After (75 page)

She let him go, arched back and said, “Do that to me.”

First, he brushed his lips over her jaw, down her neck, kissed and nuzzled under her ear while she writhed over him, finding a pleasure close to sweet deep pain each time she brought the full length of him inside her, each time she rubbed her swollen clit against him. When the soft wet tip of his tongue touched her nipple, a spark of pleasure burned under his mouth and swept through her core, down into her sex. Gently at first, so she hardly felt it, he licked the tip of her breast. Her sensitive flesh contracted under his tongue, her nerves firing, her pleasure swelling, rising. When he sealed his hot mouth over her nipple, when he sucked, a bolt of pleasure shot through her. She shuddered and whimpered and he let go, leaned back to look at her. She smiled and his startled eyes calmed. They kissed. Then he took her other nipple with his mouth, kissed and licked and sucked.

She keened and pulled away because she wanted to be looking at him, wanted to bare herself, give herself up to him when it came, that surge of pleasure that swelled and swelled then burst and radiated through her in pulsing waves. He watched her, held her as she succumbed, as she fell apart and melted, exalted and weak, and as she caught her breath, gathered her strength, and writhing, brought him over the edge after her, groaning, panting, clutching.

In the days after, they would mobilize, surge forth with a vast army that would pull the line west behind them, town by town, state by state, until all the resistance women and men were out of hiding, until the wives were freed from their locked rooms, until the girls emerged from the humid dark of the sex hotels. In the years ahead, they would struggle, and John and Smith and Nadia would come behind with the peacekeepers and the engineers and the doctors, with the Red Men and Red Women who would give and teach love to a generation that had been lost to it. But all that night, they were tender and warm as they learned how to touch each other, as Nix and Gareth discovered what it was to be lovers.

THE END

ABOUT VARIAN KRYLOV

Since her girlhood in a sunny coastal town in California, Varian Krylov has
nurtured a love of words and a curiosity about the deep, dark forces at work in
human nature, especially sexuality, and how they often paradoxically twine with
our tenderest impulses. Her stories tend to explore the sometimes fine line
between what arouses, and what frightens, what we’re driven to, and what we’re
ashamed of.

If you enjoyed AFTER, you might also enjoy:

ABDUCTION

By Varian Krylov

For years, college student Devan Astor has penned erotic stories based on her
dark fantasies, but when she’s abducted, she is faced with the real terror of being
at the mercy of a cruel stranger. She flees, but in the remote cabin where she
takes refuge, will she encounter a danger even more frightening than the
kidnapper who is still hunting her? At the end of her ordeal, will she be left
scarred by the experiences that so closely match her own fantasies, or will she
discover fulfillment she never imagined?

Warnings: This title contains elements of non-consensual sex, anal sex and m/m sex.

Excerpt From ABDUCTION:

He knew she would let him do anything, have anything. Anything. It was that thought—that he could do what he wanted—that made him so hard, so hot, rather than any particular thing he could think of actually doing. That this strange, quiet girl would let him touch her, take her, look at her any way he liked, and yield to any thing he might do with nothing but breaths and sighs and that look of hers.

Somehow her pigtails seemed perverse. He wanted her hair loose. Quietly, calmly, like a child with a doll who will neither judge nor protest, he took one pigtail in the loose circle of his fingers and worked her wet hair free of the elastic band. Then he did the other. He put the bands around his wrist and, with both hands, combed his fingers through her wet hair until it hung heavy and wet in thick strands over her shoulders and down her back. But he missed the nape of her neck, pale and whisped with baby-fine hairs in two Vs, so he twisted her hair up in one hand and drew it up, bending her head forward, elongating the back of her delicate neck, making the pale skin go taut over the smooth rounded curves of her spine.

Christ, he hadn’t even really touched her yet, and he was rock hard. What was it with this girl?

He leaned into her, let his face brush against her neck, heard her suck in her breath, felt her quiver as his chest pressed against her back. Breathing in the smell of her skin, feeling the heat of their bodies warming the wet cloth between them, seeing the tiny hairs—the soft blond down of her ears—he was momentarily aware of how on, how tuned into every sensation his body was in that moment, as if he could taste and see and hear molecules of air, of rain, of her and he felt oddly happy.

It was exciting to touch, to run fingers along the bare wet gooseflesh of arms, to peel the wet, sticking sleeves back to reveal her upper arm and the first hint of her shoulder, to brush his lips against her there without kissing, to think of licking and biting her tender flesh, to feel the excitement of anticipation, the little twinge of denial.

The t-shirt she had on was soaked and clung to her like gray skin, and he took in the shape of her tits, her dark areolae, her hard nipples, the vague ripple of ribs, the slight hollow of her belly. He came to her, his body pressing her, his thigh parting hers, getting a little sigh from her as his leg pressed against her cunt. After that little noise she turned her face away and closed her eyes, and he smiled, amused by her shyness. He leaned into her, her body soft and trembling, mouthed her ear, felt her panting breath with his chest, and whispered,

“What do you want, Devan?”

One of her wrists he let go, let his hand come down into her hair to feel its heavy thickness between his fingers. Her other wrist he brought down, down, and pressed her hand to his hard, aching cock.

“Is this what you want?”

She only answered with a breathy sigh, her eyes closed, her lips parted.

Still holding her hand to his swollen cock, barely moving it over him, he mouthed her ear again, gently bit her jaw just beneath it, kissed her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair and her skin as he tasted her flesh. He heard his own excited breathing, panting against her face, her neck, her jaw, tasted his own saliva as his mouth moved back to the places it had been already, tasted the salt of her skin—salty chin, jaw, neck, cheek. Strangely so, when her ear hadn’t been, or the smooth neck beneath, under the

canopy of her wet hair. Not thinking, just feeling, feeling his way around her, he tasted the rain dripping from her chin, trickling down her smooth cheek, wetting her lashes.

But the rain on her lashes was all salt…

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