Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (34 page)

“You like this,” I whispered. “What makes this dress so special, handsome?” I asked, in the most seductive voice I could muster. His hands clasped my shoulders. I could feel how badly he wanted to throw me down on the bed behind me. I wanted him to. He resisted. He loved to try.

“It’s the dress you’re going to wear when I cum in you,” he growled. Suddenly, I was the one grabbing. My hands reached down and cupped the hardening package between his legs. I felt his fingers squeeze me that much tighter.

“Go on then,” I whispered. “Show me what you have, master.”

Suddenly, I sailed through the air, laughing as I bounced onto the bed with him on top of me. His lips crashed down on my own in a kiss filled with lust, passion, and a hint of agitated rage. It was a mixture I loved being the victim of. His fingers curled over my hands, forcing them down on the bed while he rubbed his restrained cock against the bit of dress between my legs. The friction was perfect. The silk rubbed me and grew damp. His cock rubbed me and grew hard. I could feel it pushing, straining to escape. It wanted to be in me as badly as I wanted it in me. He was going to orgasm in me, spread that magnificent seed deep inside me. Just the thought was enough to make my cherry ripe, red, and sensitive.

He snaked his lips down past my chin and sank his teeth into my neck as his hands flew down to his boxer briefs to toss them off hastily. I gasped, curling a now free arm around his head. I didn’t want him to stop. The grinding of his teeth into my skin sent off a primal instinct in me too exciting to let go of. I vaguely recalled wondering aloud how anything could feel so good. I doubt he heard.

It wasn’t long before he was inside me again, pumping furiously into me. I felt the tip of his cock dive deep and slam hard into the wall at the end of my tunnel. The pain was far outmatched by the pleasure. Each hard thrust made me feel more bestial, like a wounded animal fighting for her life, all the while begging the tiger above her to finish the job. Fortunately, for me, the job was an orgasm, and I was hardly a victim.

“Calvin!” I cried, mindless by the third stroke. My hands ripped into the skin of his back, egging him on, daring him to fuck me harder. He responded. His arms wrapped around my back and over my shoulders, and he began to plow into me with slow, savage thrusts. Each one made my heart feel as if it might burst. Each push spread me wider than I thought possible, dove deeper than I thought I could go. I wanted more, even still.

I could feel an added intensity in him I had never felt. For once in my life, I felt as if I was receiving all the energy he had to give. He’d removed some limit he’d set for himself, for whatever silly reason men had for things like that. Perhaps it had been just for this moment, just to make this one experience as special as it felt. So many nights of pent-up desire, so many experiences leaving me wishing for his release, perhaps they had all been just to make this one time enough to satisfy me forever. I felt at the moment as though it could; his wild thrusting hit a faraway and incredible place in me, a place I used to feel only when I was tied and hurt. I realized that it wasn’t some trance, but an emotion. It was a feeling, so deep in my core that I hadn’t felt it growing. It was a feeling of perfect synchronicity, of unbreakable connection. I
loved
this man.

He pulled out of me, leaving me feeling as empty as I’d ever been. His hands roughly grabbed my ass and flipped me over. His hands spread my cheeks apart, and he dove in me again. The angle was foreign and uncomfortable at first, but only uncomfortable in a way that soon morphed into feeling fantastic. His cock rubbed my inside repeatedly, tickling and teasing as his hips pushed harder and harder against my soft ass. I loved the feeling of his desperation as he tried to dig deeper in me. I loved how his hands pulled my hips in time with his thrusts. The sensation of movement entirely beyond my control made me drip all over the sheets and cover him with my juices.

I felt a hand slide over my ass and squeeze as he rammed into me. His grip was so tight. I screamed desperately for him to fuck me harder, to take me, cum in me, to claim me as his once and for all. I wanted to be his so badly; I wanted to feel him explode inside me. So many times, I’d felt his cock jump in me, but to me, it had only become a precursor for his leaving my body. My body feared that feeling. Tonight, my body was wrong.

I heard a grunt from above me—a guttural, animalistic thing. I’d never heard Calvin sound so out of control. It thrilled me to think how exposed I was to him, how exposed he was allowing himself for me. I wouldn’t disappoint him. I pressed my hands against the bed, sliding my ass back, sliding my pussy around him. His hands dropped off my body and down onto the bed. I felt beads of sweat from his brow drip on my back. I smelled the musk of his effort, felt each push as though it happened in slow motion. His cock pulsed in me—and again. Each thrust brought about a stronger twitch. I felt each one rock through me. My body warned me that it was all about to end. I knew better. Without his hands to guide me, I knew I’d need to bring him to the finish I’d been so desperate for so long. He’d left himself in my hands. I squeezed him inside me. His hips bucked into me one time, a magnificent push that sent my face pressing against the sheets helplessly. Then, I felt something strange.

Like a mad animal, he began to pour his seed into me. I could feel the strange sensation as he filled me. I could hear his ragged breath as he gasped. I could feel his release coating my insides, soiling me as he orgasmed in me. I cried out in pleasure, in the release of nights and nights full of unfulfilled desires. He had given me that one final gift to make us complete. I took it hungrily, embracing every contraction and every drop.

For a few moments afterward, his huge body loomed over me. I lay perfectly still and listened to the sound of Calvin panting. Motionless, I felt his hot breath rolling over my shoulders. He remained inside me, his manhood slick from the mixture of his cum and my wetness. I waited. He didn’t exit me when he finally moved, but leaned his head over mine and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“Well done,” he said, as though I had given him something. I smiled.

“Thank you, master.” I said in good form. He spun me on to my side, careful to keep his still-hard manhood inside me. His powerful arms, only somewhat diminished by the sex, wrapped around my chest gently, cupping a breast in one hand and sliding over my skin with the other.

“I…,” I started, but the words wouldn’t come out. I could tell him anytime what an important part of my life he had become. I could have said so much to him right then. I wanted to, at first, but I came to realize that nothing could have expressed our connection more than the moment was—the soft feeling of him inside me, the gentle trickle of his seed over my thigh. When I didn’t continue, he squeezed me.

“I know.”

He pulled out of me, and I nearly squirmed with that last touch of pleasure. Even after minutes of holding me, he was still almost completely erect. I watched him, his body a streamlined set of smooth muscles and rocky angles, save for that one part of him that stuck out jarringly. It was slick and glistening, and I had half a mind to clean it for him.

“Come on; let’s have a shower,” he said. I was on my feet in a heartbeat.

It was a quiet shower. He stood me in front of the water, letting it rain down on my chest. He stroked my skin gently with a sponge, sliding it over my curves with a sensual delicacy. He cleaned me all over, but saved the area between my legs for last. Once there, he dropped the sponge and let his hands sort me out. I leaned back on his chest, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms up and around his neck behind me. His fingers probed me, slid over my still sensitive clit until my legs shook from his attentions. My chest heaved, and I let out whine after little whine.

He picked up the pace, gently kneading my pearl with his pointer until I squeezed the back of his neck with my fingertips and craned my head to the side to let his teeth glide over the skin of my neck. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to do it again, that he had already given me the only gift I needed for the night, but how could I? I wanted more; I always wanted more. Selfish, sure, but Calvin seemed to feed on that selfishness that made me constantly crave him. If it made him happy to please me, who was I to reject him?

It took him mere minutes to make my spine crane back in ecstasy. I felt filthy all over again, though I was still completely clean. We kissed afterward, for what seemed like an hour. Under the mind-numbing rain of the showerhead, time seemed to stand still. Only he and I, our lips sliding over each other’s, wet and tender, mattered. I was happy to let the time go, happy to play his tongue off mine. Kissing Calvin wasn’t like kissing other men; it didn’t get old.

I knew that however long I stayed there, in that shower or that house or this life with him, he would never get old. He was a hard worker, despite how carelessly easy he made pleasing me seem. I knew he would scour whatever sources he had for new ways to shock me, new ways to tease my senses and establish his seductive dominance over me. He was a master, not only over me, but also over himself and over life.

Rich and powerful, not by some stroke of luck, Calvin was a man who earned what he got, whether it was handed to him or whether he caught it, as he caught me, and built it up from the ground. What woman could help falling in love with such a man—a
real
man? The kind of man fathers admired openly toward their sons. The sort women fantasized about long after they’d settled with someone lesser. I’d found that man. He was here, and his hands slid up my stomach, wrapping around my back. His lips were on my lips. His tongue pushed against my tongue. I felt his cock press against my pussy, hard again. I was ready. I was his. He could have me as many times as he could manage, and I’d always be willing.

I grabbed his manhood in my hand, leaning it back and sliding my palm up its base. I felt his hand tighten around the hip it had taken hold of. I loved those little shows of tension in him. Godlike, but still a man. I could please him. I was still so proud of that.

“I need to tell you something,” I said, burying my head in his chest as I did.

“Sabrina, don’t. Remember what I told you.”

I sighed as my hand slid down, and then up again. His hand cupped under my chin, raising my eyes until they met his own. He said nothing, just looked down at me, ever the imposing, dominating figure. His stare was just intense enough to captivate me, just enough to make me his. I could have melted away into his skin; I wanted to be so much closer than I could ever be. Looking in those eyes, I found hope that, one day, that feeling could vanish, replaced with the contentment so many searched for and so few ever found.

Chapter 21

“You got a text,” Calvin called to me in the bathroom while I brushed my teeth.

“I need to burn that thing,” I said, mouth full of toothpaste. “Probably another idle threat from Daddy dearest. What does it say?”

I heard him unlock the phone. “It’s from your mom. It says – ” He paused. “You should read this yourself, I think, Sabrina.”

“What?” I moved into the doorframe. “What does it say?”

He got up, bare-chested, and walked across the room, handing the phone to me. The look in his eye wished he could delete the message, said he was sorry for what was about to happen. Time stopped for a moment, and I could hear my heart against my ribcage. Something was wrong; I knew it.

I glanced down at the message.
Brandon’s in hospital. Car accident.
What? No, that couldn’t be right. I reread the words, hoping to have misunderstood, feeling Calvin’s eyes on me, watching my response. My hands trembled as I dialed my mom’s cell, wishing this were all just a bad dream.

“Mom?” I said when she answered. “Mom, what happened?”
Please let this be a mistake. A fender bender, a broken leg.

Her voice was shaky, as if she’d been crying. “Sabrina, oh, God.”

“Mom!” I was desperate. “Is Brandon OK?”

“You should come home. He was admitted this afternoon to Texas Presbyterian; he’s in the ICU in critical condition.”

“What happened?” I repeated, numb but feeling the emotional tidal wave in the distance. The information didn’t register; I couldn’t process what she said. I sat.

“The police said he swerved int
o oncoming traffic on Northwest Highway in rush hour.” The Riverfront roundabout. I closed my eyes and saw the cars whizzing by. There was a pregnant pause. “They think it was a suicide attempt.” Here, her voice broke, and she began to weep.

A suicide attempt?
I felt sick, as if I couldn’t breathe. “But, he’s going to be OK, though, right, Mom? Right?”

She drew in a ragged breath. “Baby, you need to come home. The doctors aren’t optimistic. He’s been in and out of consciousness since they brought him in, but there’s swelling in the brain. They’re working on repairing the organs crushed in the impact, trying to control the internal bleeding. Sue told me the doctors said they should prepare for the worst.”

The worst?
I sank to the floor.
No, no, no
. Not Brandon, please, not Brandon. Why would he do this?
I should have called him,
I thought.
I should have, and I didn’t. Oh, my God! This shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t want him to get hurt.