Silence

She waited in the darkness, the wind in her face tasting of salt and sea and fish. She leaned against the seawall, facing the pounding sea, feeling the rough texture of the stones against her abdomen through her thin cotton dress. The iron railing running along the top of the wall was smooth and cool in her hands, steadying her even as a shiver stole over her. When would he arrive? Why wasn’t he there yet?

As though in response to her unspoken anxiety, the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face in stinging nettles, chastising her, then calming abruptly to caress her bare shoulders and tease the silky skin of her thighs, billowing the dress’s short, flirty hemline up. Soothed, she let the skirt lift, enjoying the feel of the wind between her legs, of the silk sliding against her thighs and bare buttocks, and knowing that if he was near, he would see her standing as he had told her to, bare beneath the dress, waiting for him. The glimmer of her thighs, white the moonlight, would be a beacon for him.

And then, suddenly, with no warning, he was there. She felt his presence behind her in the half-second before she felt his breath on the nape of her neck, but when she gasped and made to turn, he pressed against her, stilling her, one arm coming around her waist, the other hand closing over her mouth.

“No,” he said, his voice a whisper in her ear. “Sh-h-h. Not a sound. You know the rules.”

Her heart hammered against the cage of her ribs, her breathing was fast and shallow. She willed herself to calm and, after a moment, nodded her head briefly.

“Good girl,” he said, releasing her mouth. He stroked her bottom lip with his finger then pressed her mouth open, putting it inside. She sucked his finger eagerly, until he withdrew it and stroked it, still moist from her mouth, down along her jawline to her throat and shoulders, caressing her as the wind had done. His other hand slid down across the silk of her dress, across her belly and down her thighs. When his hand slipped beneath the hem of the skirt to stroke her bare buttocks, she let one hand go of the railing involuntarily, reaching for him.

“No,” he said sharply. Grasping her hand firmly, he replaced its grip on the railing. “Don’t move, don’t turn around, don’t speak.” His voice was a low and harsh, his breath warm against her ear. “Close your eyes.”

She quivered and did as she was told. The low thud of waves on the beach, the rough stones of the seawall pushing against her, the cries of gulls and the tug of the wind were all lost to her as she yielded to the sensations he was evoking, feeling only her body and his hands on it. Her stomach felt tight, her thighs loose and liquid. His hand brushed across her breasts, a bare, teasing touch, and her nipples sprang up into hard peaks, aching for more. He pinched first one, then the other, pinching and pulling on them until she gasped. Between her thighs, she felt herself grow slippery and hot. She felt him slip a hand between her legs, and then felt his fingers, as though tasting her wetness, slip the barest inch inside her and back out, spreading her wetness across the lips of her sex. She bit her lip against the moan in her throat. She had been waiting for this, anticipating this...for days. Weeks even.

He brought his hand to her lips. “Taste it,” he said. “Taste yourself on my fingers.”

She licked his fingers, one by one, drawing them into her mouth and tasting her own sweet huskiness on them.

Abruptly he pushed against her, pinning her against the seawall. His body was hard and heavy against her, the seawall harder, scraping her belly and thighs as her body was pinned between them. It was hard to breathe, hard to think... His lips touched her ear, his teeth scraped her neck, his tongue slid along her jawline just below her ear. Her eyes were still closed, but she could see him in her mind’s eye, see him touching her, his hands on her breasts, his body against hers. When he slid his hand between her thighs again she sighed and willingly opened herself to him. He slid his fingers into her then, into the wet, dark recesses of her and she shuddered.

“Please…” her voice was a choked whisper, the word uttered involuntarily.

“Quiet!” he growled in her ear. Grabbing a handful of her hair he gave it a vicious yank, pulling her head back against him, turning her face up to his. She didn’t dare to open her eyes, just stood there, quivering. Then, apparently satisfied with her acquiescence, he let her hair go and pushed her head forward again.

“Good,” he said. Then, “I know what you want, sweetheart…” And then he pulled back from her for a moment, leaving her cold and alone, but only for a moment so that she whimpered again, low in her throat, but she kept her hands on the railing and her eyes shut, trusting him, knowing that yes, he did know what she wanted. In the next moment he was pressing against her again. She could him, hard and rigid against her buttocks as he spread her thighs wide. With a single, quick thrust he was suddenly inside her, stretching her, filling her, fucking her. She couldn’t contain the gasp and moan that spilled from her, as her eyes flew open and then were squeezed tightly shut again.

He didn’t move for a moment, just stood there, buried deep inside her, his lips on her neck, where he bit, very gently, and then harder and harder, until she was afraid that he meant to draw blood.

He didn’t though, instead pulling back to whisper in her ear, “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You want me inside you, fucking you, don’t you?”

She whimpered, knowing that he was right and that if he had allowed her to speak she would have told him so, begged him to take her, to “fuck” her, because that was the only word for what he was doing to her, taking her like this without a word or a look between them. Instead she nodded mutely, and he drew away and then pushed into her, a slow agonizing push into the depth of her, pushing his length into her, filling her again…and then faster, until he was slamming into her and the wall was scraping her skin raw but she didn’t care. He held her thighs apart with his hands in front of her and she held the railing and bit her lips to keep from saying, yes, yes, fuck me, please…she realized that her sex was pressed against the wall, rubbing her clit in a way that was almost pain and then, suddenly, exploded into pleasure. And as she came she turned her head to bite her arm to keep from crying out loud.

She felt him come a moment later, felt his hands reach up to grasp her shoulders to hold her tight as he slammed up into her and she felt the hot wet spurt of him deep inside her.

And still her eyes were shut and she hadn’t looked around.

They stood there for a moment as their breathing slowed to normal. Then she felt him withdraw, heard the sound of him adjusting his clothing, felt the butterfly kiss of his hand on her throat, her face. Then the feel of his breathe on her cheek.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

And then he was gone, leaving her alone again in the dark, while the salt wind tugged at her skirt and blew her hair across her face.