The Other Man(7)

Scars were painted all across his granite torso.  I don’t know why, I think it may have been his face, which was so handsome and young, and unscarred, but those markings caught me completely off guard.  They were all shapes and sizes, ranging from several little round ones (two of which were still fresh and pink) to long jagged cuts, the worst being a particularly big one that drew up along his side in a way that made it look like someone had literally tried to gut him with a knife.

Somehow, I knew not to ask him the first question that popped into my head, which was, What happened to you?

Instead I studied him for a long time, his cold eyes on me, his jaw held hard as he studied me back.  Finally I settled for, “You’ve been shot recently.”  It was an understatement.  He’d been shot many times, and knifed, and if I had to guess what some of those marks were, he’d even been branded and burned.

Tortured, I realized.

This man, who was much younger than I was, had been brutally tortured.  Repeatedly.

Something inside of me, my strong maternal side I was sure, went soft for him.

“Yes, I’ve been shot a time or two,” he grumbled out, sounding pissed.  “Is that a problem?”

I shook my head, even while I wondered if it was.  Was he a criminal?  He didn’t strike me as a cop, so what was the alternative?

He seemed to see something in my face, utter shock perhaps, that had him reassuring me in a soft tone I’d never heard him use before, but I loved it and craved more as soon as I heard it.  “I’ve lived a violent life.  But, Lourdes, listen very carefully, because this is a promise:  I’d never hurt you.  Okay?”

I nodded jerkily.

“Aside from rough sex, that is,” he felt the need to add.

I licked my lips and nodded again.

“Very rough,” he continued.  “But you won’t mind that.  In fact, unless my instincts are wrong about you, soon you’ll be begging me for it.”  As he spoke, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a handful of condoms, of the magnum variety.

He was pushing his sweatpants down impatiently when he said, “Get on the bed.  On your back.  Arms above your head.”

I went liquid even as I managed to comply.

He tossed the condoms on the bed by my hip, leaning over me, arms bracing on either side of my ribs, eyes running over my body.

He bit his lip appealingly, blinking languorously.  “Your body . . . “ he began and trailed off.

He shut his eyes, shook his head, and when he opened them again, whatever had come over him, whatever he’d been about to say, seemed to have passed.

I didn’t worry about it for long as his hands flew to the waistband of my pants and started pulling, dragging my sweats and panties down at the same time, taking my socks off as well when he reached my ankles.

He became preoccupied for a moment when he’d freed me from my bottoms.  I squirmed a bit as he separated my lacy panties from my sweats, studying them.

He held up the tiny scrap of material, arching a brow at me.  “This is what you wear under sweats?”

I just nodded.  I didn’t want to talk about my underwear or anything else, really.  Action was required.  Words?  Not so much.

He shook his head, and, as though that settled the matter, he tossed my panties over his shoulder, eyes moving back to my body.

“Spread your legs,” he said gruffly.

I did it, eyes on his cock, wondering how much longer I’d have to wait before I had that inside of me.

He let out a small string of curses, but that didn’t make me stiffen.  On the contrary, it made me melt, each profanity washing over me, because I knew that he was only perturbed because he wanted me.

To the degree that I wanted him.  And that was saying something.

“Any requests before we do this?” he asked.  “I’ll warn you now, there’ll be no stopping once I start.”  As he said this, his eyes moved up my body to devour my chest, taking in my full, straining breasts.

I took them in too, looking down at myself, watching in fascination as my back arched, erect nipples seeking him.

I licked my lower lip, watching how every tiny movement I made seemed to capture him.  “Another kiss would be nice,” I said softly.

His nostrils flared, and he moved to climb on top of me, straddling my hips, his hands holding my wrists firmly above my head.

He bent his face to mine, angling his head as he took my lips.

His kiss was different this time, more like what I’d expected from the first kiss, his tongue demanding, invading, greedy, like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to devour me.

I gave him everything he asked for, lips surrendering, body submitting, my hips bucking in reflexive anticipation.

I moaned out a protest when he took his mouth away, but not for long as it stayed attached to my body, moving down along my jaw, then to my neck, licking, sucking, biting as it went.

When his hot mouth reached my breasts, it was like a voltage of electricity to my chest, my back bowing, teeth gritting as he licked and sucked, pushing the ripe globes together to nuzzle from one to the other, then fastening like a suction to my nipple.

I could’ve gotten off just from the sound of his mouth feasting hungrily on my flesh, I was that primed.

Luckily, he was just as primed, and so it didn’t come to that.  There wasn’t time.