Vincent made his ingress upon the point of no return. As he unbuttoned the woman’s jeans, slipped a hand down the front of her, and raked his middle finger along her dampened underwear, he found he could barely manage to stifle a low groan. His heart sunk as she gripped his arm for dear life.
Ignoring the pull of reason, he indulged the desire he had no strength to turn from; slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, traced her length, and began ringing the devil's doorbell. “Do you feel that?” his words came in a groan.
Blue’s head hung forward. She felt far too shy to acknowledge the erection that pressed so gruesomely into her ass… Despite the fact he had his hand in her pants. “What?”
“You know what, Blue,” Suddenly, his hand left her. And Blue failed to stifle a begging whimper. “Look at me,” Eagerly, she spun to face the man, completely oblivious to the fact that her gut would be hanging from her trousers and she felt as though she was about to soak entirely through her jeans. Suddenly, he thrust his hand between them, and she hadn’t the mind to care if it was the very one that had been all but inside of her. “‘Vincent, pleasure to meet you,” and as she hesitantly clasped her hand with his, he tugged her flush against himself and pressed her mouth in the most firm, intense kiss she’d yet to experience. She almost collapsed at his feet.
Blue choked out the very words she’d thought her self-respect would stifle. “Fuck me,” and tangled her arms invitingly around the man’s neck before she could think any better of it.
Vincent acted before he could revel in the sheer insanity of what he was doing—too fast to bask in the impulsiveness and risk of the moment. In mere moments, she’d kicked her shoes off; he’d tugged her jeans to her ankles; slipped his hands beneath her knees; set her atop the balcony railing she was far too distracted to worry about giving way. And pushed inside of her so cruelly.
She gasped, inhaled sharply, hummed lowly into the man’s parted lips. Pinched his sides with her knees as his trousers flattened against the insides of her bare thighs. Let her eyes shut as he rested inside of her. Wondered why it didn’t hurt to be with him like it had any other man. Tried her best to pretend she knew what she was doing.
The driveway winding behind her back two storeys below, wind bracing her bare ass and metal cool against her skin, she felt no fear of being tossed half-naked over the edge. She melted in the embrace of the man she knew only a name for. His hands so gentle while pinning her knees to his sides. Stubble so coarse against the skin of her cheek as his lips twisted with her own. All thoughts about Richard and the gangbang and a half waiting for her downstairs were expelled with each gasping breath. She tugged the man closer. Hated that she’d already fallen in love with his mystery.
As his lips bowed to her neck and his nose rubbed her jaw, she surrendered to the pull that tugged at her insides and rocked her hips against his. Groaned rather loudly. Found herself mewling brokenly again and again as he advanced on her sex. Roughly. Slowly.
Teeth grazing her chin, her hands wrapping through his hair as though afraid he’d send her to her death, he muttered few words bitterly into her neck. “Keep your damn mouth shut or we’ll both have some explaining to do,” and then pressed his mouth into her own almost tenderly. Affectionately. Blue nodded stiffly. “Good girl.”
And with that, he curled over the woman; tucked her head beneath his chin, and buried his nose in her tousled hair. Her head spun. Her stomach yet tightened. He made her feel strange things that completely consumed her.
She hadn’t yet completely accepted the fact she was making love to the strange man she’d stared at all night long over the edge of a balcony for the whole world to see. Instead, her thoughts were filled with those of lust and the growing despair that filled her guts and numbed her toes with its closeness. Drawing her into the depths. Completely animalistic. So she tugged at his hair, urging the man on. And he pressed into her roughly.
It happened in seconds, she’d held her breath as each thrust hardened and screwed her eyes shut to hold at bay the crude exclamations she needed to scream. Clutched at his sides. Pulled his hair. Seized his shoulders. Gasped in disbelief…
Finally, she exhaled slowly, forehead pressing into the man’s chest urgently and knees jerking shyly. And as the force of her climax flooded her stomach and slackened her body, she felt her grip falter. Vincent drove the girl into the nearby wall.
For the first time, she felt completely at peace. Listening to the man’s half-silent grunts as he shielded her from the world, body coiled around hers, shoulders caging her so carefully against the wall. Each shaky push of his hips into her own drawing her further and further from the sad reality that had become her adulthood. It frightened her; the fondness she could feel for a person after a minute of talking and three minutes of pure ecstasy.
Yet as she recoiled from his chest in search of even slight distance, he cradled the side of her face in his hand. Pressed his mouth to hers as he had. Groaned lowly into her kiss. Filled her with his own spend.
She softened to the stranger again.
He moved gently.
Slowly, they parted. He buckled his trousers, clothed her, pinned her between himself and the railing as he had before and began to gently smooth over her hair as though he hadn’t just fucked her senseless. And out of it all, the one part she had a hard time accepting was how good it felt.
“Morning, Anya,” Blue hardly paused as she jumped from the last stair and came face-to-face with her mother and the maid. Marian sat proudly at the end of the table, a plate of fruit half-massacred in front of her, breast implants bursting from the front of her electric blue cocktail dress. Anya hovered nervously. The dining table had been pushed back to the center of the room. The decorative furniture moved back to the basement. No remnants remained from the previous night—aside from the dull throb of her groin and the fingerprint bruising to her thighs she had no choice but to wear jeans to hide. Summer thus far had been kind. The days were bright but cold. She spent the mornings in bed relishing the fact she’d never again go to school if she so desired. She’d thrown out the pleated skirt uniform the day she’d graduated, deciding never again to appeal so unwillingly to the male gaze. Loved the fact she could wear whatever she wanted. Clad in a half see-through brow
“I take it you must be missus Pierce,” Blue met the man’s eyes, and though she had wondered what color they had been, staring at the deep green framed beneath dark, sinister brows, she was far more concerned with her desire to be swallowed by the ground. Staring in complete disbelief, she watched as he shook hands with her mother using the very same one he had had in her underwear a mere twelve hours prior. The blood drained from her face. Suddenly, she began gulping down her coffee. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The humor of Marian's apparent nervousness was lost on Blue. “Vincent is our newest CEO, he was kind enough to move a big meeting for us to come this morning, inviting him was the nice thing to do,” as he spoke, Bradley offered the man the same stiff smile they’d all thrown at each other. Blue wondered if they were speaking in code. "Blue, I presume? Happy birthday from
Following as carefully as he could, trying rather earnestly to mask his footsteps and holding his breath for whatever reason, Vincent rounded the corner and pressed into Bradley’s study. Blue had stood silently, staring through the window as though she wished she’d disappear completely, only moving to meet the man as he silently closed the door behind himself—and rearing at him instantly. “My god! can’t you leave me alone?” Her approach was quick, and while the man had at least five or six inches on her, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin as though she hadn’t a fear in the world. As she did, Vincent couldn’t help but feel he was being attacked by a toy poodle suffering small dog syndrome. And smiled. “Is this all a joke to you?” “Your father invited me, Blue, do you expect me to turn down all invitations that may involve you just because you told me we can’t see each other again?”  
Staring back at the man she wished so desperately was Vincent, Blue found it rather difficult to force a stiff smile. Cocking a warmer, thin-lipped smile of his own, hair so covered with gel, Richard gently kicked at her foot as he had one time too many and smiled as though the gesture somehow sexually pleasured her. Blue wondered if the mug she wanted to club the man over the head with so desperately would shatter from his hair alone. Wondered if he could find the clitoris even with a map. Carefully sipped her green tea. She’d long since given up eyeing the clock across from her. It had been precisely eight fifty-nine for five minutes by then. As the longer arm ticked over, she found it would make a gentle retreat each time she glanced away. Or so she felt. She had to give her mother some credit for not springing a chaperoned date on her at the very last minute. And while dinner with Richard wasn’t exactly what she’d consider an ideal night, she’d ha
Climbing from her open window, Blue suddenly felt she was sixteen again. She hadn’t a care who could happen past her window and stare up her skirt as she sliced her finger on a rather jagged vine—had already forgotten the Wikihow article on climbing from a second-story window she’s studied like the bible. It had only been a mere day ago she’d hung from her balcony half-naked. A mere twelve hours since she’d been dry humped in her father’s study. It was safe to say she hadn’t the self-respect to care, not after the night before. Darting down her own driveway as though fleeing from a crime scene, the thought hadn’t occurred to Blue that they hadn’t so much as organized a meeting place. Suddenly, she found herself feeling quite anxious. In all her sexual frustration, she hadn’t the mind to ask for even crucial information. Was he picking her up? Was she meant to call a car? Were they meeting at the restaurant? Where were they eating? And as she pulled
“How am I supposed to get over there?” “That’s an issue, not an ish-me,” Suddenly, Blue found she had no other argument. “Fine. A little privacy please?” finally slipping her purse from her shoulder and kicking it to the floor, she broke from the man. He watched eagerly with a smile that needn’t betray a trace of his excitement; wordlessly sunk back in his seat. Watched as she flattened a hand over the front of her skirt and began to climb over the center console rather gawkishly. Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle. “After last night, I don’t think you need to worry about me seeing up your dress, sweetheart,” smiling gently, he tugged the woman into his lap. As he did, she became rather aware of the erection she hadn’t yet noticed. “Now, how well do you think you can keep quiet?” “Well enough, thank you,” “I’ll take your word for it,” speaking with a certain abruptness, he braced the woman’s back with one hand, the other slipping beneath the he
Blue thought it impossible to be any happier after her lewd few minutes in the car with Vincent. Never had she been more wrong. He’d chosen Italian. The restaurant was small, quiet. She’d worried they were keeping them open when they’d requested their table at a quarter-to eleven, though the staff would never show it. The brickwork was left bare, furniture obviously antiqued. The waiters wore no uniforms. They’d shared a table that seemed almost a little too small for two, knees brushing, glasses often confused. And though their clothes were crumpled, and she wore his blazer, constant reminders of their moment in the car, Blue blushed deeply each time they touched. Shrunk away as his legs leaned to hers. Tucked her hands in her lap when their fingers brushed. Perhaps it was the fact that the lack of lighting deepened the green of Vincent's eyes in a way that forced her gaze from his when ten seconds became far too much.
Quietly, Blue excused herself. Going about her business, staring into her reflection as she washed her hands, she could admit that she felt rather nervous. She’d never spent the night with anyone before—sure, she’d degraded herself having rather public sex twice in twenty-four hours, but waking up next to a man was different, entirely. Her hair would be matted. Eyelash extensions tangled. Eyes and nose swollen. Lips chapped. It was how she awoke each morning, though she’d never minded. No one had ever seen her so disheveled before. The thought was enough to put her on edge. Staring at her creased dress, she hadn’t a care what her parents would think if she stumbled through the front door in the same clothes she had left in. Instead, she worried what Anya would think. The quiet Polish woman with gentle hands and an encouraging smile—the woman who stared at her so derisively when she gave her her coffee that morning. Or had she be