 15. A swift glance at the loudly ticking bedside clock — and I found myself jumping out of the bed.
Thursday, 15th September, 10 a.m. My parcel must have been delivered.
Not bothering with the appropriate clothing, I donned a short silk robe patterned with violet tulips and hurried out of the apartment. Barefooted as I was, I quickly made my way down to the first floor, paying no attention to anything except the wall mounted mailboxes. I always left mine unlocked, having lost the key several months before. I doubted someone knew my little secret, but even if they did, still it would make no difference. My neighbors had enough manners to leave my mail untouched.
Swinging the door open, I gave a gentle squeak of pure delight. Just as I thought, it was there — a thin cardboard envelope that I tore apart right on the spot. When the contents hit my palms, I all but sighed dreamily.
Yes, yes, yes!
How I’d been waiting for that very envelope and its contents — those tiny handmade moonstone beads that, right then and there, were sparkling like stars on my palm. And the cost? No more than 30 euros. Lucky me. Finally, I would be able to start making a new set of bracelets.
Deeply satisfied, I shoved the beads into what was left of the envelope and, slipping it in the pocket of the robe, rushed upstairs. I was still smiling and all but humming with anticipation when I reached the door.
The smile faded from my face, and I stared at the round doorknob in mute amazement.
The door had locked automatically, leaving me on the staircase with nothing else to cover my nudity but lacy panties and a transparent robe patterned with violet tulips.
It would not have bothered me at all but for the fact that I’d left the keys inside.
Once again I thanked the God for the friendly neighborhood. Mrs. Mary, a lovely old lady next door, let me inside and offered her phone to make a call to the «Lukuabi» — one of the companies providing services for such occasions as mine. Since the locksmith was due to come in half an hour, I had plenty of time to have a cup of tea with Mary who was more than eager to provide one. The old lady took her time sharing tales from the Soviet Union past, while I was simply listening, opening my mouth only when it came to something I vaguely remembered from the time I’d spent in the USSR.
«Men,» sneered Mary, chewing yet another fudge with her golden teeth. «Back then men had far more dignity. They knew how to take care of their women and never skipped the flower-candy-wine routine. And now?»
«Agree. Men are no longer male anymore,» I readily admitted.
«Guess, you know that better than anyone, sweetie. Just look at your husband,» she waved a wrinkled hand in my direction. «After so many years you’d spent as a couple, what did he do? Left you — a faithful, diligent, caring wife — behind as if it mattered nothing. Men. He is just like the rest of them.»
Since the last thing I wanted was a discussion of my failure of a marriage, I just shrugged my shoulders and continued to sip bergamot tea from a cup of fine porcelain.
On the one hand, I did agree with Mary, but, on the other… Things did happen. After all, it was not uncommon for husbands to cheat on their wives. So what? Not like it was going to kill me. To be honest, even after eight months of separate living I still felt like a married woman. No surprise there, after all I’d started dating my husband when we both had been mere 15-year-olds. Not that it mattered anymore.
Life went on, even if you were a single woman in your mid-thirties with no children and a husband who had cheated on you with a young slut. A slut who had given him an offspring.
Even when your personal world came crashing down, life still went on.
The sound of the doorbell made me jump. It was so unexpected that I barely saved the cup from crashing the saucer. After a brief exchange of glances with Mary, I laid the cup and the saucer aside and flowed to my feet.
«It must be the locksmith. Please, do not bother opening the door. I’ll do it. Thank you for the tea and the phone. I owe you.»
«Feel free to come anytime you like. Old and lonely as I am, I find your company rather entertaining.»
But I already paid no attention to her words. Opening the ancient wooden door with leather upholster, I stared at the person in front of me and blinked in surprise. My gaze slid up — to the stubble of beard that outlined the perfection of the stranger’s jaw, then up again — straight to the piercing hazel eyes that raked over my exposed-to-view body with clear appreciation — after all I wore nothing but a robe that left little room for imagination.
«You’ve requested a locksmith, right?» the man rumbled in a deep, rough voice.
«Yes,» I managed to rasp past the lamp in my throat. «There,» I added, pointing the finger at the locked door. My gaze once again slid to the man who looked more like a professional stripper than a locksmith.
«Understood.» He cast another glance in my direction, specks of fire in those intent eyes of his, then blinked and turned to the door. Putting the toolbox in his hand on the floor, the man squatted down in front of it and inspected the lock. «Automatic?»
«Yes,» I replied from the staircase. «I’ve left the keys inside — and here I am, locked outside my own apartment.» My confession earned yet another look from the man, that one full of mockery.
He snorted and stared at me, eyes raking over my exposed body. Shaking his head in clear disapproval, the man stood up and took off his leather jacket.
I was momentarily stunned into absolute silence. It was next to impossible not to gape at all the stretching muscles, well-formed biceps and triceps screaming for attention from under a plain black T-shirt.
And then it was gone. The man handed over his jacket, daring me with a raise of his brow.
«Would you mind putting it on? It’s cold out here, and it will take at least half an hour to get you inside.»
I didn’t miss the implication of his words. He said «put this on», but what he really meant was «cover yourself, you distract me». Cursing inwardly, I donned his jacket and tried to rearrange my robe so as to let it cover as much of the exposed body as the poor piece of cloth possibly could. It did no good to provoke a man.
I felt ashamed.
Focusing on the matter at hand, the man opened the toolbox and started working. I leaned against the wall and took my time studying the back of his head, imagining the feel of the dark hair that was short and seemed rough to touch.
«You may go to your neighbor’s,» the man mumbled, attention never wavering from the task he was working at.
«I don’t think so.» I flat out refused to leave him alone. After all, I knew nothing about the man. «Planning to steal from me? Unlock the door, clean the apartment out in a matter of seconds and be off in a heartbeat? Forget it. Not gonna happen.»
The man burst out laughing, the sound rich and loud enough to go ricocheting off the walls. That made me jerk, and I frowned. Shoulders heaving with laughter, he resumed his ministrations with the door lock.
«Fear someone will steal your staff?» he mocked.
«Well…» I didn’t know what to say.
«Guess, there are some things one can take from a woman that are far more valuable than household appliances or jewellery,» the man abruptly said.
His voice dropped to a whisper full of dark promises, and I shivered, clasping my thighs and locking one foot around the ankle of the other leg. Goose bumps covered my skin, large as the beads lying in the pocket of my robe. I was not sure of what had provoked such a reaction. Was it my motion? Or was it a primitive response to the single, deliberately emphasized, word take?
«Such as?» The words came out huskier than I intended.
The man smiled, then stood up, claiming the space with his enormous body. Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned his head and all but caressed every inch of my body with a dark, brooding stare.
«Honour, for example,» he, finally, said.
I swallowed audibly, trying to hide my embarrassment. At that moment I realized how naked I, in fact, was. If not for his leather jacket… The mouth went dry, and I had to clear my throat before offering a reply. A reply that never came, since at that very moment something clicked, and the door opened.
The man stepped aside and gestured for me to come inside.
I rushed into the hall, successfully avoiding contact with a hard male body.
«Just your honour,» the man mocked.
I stared at him in disbelief, then shook my head and asked again, certain he couldn’t have said what I thought I’d heard:
«What did you say?»
«Just a second,» I grated harshly, turning around and heading to the bedroom.
Opening the handbag I’d left dangling on the back of the chair, I retrieved a purse and snatched two ten-euro bills. Returning to the hall, I handed the money over to the locksmith looming in the doorway.
«Here you are,» I said in a high-pitched voice. «Thank you for coming.»
«Some things are definitely worth coming, so that you could either savor or ravage them lately,» the man said absently, eyes caressing the lines of my body. «Have a good day. And don’t leave the keys in plain sight,» he motioned to the bunch of keys lying on the chest of drawers. And while I stood processing that tidbit of information, he took the toolbox in his hand and headed downstairs.
I had been staring at the open door for what must have been half an hour, when a sudden realization jerked me back into the reality — I was still wearing his dark leather jacket with a strong scent of expensive male cologne.
I spent the whole evening making bracelets. The one with the moonstone beads shined and sparkled in the dim electric light like a rainbow in the open sky. Since it was one meant for the upcoming winter season, I decided to add several charms: snowflakes and crystals.
Once I’d worked as an interior designer, but several years ago I switched to bracelet making. Bead weaving, macraméMacramé (fr.) — a form of textile-making using knotting rather than weaving or knitting.… I had tried everything until I started bead weaving that quickly turned into some sort of obsession. I had enough money to pay the bills, though my income depended severely on seasonal holidays. Though it was September, I had already started making jewellery pieces for the winter season. Never hurt to get prepared beforehand.
It was dark outside when I rubbed my sore eyes and put the work aside. Locking the bracelets in a wooden box, I stretched, feeling tired and achy. Nothing unusual. After all, my poor body had been forced to maintain the same position for hours. Deciding to take a shower before going to bed, I wandered to the bathroom and stepped into the shower stall. The hot water soothed the ache in my muscles, and soon enough I found myself teetering on the verge of falling asleep, so I stepped out of the stall, switched off the light and left the room. Wrapped in an all-too-short towel, I could not help shivering when a sudden blast of cold air hit my bare legs.
Then a dark, tall figure stepped into the hall out of the darkness of my bedroom, and I screamed in horror. Or tried so. A broad palm covered my mouth, and I found myself facing a wall. I jerked in attempt to get free, but only succeeded in losing my towel that slipped down, effectively baring my upper body.
«Sh-sh,» the stranger whispered soothingly into my ear. «I mean no harm.»
The voice was vaguely familiar. I whimpered and struggled to get free of the stranger’s hold. A powerful male body pressed me to the wall a heartbeat later, while I did my best scratching the palm that muted my whines.
«Easy, girl,» the man muttered, and a moment later I went utterly motionless.
His hand slid under the towel and caressed my thigh, then made its way up to my ribs. I froze and stared at the wall in front of me, amused at the gentleness of his touch. And then he palmed my breasts.
One hand still covered my mouth, while the other… The other fondled my breasts, tugged at the nipples and did all sorts of other things that caused me to shiver. I was breathing hard, silenced by the raging fear, panicked at the thought of what the stranger would do next.
All of a sudden the towel was torn from my trembling body, leaving me completely naked. He was aroused, that much I could tell from the way his erect cock was burning my lower back while his free hand continued to pet my body in a way that caused an adrenaline buzz in my veins.
I felt his hot breath on my shoulder, and it was the only warning I got before he bit me. Another remind of who was in charge at the moment.
God, I was going to be raped in my own apartment. Facing the wall and…
I liked the idea.
My mind exploded at the realization that I really liked it. Warmth, shiver, anticipation, lust… I was going to be fucked by a sheer stranger. My mind screamed in protest, but my body…
«So hot,» the man murmured, kissing my neck.
Long, powerful fingers traced my belly-button, then slid lower. A broad palm cupped my mound, and I jerked in futile attempt to escape the intimate touch. Not there! He would know that…
«You’re wet. You want it, too, don’t you?» Laughing mockingly, the stranger kissed my neck, then bit it hard enough to leave a mark.
His fingers slid to my clitoris then, and I moaned. I did not want it, did all I could to avoid the humiliation, but that betraying sound ruined everything.
And then I lost it. I forgot where I was, who I was with, even my own damn name. It did not bother me any longer that his palm was covering my mouth while the other was stroking between my thighs, awakening the torturous desire I had not felt for the past eight months. My body relaxed, and all of a sudden I rubbed my weeping pussy against those clever fingers.
My rapist — though I doubted one could call it a rape after my eager response — hissed and stopped torturing me. Unzipping his jeans, he let me feel his pulsing cock.
«Are you on pills?» he asked, teeth grazing my earlobe, and I shivered in response to the intimate touch.
I nodded and closed my eyes. A heartbeat later, he filled my greedy pussy with his hot, hard, enormous cock, burying it straight to the hilt. The sensual assault tore a scream from my chest, and I tried to get away from him, but he halted my retreat by grabbing my waist and holding me still.
The deep thrusts left me dizzy and light-headed as well as questioning my own sanity. He was pistoning me with such force, I could feel the tip of his cock touch the back of my womb. Fast, rough, deep thrusts just at the right angle to catapult me straight into orgasm in a matter of seconds. His palm never left my mouth, and I was slobbering it like a damn dog, while he was riding me into oblivion.
Yes, just like that. Faster. I don’t know who you are, but you’re doing it right. More, please, more.
Damn, but I liked it! The rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against my ass, the scent of tobacco on his fingers, his hand, clasping my waist with enough force to leave bruises. Call me a damn pervert, but I liked it, enjoyed every second of it! How could that possibly happen?
The man behind me stiffened, thrust one more time, stretching me to the point of pain, and growled his release. Then he pulled out his cock and zipped his jeans. He let go of my waist, then pressed to my back. Fully clothed. I scented something familiar, but could not remember either where I had scented it before, or what it was.
«Next time I’ll give you more. Promise,» the man whispered, leaving a mark on my neck that would definitely turn into a huge bruise in the morning. «Now, be a good girl. Keep silent and don’t move.»
His palm left my mouth. I was still facing the wall, almost expecting him to kill me right then and there. Maybe, at that very moment he was taking a knife out of his pocket in order to slice my throat open…
The door behind me clicked, and I turned.
The hall was empty, my visitor gone.
It took me an hour to come into senses and stop crying. All that time I had been sitting on the floor where I’d collapsed the moment the visitor had been gone. I was shaking violently, teeth chattering, sobs filling the air around me.
I had been raped. In my own apartment. And it was a rape, no matter my initial reaction. I had to call the cops, tell them a stranger had broken into my apartment.
And still, I kept sitting on the floor, staring at the closed door in sheer horror. I did not know what to do. Call the cops? And tell them what? «I have just been fucked by a sheer stranger, but, you know, I have been rather willing to cooperate — he has done an amazing job. No, sir, nothing is missing, I’m not injured, just fucked. You know, I’ve even orgasmed».
No way in hell would I go to the medics. Everyone would laugh at me.
A blast of cold air hit my trembling body, and I finally stood up, leaning heavily against the wall. A cautious glance at the door — and I jumped to it, grabbing the bunch of keys from the chest of drawers. Inserting the upper lock key, I turned it so that no one could open the door from the other side. Sighing in relief, I backed away from it. Reaching for the doorknob, I swung the bedroom door open and slid into the room. After a second pause, I closed the door behind me and looked around.
The bedroom window was open, while I remembered closing it earlier that day. At first, I froze, but then turned to face it. The room was dark except for the dim light, penetrating through the widely open window. If that was the way my rapist had used to get inside, then there was no use locking the door the way I had just done.
My gaze landed on the bed. Or, rather, on the robe I’d spotted on it. There was a folded piece of paper on it. Cautiously, I touched it, certain it would disappear the moment I did so. When nothing happened, I took the paper, unfolded it and tried to make sense of the calligraphic writing — not an easy task due to the growing darkness.
«Next time, put it on»
Swallowing audibly, I crumpled the note and collapsed on the bed. Sleep? No way in hell! How was someone supposed to fall asleep when just a whisper of a sound was enough to give a person nervous twitching?
I would have to replace the lock. Both locks. Though, I had yet to figure out the way the man had used to slip inside. I’d made sure my ex-husband didn’t have a spare key. My mother did have one, but she lived in another city. The open window did arouse some suspicions, but, for God’s sake, I lived on the fifth floor!
And why did his scent as well as his voice seem familiar to me? I knew, I had met him somewhere, but could not remember either when or where our meeting had taken place.
What I did not understand at all was my weird reaction to his actions. Why had I liked it? It was wrong, I knew it. Should I blame it on celibacy I’d compelled myself to right after the divorce? Or was it a trick my mind used to replace old memories and sensations? No woman in her right mind could enjoy the mauling given by a sheer stranger. Rough, exquisite mauling screaming sexual possession… Good. It felt so good. His touch was bold, yet surprisingly gentle. Sheer force and tender care. How was that even possible?
I must have lost my mind, there was no other explanation. And yet… I enjoyed every second of it. My pussy clenched, and my face turned red. I felt embarrassed and…
More. I wanted more.
«Next time I will give you more. Promise»
I groaned, falling back on the bed.
I did not recognize the person who was staring at me out of the mirror the following morning. A ghost with baggy eyes, bruised skin, a huge red kiss-mark on the neck and a love bite on a shoulder. Signs of the downfall were clearly visible on my body due to its ivory complexion, so I opted for a turtle-neck as my daily-outfit.
I had checked the staircase three times through the spy hole, before leaving the apartment. Strange sounds and dark whispers full of promises had been haunting me at every step till I could no longer stay inside, feeling trapped and slowly loosing my mind. Shoving two books into the handbag, I donned a fur-jacket, shielded my eyes with a pair of sunglasses and stepped outside. After all, everyone needed a gulp of fresh air every now and then, and I needed mine.
There was a park not far from my apartment, and I headed there, strolling pensively along the road, pebbles crunching and rustling under the soles of my boots. Dropping on the nearest bench, I opened the bag and retrieved a paperback volume of the «Gone with the Wind». Burying myself in the book, I lost count of time until something brought me abruptly back into the reality. It took some time for me to discover it was my phone, vibrating in the inside pocket of the jacket.
Glancing at the caller ID, I frowned. It was Alex, my ex.
«Yes.» It came out husky, and I cleared my throat.
«How’s it going?»
«Fine.» I didn’t even try to pretend politeness, just kept silent, waiting for him to continue.
«What are you doing today?»
«I need to replace the door locks…» I quickly bit my tongue.
Too late. Alex could have cheated on me, but I should give him a credit — I never had to ask him twice when I needed something done. He replaced the bathroom equipment, checked leaking faucets, even helped me to drag out the old sofa and replace it with a new one. And now he offered his help, even though I didn’t ask for it.
«I’ll do it.»
«Fine,» I agreed. «Let’s save talking for the time being.»
«O’key. I’ll drop by your house at around half past six, maybe later. You know the traffic.»
Alex (Alexander, I immediately corrected myself) disconnected the phone, and I sighed wearily. I needed new locks. Desperately. I doubted the rapist would attack me in the broad daylight. Nighttime was an entirely different story. With that thought in mind, I stood up, put the book back into the bag and headed to the nearest shopping mall.
Being a classic blondeIn Russian blondes are topic of jokes. whose intelligence was questioned on a regular basis, I opted for cunning instead and chose the same types of locks I already had. The old keys would not fit in.
Deeply satisfied, I stifled a grin and headed back home. The packet made a clinking sound when I dropped it on the floor. Taking off the lacquered boots, I sighed happily and headed to the kitchen to have a bite of something out of a number of frozen premades and, maybe, a cup of tea.
A quick scan revealed a pizza and a packet of meat dumplings. Having no desire to mess with the latter, I took the pizza and removed its transparent cover. That done, I shoved the plate into the microwave oven and set the time. Switching the water-cooker on, I threw a tangerine flavored tea-bag into the cup.
The back of my neck started to tingle, and I sighed heavily, blaming my discomfort on the sleepless night and the fatigue it caused. At that moment a board creaked behind me, and I froze in place, suddenly alert.
It could not be him. He would not dare attack me in the broad daylight, right?
For some reason I could not explain, I wanted him back. Desperately.
I felt his presence with every cell in my body, and when he stepped closer, my mouth went dry and no sound emerged from the throat that had turned into nothing more than a pipe leading to the stomach. The already familiar palm caressed my shoulder, then covered my lips. The hard male body pressed to my back, and a heartbeat later the man growled in my ear:
«So, you’ve decided to replace the locks.»
Though his words were full of warning, I did not feel in the least scared of what he could possibly do. If I had been in my right mind, that would have frightened the hell out of me — after all, I still could not figure out either the way he slipped inside my apartment, or who he was.
«I thought, you would be waiting for me, girl,» he whispered, caressing my nape with his stubble of beard. «I thought, your door would always stay open for me.» He clattered his tongue, then put some distance between us and said: «Bad girl. You’ve got me upset. Now I have to punish you for that.»
The fine hairs on my hands stood up in warning, and, eyes gone wide with horror, I tried to get away from him. But his hold never wavered.
«Take it off,» the man ordered, tugging at my turtle-neck. I could not even voice my protest with his palm covering my mouth.
So I took it off, breathing hard when his palm left my mouth. The moment the turtle-neck was gone, I found my lips covered again.
«Planning to scream?» the stranger whispered, pressing to my bare back.
I shook my head and tried to turn around so I could see his face. Instantly, the man griped my neck, obviously not pleased with my actions.
«Don’t move and I won’t hurt you.»
I swallowed audibly and nodded, conceding defeat.
He released me, and a moment later a piece of cloth was wrapped around my upper face. The fabric was cool to touch, so I suspected silk or, maybe, satin. The stranger tied up the loose ends to ensure I saw nothing.
«Why are you doing this?» I asked and froze, afraid of his reaction to my bold question.
«Doing what?» the stranger drawled in that tone of his that already seemed oddly familiar. I did my best trying to remember where and when I had heard it before, but my mind just refused to cooperate. «Shielding your eyes?» he tugged at the wrap, checking the result of his handiwork.
I nodded. My breathing grew shallow when I realized I could see nothing. The microwave oven chose that moment to beep, reminding of the meal in there, the sound so abrupt I almost jumped out of my own skin.
«I want to see your face when I fuck you, without you seeing mine,» he finally answered, the cool words setting my body on fire. «You look pretty from behind too, but I want to see you orgasm.»
Jesus, the dirty talk aroused me to the point I could barely stand on my feet. His fingers skimmed along the waistband of my jeans, then plunged inside, tearing a moan from my suddenly dry lips, and retreated before I could draw another breath.
Warm hands landed on my shoulders, and the man turned me around to face him. Then he hastily unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, sliding them down to the ankles. Chest heaving, I leaned into the man’s touch as he rid me of the last remnants of clothes. Without a single word, he all but tore them from me, clearly anxious to have me naked in his arms as soon as possible. The panties did not survive the carnage and were thrown aside like a piece of useless trash. As for the bra… Well, I never wore one. My breasts were so small I saw no point in wearing something to cover them up. No wonder that, soon enough, I found myself standing in my own kitchen completely naked and at the mercy of a sheer stranger.
How could I possibly end up in a situation like that?
The lack of eyesight did strange things to me. The sensory assault was magnified a thousand fold, turning every sound, every touch, every whisper of air into a starkly intimate caress threatening to overwhelm my senses. The man closed his lips over my nipple and sucked at it gently. His palm cupped my mound possessively, fingers brushing against the clitoris. I cried out in surprise when he plunged two fingers inside my pussy, then moaned when he started moving them slowly.
I was quickly losing myself in the maelstrom of unexpected tenderness and raw sexuality.
His unique scent grew stronger as he stepped closer, lifted my leg to his waist and pushed me to the kitchen table. All the while he was fucking me with his fingers, each thrust shaking me to my very core. And just when a single thrust was enough to send me into orgasm, he withdrew his hand from between my thighs and cupped my face, fingers leaving a wet trail on my jaw.
His fingers carried my own musky scent. That made me blush. I was not a prude, but still I had never allowed anything like that before.
«Open your mouth,» the man ordered in a husky tone.
I obeyed, and the second I did, an unusual, salty taste filled my mouth. The taste of my arousal mixed with the bitter taste of the tobacco he used.
«Suck them,» he ordered again. Closing my lips over his fingers, I started sucking on them, moaning from pleasure.
The man groaned, then scooped my trembling body up and settled it down on the kitchen table. All the while I was sucking and licking his fingers as if it was my favorite candy. Actually, I was treating them as if it was the last damn candy on the whole planet and I just could not get enough of it. His breathing grew ragged, rumbling sounds escaping his throat every now and then.
When I heard him unzipping the jeans, I just couldn’t help myself and bit his knuckles. He jerked his hand away, then fisted my hair and tugged at it, leaving me with no other choice but to throw the head back and bare the throat. As if it was all the encouragement he needed, he plunged his cock deep into my cunt and stilled.
I kept my balance with hands braced against the table board. Though, it didn’t seem as if I needed additional support. He was holding me in what seemed a truly unbreakable hold that left no room to escape his claim. He nosed my cheek and breathed deep in my scent, the sheer carnality of the action causing me to shiver, goosebumps swiftly covering my skin. And just when I got accustomed to his stillness, he started pumping his shaft, tearing husky moans from my lips and drinking on them.
His mouth was hot, his lips tasted bitter, but I liked it nonetheless. The taste of him was that of a strong male in his prime. My moans grew louder as he tongued my teeth, gums, lower lip. He liked that, that much I could tell from the way he was grinning against my lips.
He kept silent, though I half-expected him to resume that dirty-talk staff that aroused me to a fever pitch even as it scared the life out of me. My butt slid along the table board, and I felt the man pull at my hair so as to bare my neck even further. Suddenly, he bit me, thrusting deep and fast, wrenching a loud cry from deep within my chest. Immediately, he let go of my hair and covered my mouth with his palm. The sheer ecstasy of what he was doing to me left me crying, the wrap absorbing the tears before they could make their way down my cheeks. His thrusts were not painful, just a bit too deep and too fast, sensitizing the inner flesh in a way I had never thought possible.
The thrusting grew in intensity then, the tip of his shaft touching ultrasensitive spots deep within my womb. The size of his cock was a real shocker, especially the length of it. I felt impaled on a steel rod. That left me breathless and, to my own shame, begging for more — faster, deeper, harder — when I could all but taste the orgasm looming in the distance.
He did as I asked, gripping the back of my neck and pressing a finger to my clitoris. And that was all I needed to tumble into an oblivion, I screamed my lungs out and started riding his pulsing shaft harder and faster, quickly adjusting to the tempo he had set.
The thrusting grew even deeper then, pleasure bordering on pain — another reminder of the sexual experience we’d shared the previous day. With my inner flesh still pulsing around his shaft, the man thrust deep once, twice — and shuddered, growling his release.
It was madness. Sheer insanity. I didn’t even know the name of the person who came to my apartment whenever he wanted to and fucked me the way he did, but still I liked it. Damn, but I liked it!
I expected anything from that man, but a gentle brush of his lips against mine took me by surprise. I shivered, and my reaction didn’t escape his attention. He put some distance between us and asked quietly:
«No,» I answered after a second pause.
«You are trembling,» he said, hands sliding up my back in a slow caress.
«Liar,» he teased, smoothing my hair. «Don’t move and don’t touch the wrap.»
I nodded, and the instant I did, he pulled his cock out and stepped aside, leaving me cold and empty. A rustling sound accompanied his movements. He must have been rearranging his clothes. Nothing broke the silence, except for the sound of my laboured breathing and the pitapat of waterdroplets hitting the bottom of the kitchen sink.
«Who are you?» I finally asked. «Will you leave me alone?»
My voice broke, revealing the truth — I did not want him to leave. I would rather go insane than face the loneliness that haunted me day and night.
«I will leave, when the time comes,» he answered vaguely. «But I promise, it won’t happen anytime soon.» The last words were whispered right into my ear. I didn’t feel him moving around, so the sudden change of his position startled me into a gasp. «All-inclusive treatment. Next time, put that robe of yours on, you know, the one patterned with tulips.»
He was laughing at me. And the way he said next time…
Warm hands petting my thighs, fingers fondling the wet folds between…
«You are so…» He breathed a sigh of awe. «I could fuck you for the rest of my life and still beg for more. But everything in this world has its limits.»
He didn’t say anything else. I went motionless and just waited. When I heard the front door close with a thud, I shivered and collapsed on the floor, tearing the wrap from my eyes. With the piece of silver cloth still clutched in my hand, I made my way to the hall. The packet with new locks was open. Closer inspection revealed that several keas were missing.
And there was yet another note, that one left on the chest of drawers.
I made a call to my ex, telling him I’d changed my mind and decided to leave the old locks. Then I placed the notes my visitor had left under the pillow. Insanity? No arguing there. Deranged? Without any doubt. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I felt sure the stranger meant no harm. I just knew it.
I really wanted to know who he was. His voice, his scent awoke some rather vague memories, but my disturbed mind seemed to be unable to process that piece of information. There was only one thing I was one hundred percent sure of — we’d met before.
That time I didn’t have any trouble falling asleep. Actually, I slept like a baby.
The next morning I could hardly recognize myself: my skin practically glowed, and a gentle blush covered my cheeks. Even my long hair seemed to shine brighter that day.
I took my time, turning this and that way in front of the hall mirror in attempts to catch a glimpse of the rest of my body. I could not believe that such a plain thing as sex could cause such changes in my appearance. Though, I had to admit, sex with a stranger was by no means plain.
Since I didn’t have any particular plans for the day, I decided to spend some time cleaning the house. The kitchen was the first to fall victim to my cleaning fervor. I sorted out the cereals, placing them in corresponding boxes — the ones I’d bought more than half a year before. All that time the poor things had been waiting patiently in the dark corner of the closet. And finally, their time had come. When it came to the stove, I found it necessary to redouble my cleaning efforts. When I poured ammonia mixture on the baking tray, an unbearable kind of stench filled the air. Still, the effect was worth it, since nothing else removed grease and odors better than good old ammonia.
My next stop was at the bathroom, where I cleared the dirt out of the tile-to-tile seams. By the time I finished, I had been more than ready to kill a couple of builders for using snow-white grout that seemed to absorb every bit of dirt in the house.
The only room in the house that was in no need of immediate clearing was my bedroom. The only place there that, indeed, needed attendance was the wardrobe, though I had already sorted some of the clothes out by placing the summer items in vacuum bags in preparation for the upcoming winter season. The living room was still empty except for the sofa, so it did not need much clearing either. Opening the windows to allow the chemical stench out, I made my way to the hall and stopped in front of the coat rack.
A dark leather jacket drew my attention. The one left by the locksmith who’d paid me a home visit the day before yesterday. I searched for my phone — an easy task after the work I’d done at clearing the house — and dialed the «Lukuabi» number. With legs wobbling from exhaustion, I headed back to the bedroom and all but threw myself onto the bed.
«Will you help me?» I asked after an exchange of traditional Estonian greetings. «I was attended by one of your locksmiths on Thursday. He left his jacket, and I would like to return it.»
«Just a second,» the girl on the other side of the line said, tapping at her keyboard. «Pae Street, 15?»
«Yes. I can describe the man, if it helps the matter. It’s a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties,» I said quickly, too afraid she was about to interrupt. «Unfortunately, I don’t know his name, but — »
«Oh.» The girl sounded confused. «If our data is correct, you were attended by Steve.»
«So?» I asked, musing over the reason for her apparent confusion.
«Well, the truth is, Steve is nothing like the man you’ve described. He is in his sixties and just as bald as a billiard ball. Are you sure you were attended by one of our men?»
«I’m in your database, right?» I said in a dry tone. «Guess, that means something.»
Silence greeted my statement.
«You are right,» the girl on the other side finally said. «That’s weird.»
«I don’t care what your problem is, just tell Steve where his jacket is. Let’s leave it up to him to decide whether he wants it back or not — in case it is, indeed, one of his belongings.»
«Sure. Have a nice day.»
Putting the phone aside, I made my way back to the hall and studied the jacket in question, eyes narrowing at the thought of being cheated. Taking the thing in hands, I squeezed the dark leather and breathed in the scent that had left me speechless back then, when I had been standing next to the locksmith on that damn staircase.
At that very instant my mind finally made the connection that left me drowning in an ocean of pure dread. I inhaled the odd scent once again just to make sure I hadn’t been mistaken. Then did it again. And again.
The damn thing carried the same scent my rapist did! That of expensive cologne mixed with a slight, almost undetectable scent of tobacco.
I had not recognized it during our intercourse because the scents had mingled to such extent it had been nearly impossible to separate one from the other. But recalling the way the palm on my face had smelled, I did recognize it.