Varian Krylov (33 page)

“That one, in particular. It's so imagistic. The whole time I'm reading, I'm storyboarding every shot. I can't help it.”

“You want to make this film?”

“I've never done a feature. I've never even done anything narrative. But, yes. I want to make this film with you. I've been thinking about it for weeks.”

“It is a strange idea, for me, this thought of seeing actors saying and doing the things I have written. But I will think about it.” He stood up and stripped down to his trunks. “But for now, I want to swim. Will you swim too?”

“No.” She stroked the soft flesh of her arms.

Khalid's lithe, umber-hued body seemed to belong there, a part of the seascape as he slipped into the gray and white foaming swells. Sleek as a seal, he dove under the first big breaker and swam for the sun.

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Vanka had always been a strong swimmer, fearless in big waves, at ease in uncertain depths, not minding the brush of seaweed and fish against her calves. She'd been scared, though, to go out with him. She didn't trust the strength of her muscles, the capacity of her lungs. Now, watching Khalid, she felt sure, if he needed her, she could swim out and get him back.

She never took her eyes off that black head, that brown shoulder, his powerful arm cutting through the surface, pulling him forward, parallel with the shore, striking south, then north, then turning in, chasing the swell and break of the waves until one rose up behind him and drove him toward shore.

His lithe frame only a little rounded with exhaustion after fighting the waves and the current for thirty minutes, he rose up from the shallows and came toward her. Khalid let her wrap his wet body in the heavy terry beach towel, sank down to the sand, and let her hold him in her arms, giving him her heat.

* * * *

its surface, its structure. Its body long and thick and solid, its neck delicate, slender and curved, its head a modest, elegant oval.

In her palm, the weight of it was comforting. Inspiring.

Cool and smooth under her fingers. Against her cheek, her lips, her belly.

On her back, she spread her legs. Contemplated her mound with its sparse coat of fair fuzz. Watching, she pressed the oval to her arousal-slick opening, first just feeling the cool roundness touching her, then the pleasant pressure as the oval opened her, little by little, as her cunt enveloped it, holding it, cool and smooth and round, deep 313

inside her. The delicate neck curved and emerged from between her pink, downy lips.

And, just below her clit, the full, graceful swell of the base of the phallus, which rose, thick and long and translucent, hovering over her belly.

Her cock.

When she flexed her PC muscle, the tip of her cock lurched upward, and when she relaxed, it fell back to hover an inch or two above her belly. When she did a quick burst of flexes, it bounced up and down obediently, the weight of her cock rocking the acrylic egg inside of her.

Getting on all fours and looking down the length of her torso, her cock aimed itself right at her, then performed its tricks all over again. Only the brush of the egg inside of her teased with a slightly different pressure. Vanka sat back on her heels and, admiring how eagerly it pointed at the ceiling, wrapped her fingers around her cock. And she smiled. Almost laughed.

Her grip skidded up the length of her thick, clear shaft. On the downstroke, the egg tried to escape the grip of her enveloping muscles. Vanka stretched for the nightstand drawer, snatched up a bottle of lube, shot three squirt into her palm, and coated her cock. Now her grip slipped up and down, and the egg gave up its efforts at escape—it just bumped pleasantly against her knot of nerves when she pulled up, and relented when she pulled down.

Loosening her grip, she caressed the subtle curves of the base, the center, the tip, enjoying the cool, smooth glide of it against her palm, under her fingertips. If she fisted her cock, fast and firm, the egg tapped against her with a delicious, staccato rhythm. Could she come, just like that?

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It surprised her how soon her arm got tired. She caught herself smiling. On impulse, she'd wrapped her other hand around her gorgeous, glass-hard shaft, and was pumping her hips into her grip in a slow rhythm.

The first time the fat swell of the base glanced off her clit a shock of pleasure rippled through her sex and after, she heard her own startled little sob. Now she started swiveling her hips as she pumped them, working for that thrilling contact, thrusting her cock into the slick tunnel of her grip, rubbing and bumping her clit against the hard swell of acrylic.

Now her thighs were burning with the effort of levering her weight up and down, forward and back. She collapsed forward, onto her knees and one forearm, fisting and fucking, jerking her cock with her hand, thrusting her hard shaft into the grip of her fingers. Over and over the egg inside of her bumped against that knot of nerves, while she desperately humped that gorgeous hardness by her clit.

Yes, please, yes, she was going to. The maddening little thrill of her clit rubbing and sliding, dragging up and down that crystal hill, each thrust hitting her G-spot, prodding that deep, strange pleasure. Please, there, yes, the want, the ache swelled and swelled and burst and spilled as she bucked, again, again, and collapsed, panting, her thighs and arm muscles burning, her cunt throbbing around the egg-shaped root of her cock.

* * * *

been running for a couple of minutes, and as Galen had told her once, before she really knew him, Khalid took long showers.

He wouldn't laugh. But he might . . . what? Get that amused look on his face.

Stand there feeling sorry for her, try to get out of it without hurting her feelings. It was sort of funny; she was so worried about how he'd react to the dildo, she was hardly thinking about her chest.

As she walked across the room, her cock bounced a little with each step, and the hard acrylic egg rocked inside of her. She perched on the armchair at the far side of the bed. The chair where Khalid had waited for her that first night, before they'd even met.

Deep breaths. For the thousandth time she chastised herself for not just talking to him first, as she arranged the folds of her white kimono robe.

The hum of the water cut out. Her heart paused, then pounded, thump thump thumping fast and hard. At the last second, she changed her mind about sitting. She rose, smoothed the gathers of her robe, and straightened beside the chair. Willing herself to stay still, she watched the bathroom door open.

When he stepped into the room, naked, the setting sun bathed him in its tangerine light. His golden eyes fixed on her, and he smiled. The pounding of her heart, the pulsing of her sex, everything dialed up as Khalid approached.

“Do I understand, Vanka? You've come to me?”

“Yes.” Her face went hot because her voice had broken on the word.

“But look at you.” There it was, his amused look. But his gaze was tender. “You are so nervous.” Gently he stroked her fine growth of hair. “You have not come to me too soon? Before you are ready?”

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Vanka turned her head, “no.”

He went on, gazing at her, as he caressed her, fingertips faintly touching her neck, her shoulder, her throat—just where her robe left her skin bare. His soft lips brushed her temple. Her cheek. Her ear. Little shivers shimmered down her body and pooled, thrumming, in the swelling heat of her sex. Then he kissed, his warm lips touching hers. Soft. Waiting. Again.

His kiss. She wanted to sink into the sweet heat of his mouth, but every pulse of her wet cunt against the hard stem of her cock worried her.

“Just . . .” She halted.

His golden gaze was so warm, so kind. “Tell me, Vanka.”

“I . . .” She tried again. “You might not . . .” She was being so ridiculous. Her fear broke over a helpless laugh. “I have a surprise. And it's okay, if you don't like it.”

“Yes?” he purred, smiling.

She took his hand, noticing he was already half hard. Her heart seized as she pressed his palm to the silk of her robe where it veiled her acrylic erection.

He sighed. Nearly groaned. She watched as he curved his fingers around her shaft and gently, slowly slid the white silk up. Then down.

“Vanka.” It was a low growl.

Their foreheads tipped together, the both looked down as he parted the skirt of her robe, revealing her translucent prick.

“C'est jolie, Vanka,” he breathed. “Like a ghost. An impression of a cock.” He opened the skirt wider, exposing her naked hips. “No . . . le mot? No straps?” He paused. “So, it is inside you?” he sighed, finally.

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Khalid's cock had risen up beside hers. Almost touching.

“And when I touch, like this . . .” He curved two fingers behind the swell of acrylic at the end of her cock, and gave two gentle little tugs, rocking the orb up inside of her, “.

. . you feel this touch?”

“Yes,” she breathed, the sight of him doing that magnifying the rousing sensation.

He half sighed, half laughed, leaning into her, his warm breath moist on her cheek. “And this,” he ran the pads of those two fingers along the length of her shaft, “it excites you?”

“Yes.”

“And,” he sighed, his golden eyes sparking in a way she'd never seen before,

“you want to fuck me with this cock of yours?”

“Yes.”

Khalid came on, sinking into her kiss with a fervent heat that was new, to her. A surge of need swept away her anxiety. She forgot everything except Khalid's hungry kiss, the heat and the faint quivering of his naked body against her, the delicious slickness of her cunt as it pulsed around the hardness inside her.

They surfaced from that deep, urgent kiss. Gentle, now, Khalid took her lips in soft little kisses, delicately danced his tongue against hers. Then he slipped away.

Looked at her a moment. Came back with another soft, sweet kiss.

His hands converged on the loose knot at her waist, his long, delicate fingers untying the cord. She tried to meet his gaze with a smile. The knot undone, he held her gaze as he slid the silk from her shoulders and her robe slipped to the floor.

"Now tell me my scar is pretty."

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"Pretty is not exactly the word for it."

She laughed, her lashes wet.

"It's magnificent."

With delicate fingertips he traced over the pink weals sloping across her chest, tracing each wound—the long, thick scars where her breasts had been, the smaller dashes left by biopsies and her port. His touch glided down, traversing her scars, faintly tickling her belly, touching along her jutting cock, almost invisible in the fading light. His eyes followed his hand over her body, then turned up to meet her gaze.

“You're magnificent, Vanka.” His gaze was tender. His voice was frayed with emotion. And it didn't hurt his credibility that his cock was still flushed and hard. “Tu sais bien, Vanka, que je t'aime, mais tu dois savoir, aussi, que tu es belle. Absolument magnifique.” Nothing in her doubted him.

On the bed they kissed and touched. Khalid was like a whole world she'd slipped into. His skin, warm, smooth, taut over his lean muscles, his long frame, was like velvet under her lips, the scent of him filling her lungs and urging her on, his salt tang on her tongue as she tasted him, the smooth plane of his belly under her lips, her tongue, his nipples, full and dark, going hard as she grazed them with her teeth, worried them with the tip of her tongue. The rich musk of his cock, hard and straining for her kiss. His breaths, his sighs. His warm gaze.

That tugging ache low in her belly had her almost whining. But her want was bigger than that. Khalid. She needed more of him.

“What?” he grinned. He'd caught her smiling.

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“The last week or so,” she said, still teasing his cock with her fingertips, “I've been like a cat in heat. As you noticed.”

“Yes.”

“But it was just hormones. My body. My cunt.” She laughed. “I feel like the rest of me just caught up. I want you with everything in me. I want you so badly, there's not room for anything else. It feels so good.”

Khalid smiled and kissed her eyes and when he kissed her lips she tasted her tears.

“But I didn't think I'd be so nervous. Ever done it with a virgin before?”

“No.” He kissed the corner of her smile. Kissed her wet lashes. “You will be my first.”

Vanka slipped down, kissed and nibbled the lean flesh of Khalid's inner thigh, taunted his cock with her tongue as she slipped one lubed-up fingertip between his cheeks and teased his asshole. Petting his balls, stroking his cock, she slid her finger inside him as he gazed down on her from under his dark fringe of lashes, his belly rising and falling with rapid little breaths. Her cunt pulsing insistently around the base of her cock, she loaded up two fingers with more lube and worked them into the hot grip of his body, pumping into him, opening him.

“Vanka,”he said, his voice gentle but threaded with urgency, “please.”

She pulled her fingers from the clinging grip of his body, and watched Khalid slick her cock with lube, the sensuous movements of his graceful fingers along the length of her cock reverberating through her sex. Kneeling between his thighs, she touched the tip of her cock to his dark clench, pressing gently until the grip of him held her firmly in 320

place. She leaned over him. Sank into a slow, wet kiss. Their mouths parted, their eyes locked, and she went into him with a slow push of her hips.

Something disturbed the tranquility of those golden eyes.

“Am I hurting you?”

He smiled. “No. No, Vanka.”

He curved a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her in for a deep kiss, stirring up her tender affection, together with a fierce need. God, she was shaking. She planted her hands and tried working her hips between Khalid's thighs, keeping her movements shallow, conservative, because she was afraid of slipping out of him, afraid of wrenching out the egg rooting the cock inside of her.