Varian Krylov (31 page)

293

Lifting up the fabric, raising it to bare her belly, her back, feeling the cool air against her chest, it felt like giving up. On safety. Preserving her self. Giving up to him, she dropped her shirt on the table and stood, shaking, her torso naked. Waiting.

Khalid's warm palm touched the center of her back, guiding her down, until her hot, bare chest pressed the cool smooth surface of the table. Behind her, Khalid shifted back, and she was no longer pinned. Warm, light, his fingertips brushed against her skin, and her pants slipped from her hips, down her thighs. Warm, soft, his hands curved against her ass and spread her, kept her spread and a fresh hot flush swept up her chest and throat and face and a faint surge of physical want pulsed through her, like an echo. Then his warm hands left her ass to the cool air.

A tenor note of glass on wood sounded, and a shiver shot up her spine as the first cold drop of viscous liquid hit her skin at the sensitive, shallow start of her cleft.

Fingertips skimmed over the small of her back, one sliding through the slick puddle, down between her cheeks. More cold drops hit her hot skin, the liquid slinking down, tickling her, sinking to where he was rubbing her, the pad of his finger teasing, softening, penetrating.

No word. No other touch. Khalid's finger slid little by little into her, then slid out, then in again. While he drove his finger in and out of her she heard the metallic ring of his buckle, the scrape of his zipper. Then the sticky wet sound of his lubed hand slicking his cock, and a moment later, his finger left her and the thickness of his cock drove into her.

On the table, gripping the edges of the table, the smooth surface of the table cooling and clinging to her skin, Vanka yielded herself to Khalid, his slow pumping 294

rocking her forward, back, forward, back. While he moved behind her, in and out of her, never touching her, never speaking, she kept her cheek pressed to the polished tabletop, her eyes closed. If she opened them, she gazed at the wall, letting it shift in the frame of her sight as Khalid's thrusts, slow in the beginning, then more and more urgent, jostled her, the cold smooth of the table caressing her cheek, her gripping palms, the insides her of her bent arms, the points of her shoulders, her scarred chest, her tender belly, her hip bones.

When his breath caught between every inhale and exhale, when every exhale sounded with a low moan, when his urgent thrusts ceased and he leaned hard into her, pinning her again against the edge of the table, and Khalid let a long, deep groan sound, spilled his wet heat into her, Vanka's broken body felt whole. Her heart beating, her lungs swelling, the sweaty heat of her skin were signs of life. Real life.

Folding himself over her, Khalid's hot chest pressed against her back, his arms doubling hers, his fingers weaving between hers where they were still curved over the edge of the table; his cheek touched her cheek. When he'd softened and slipped out of her he stood, pulling her up with him, and she turned in the circle of his arms to face him. He gazed down on her, his eyes like molten gold—tranquil, like always. But there were two wet streaks down his face, where one or two tears had already fallen.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I shouldn't have.”

He pulled her to him, his bare chest against hers.

“Don't misunderstand me, Vanka,” he said, his voice soft and even. “It's only that you give too much.”

“No, Khalid. That's not true.”

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* * * *

After that giving and taking over the dining room table, Khalid took her two, sometimes three times each day, just as her gesture had promised he could—with no prelude, no kiss or caress, at his whim, just as if her body were a part of him, his own, to be used, at will. Except, always, the gorgeous enormity of the gift was between them, wrapped around them.

Vanka would be washing the dishes, and Khalid would step in close behind her and merely lay his hand on her shoulder. Setting the cup or knife in her hand down, she would sink silently to her hands and knees, and Khalid would sink down behind her, pull down her pants, if she was wearing any, or just her underwear. He'd lube her, open her, enter her. Fill her.

She'd offered it out of pure, deep love, out of awed reverence. But each time he took her gift, feeling how she was nourishing this man who'd starved so stoically for so many years, she got back a little of her faith in her strength.

* * * *

A low, sanguine sun glowed on the sheen of Khalid's naked body. Maybe he was asleep. Or maybe he was allowing her to stand there, gazing down on him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his lightly muscled chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, his cock delicate looking, soft, nestled in its tuft of black hair.

“Hello, Vanka,” he said without opening his eyes. Then he opened them, and gave her his gentle smile.

“Hello, Khalid.”

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As she reworded what she wanted to say for the third time since she'd been standing there, she caught herself nervously shifting her weight. And her face went hot as she felt the slick, swollen feeling of her sex. That never happened when Khalid took her. It hadn't happened since she'd started chemo.

“Khalid.”

“Mmmm?”

She lost the words again, so she held up her hand, let the leather cuffs dangle.

He grinned. Sat up. Took the cuffs from her.

“You want me to tie you, Vanka?”

“No,” she breathed.

He handed the restraints back to her, and smiled.

“Whatever you wish, Vanka.”

Straddling Khalid's thighs, she knelt on the deck lounge and bound his wrists to the arm rests, down by his hips, noticing Khalid's cock already stirring from its slumber, the nervous grip on her gut softening.

Khalid. Passive. Bound to receive.

She slid forward, until the damp crotch of her boyshorts nestled against the underside of his swelling, half-hard cock, the tops of her pale thighs framing his dark, sleek torso. Leaning into him, the deep, sharp scent of his body stirred her, and she almost sighed. She hadn't come to him for herself, not like that, and she didn't know what to do with the warm, sweet want rising up in her for the first time in so long.

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She kissed his soft, full lower lip. Sank into a slow, deep kiss, his scent, his taste, the soft sound of his breathing filling her up, the press of his hardening cock against her swollen cunt turning her want to a fretful ache.

Rising up to gaze down on him, she laughed at how he was looking up at her with a mixture of arousal and amusement.

“Am I so bad at this?” she teased.

“On the contrary, it is I who is so bad at this. I do not know how to play the part you have given me. But I will learn.”

His grin, his golden irises flickering; looking at him now, between their kiss and all she wanted to do, swelled her heart up in her chest.

“God, you're beautiful, Khalid.”

His grin altered. He was laughing at her.

“You know, when I say that, I mean there's this quality about you. Like the sun.

You radiate. Your gravity, you pull me to you.”

Now, instead of laughing at her, he looked vulnerable. She kissed him again, seeking him at the depths of their kiss, offering herself.

She took her time with him. For long minutes she kissed and caressed and nuzzled his face, combed her fingers into his hair, raking his scalp, then nipping an ear lobe, feeling how his body flexed and arched under her. Working to ignore the flood of pleasure provoked when his cock rubbed against her.

His nipples. Dark as dates and eager to peak and harden under her tongue, his areolae swelling and crinkling, raising his nipples to her lips. His musk smell worked on her like a slow aphrodisiac, seeping little by little into her blood stream.

298

When she parted his legs to kneel between, she brushed her lips along the length of his hard cock, resisting her urge to lick and taste him. He was so warm, his silken length so delicate under her lips, the sight and feel and scent of him making the aching swell of her cunt unbearable. She loved it, how his cock twitched and lurched now and then as she teased him, leaving him untouched a few seconds, then sliding the head of his cock along her bottom lip.

Finally she brushed her wet tongue over the dark, swollen head of his cock, tasting his sharp tang, watching how his flat belly flexed, then seeing the gleam of her spit where she'd licked. When she pulled him between her lips, into the wet heat of her mouth, he sighed and shuddered under her. Sliding her lips up and down his rigid, flexing length, she watched him watching her. Before, he would have seen her pale breasts with their light pink nipples framing his cock each time it emerged from her mouth. Now there was only the blank canvass of her black T-shirt.

But he was panting, sighing, flexing his hips needfully. She drew her lips up, rubbing the underside of his cock with her tongue as she went. Then let him go. Went back to him. Took him in another deep kiss, caressing his taut balls as her tongue played over his, as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth. Grinning then, she slinked back down, teasing his nipples with her tongue along the way, and went back to work on his cock, licking, sucking, then taking his balls into her mouth, first one, then the other, sucking, prodding the firm roundness inside with her tongue, running her tongue between them, up the underside of his hard, swollen prick, taking him in again, watching him all along, loving every twitch of his eyebrows, every time he closed his eyes tight and then opened them again, fixing his gaze on her as he panted.

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Now, she watched his face as she took her mouth from his cock long enough to wet her middle finger, then sink it up between his firm round cheeks. His lips parted further and a little furrow appeared between his eyebrows.

“I've never . . .”

“Just go slowly,” Khalid panted, his belly flexing in time with his rapid little breaths.

Slowly, carefully, she pushed against the tight little opening, feeling the ring of muscle reluctantly yield to her finger, slowly dilating. Little by little her finger slid into the hot grip of Khalid's body. It felt almost as if a pair of strong lips were sucking at her finger. Then, god, past that tight little clench she felt the most delicate, silken, moist warmth.

She sighed, startled, “So delicate. I'm not hurting you?”

“No,” he laughed softly.

Again she took him in her mouth, watching his face as she tentatively began to move her finger inside him, first trying just fucking him, slowly drawing her finger out, then pushing it up inside him again as she nursed at the head of his cock, then slid her lips down to the base, until his jet curls tickled her lips and the head of his cock prodded the back of her throat. Then she tried rotating her wrist, twisting her finger inside him as she pulsed it in and out. She pulled out completely, teasing his hole for a while, rubbing with the pad of her finger, nudging him with the firmer, broader bend if her knuckle, then sinking the length of her finger into him again.

“Should I try two?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes,” he sighed, all the mirth gone from his voice.

300

She spit onto her index and middle fingers, and carefully worked them into him.

“Soon, soon,” he panted as she lapped at the underside of his cock, rubbing at the joint behind the head with her tongue.

Now she sucked him eagerly into her mouth, varying the speed and rhythm of her ass fucking, sliding her tongue over his hard length, and she slid her lips up and down. She brought her free hand between his thighs and caressed his balls, tight and high now. Then, pushing her fingers into him to the hilt, she felt for the round firmness she'd read about, stroked it with the pads of her two fingers when she found it, sucking eagerly at Khalid's rigid cock as she felt him so close, his thighs quivering against hers, his hips flexing, his belly fluttering with rapid little breaths.

“Vanka!” Khalid whimpered. “Vanka!”

A warm, thick tang spurted against her tongue and she sank down on his cock, taking him as far back into her throat as she could, feeling his cock pulse, over and over, against her cradling, caressing tongue as he came, grunting, panting, grunting again.

She held him in the warm wet of her mouth until his rigid body softened, until his caught breath went to panting, then slowed. Slowly, she drew her lips up, gently nursing a final few seconds at the plump head before releasing him, and swallowing.

She watched him gasp and shudder as she slid her fingers from his ass, then she lay her body over his, taking him into her arms, cradling his head, kissing his face, holding him through those fragile moments after his climax before finally undoing the restraints at his wrists. He pulled her down beside him, put his arms around her, held her to him.

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“I must tell you, Vanka,” he said a long while later, “probably that is the best head I have ever been given.”

“Thank you,” she answered lamely, skeptical. Embarrassed. “I've made a sort of study of the practice, over the years.”

“Yes, I see.” He stroked the bit of down that had grown in so far, since she'd stopped chemo. “And tying me. That was the first time, for you?”

“Tying someone else? Yeah.”

“And fucking me with your fingers. Also that was the first time for you, doing that?”

“Yeah.”

“And even so, you found my . . .”

“Your prostate.”

“Yes. Tu sais, il y a la petite mort? But that, when you do that with your mouth and with your fingers, c'est la grande mort, ca,” he laughed. “Tying me did no harm, either. But I think that's not why you did it.”

She only smiled, not knowing what to say.

“Cher, cher Vanka. Mon ange blanche.” He kissed the crown of her head, and for a little while they slept there in the early morning sun.

* * * *

Vanka pulled her T-shirt on and tugged her panties up, then opened the bathroom door to let the steam out. She flossed and brushed and bent over the sink to rinse and spit. Grabbing a towel, she dabbed her face.

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A firm, warm pressure against her ass pushed her against the counter. In the mirror her reflection peered back from behind a veil of steam, and behind her, Khalid.