My feet are soundless on the carpet. My throat stings with unshed tears. I want to scream and howl. It will be some kind of a release, but how can I? At this time of the night? I wish I could drive out to some lonely location and scream and scream and scream. But the moment I leave the front door, Brian or one of the men will start trailing me.
I pause at the entrance to our bedroom and stand gazing at Blake. He looks very pale sleeping among shadows. I feel as if I have lost everything. I am so incredibly scared. I need to hear him call out my name in that snarling voice again. Without thinking I drift, like a flower crowned Orphelia, towards him, towards the warmth of his body. At the edge of the bed I look down on him, my eyes exploring the tousled hair, relaxed muscles, and the smooth and gleaming skin. He is so incredibly sexy. But I’m not wet with desire. I want to be wet with desire again.
Carefully, I lift the duvet and crawl onto the bed next to the magnificent body. His scent is sun ripened and heady. I take his soft penis into my mouth. Slowly, gently, I suck it. He tastes delicious.
The juices begin to gather between my legs.
He moans in his sleep, his throat moves, and I increase the pressure of my mouth. The shaft grows thicker and bigger. Blake’s hands come up to hold my shoulders. I don’t look up. I just keep on sucking. His hands grip harder, suddenly they are under my armpits, and pulling me up, and over his body.
‘Let me finish,’ I say, but already I am straddling his hips.
I move my body encouragingly, and my sex, wet and willing, rubs against the short silky hairs on his thighs. He lifts me up silently and holds my body over the head of his cock. I hold on to the shaft and position it over the core of my heat. Slowly, my sex is stretched and fitted around that aroused throbbing shaft. He spreads my thighs even further and flattens them against his hips. The action makes my clit touch bone. He grinds that bone against me. Then tension transfers to my belly, my thighs, my sex. My nerves overload, and soon I am lost in a red mist of forgetfulness. It explodes in my brain.
He holds me by the waist and rolls me under him. I close my eyes and let my body be a vessel for his satisfaction. For a while I am simply a body, a body that is being fucked by another body. I am nothing but a biological reaction. When I feel the first drop of water on my cheek, I think it is Blake’s sweat, but when the next drop splashes onto my forehead, I know. They are tears. And then it is impossible for me to even be a biological reaction. He feels the change in me, and stops moving.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. The words are strange in his mouth.
Georgia Le Carre lives in England, in an old 19th century romantic cottage surrounded by a magical garden filled with fruit and walnut trees.
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