He opens the door.
The hall is beautifully decorated with a woman's touch. Curios and accent pieces hang on the wall. And as he has come to expect, finely woven carpets cover age-old wooden floors.
"Out here!"
Our hero closes the door behind him and steps into a warm, if cluttered, living room that is bathed in natural light from a dozen windows. He frowns and calls out, not knowing which of its three exits takes him to her.
"Are you lost? Do you need help?"
Outside. He makes his way to the glass door and slides it open. He's about to complain before he sees her. She is either naked, or wearing a top without straps, and is submerged halfway in a large, above ground jacuzzi. Her arms are spread out and she has a pleasant smile that's neither cunning nor open, but somewhere in between. "You should shut the door so flies do not get in," she says. Then, after a moment adds, "...and the same could be said for your mouth."
He cannot say for certain that she winked beneath her shades, but he believes it. He, however, closed the door behind him and made his way over to the side of the massive tub.
"Look how dashing you are in those shades-very sexy. I am glad you agreed to wear them. I wondered what it would be like not seeing your eyes. I do love your eyes, My Mister. So bright and blue and not at all what I am used to And, as it turns out, you hiding them from me? I do not miss them that much!" She laughs, like a normal woman, not at all like the first night. Then she splashes water at him.
When he dodges she laughs again and kicks her feet out of the water so that her naked knee is visible.
She swims up to his edge of the jacuzzi and rises out of the water, her breasts nearly visible. Then she pushes her hands against the railing and leans forward. "Are you going to come here, or do you fear another splash?"
He moves over to the edge of the tub, tempted to look down, but keeping his eyes on her. And once he's made the decision it almost too easy. She is transfixing and somehow, only seeing the outline of her eyes through the smoked lenses almost makes her more appealing. "You are a very striking man."
There is alcohol on her breath, light and easy. If she was anyone else he would ask about it.
But still, even as the heat beats down on him, he waited for what was next. "Thank you. You know how I feel about you. How beautiful I find you."
"I do. I am no stranger to me thinking it. Most men come for the looks, or the breasts, and only figure out I have the wit somewhere later. You are such an enigma to me. You knew I had the wits first, I told you that you'd never get the breasts or see the face. And yet..."
She runs the front of her hand up and down his chest, feeling him through his shirt. They stare at each other as before she grabs him, clings to him. Then his hands move up her back to her hair, still dry, and they lock her head in that position. She swallows and he can hear it like a gunshot; sees in her eyes the first moment of fear.
Then he leans in, presses his lips against hers. For a moment, they are only touching and she is trembling, despite leaning in the water, despite holding onto the railing. Then she pushes back and he follows, bit by bit, until the kiss is whole.
They dance with each other, hold on to one another, with that kiss. Their lips say all the things they can't because it would be too soon and daring, because it would wound him and worry her. So they say them here, in this kiss, before they even part their lips.
Then, for the first time, he invades her. His tongue in her mouth, his hands through her hair. His shoulders exerting force on her body with his size, holding her in place until she kisses him back, licks his tongue with hers and sucks it into her mouth with vigor and not just pleasantry.
When the kiss is broken they look at one another. She bites her lip and he looks at her with his mouth falling open, terrified that she is going to withdraw again, ask him to turn around while she escapes into the day once more. The feeling is hot, in his stomach, in his eyes. He's never wanted to pin a woman down like this.
But instead, she laughs. She laughs and says, "You're a very good kisser!"
So he vaults over the edge of the tub, clothing and all, and sinks into the water next to her. He's wrong on the depth, though, and sinks in until his brown hair is soaked with water and, for a moment, as dark as hers when he comes back to the surface.
"No!" She splashes at him, kicks him in the thigh. "No! I'm naked! I didn't say you could come in here! You get right back out this momen-"
Our hero kisses her again, this time capable of wrapping his arms around the small of her back and pulling her to him. And this time, she stops fighting, almost immediately, putting her hands on his hips and letting herself be dragged to him, almost weightless from the water.
Either he's pushed his way between them, or she's opened her legs, but he's gone from kicking to latching them around him.
He pushes until her back is against the wall and they kiss. And they kiss. And they kiss.
When he pulls back she is a different creature entirely. Her mouth is open and she is panting. Her hair is ruined, not perfect for the first time and she is looking at him in a way that is almost terror mixed with arousal. He feels the darkness stirring in him, telling him that he could take her now. That he could push her and she would yield.
Instead he bends down and places soft, firm kisses on her forehead, her cheek. He is only mortal, and has as finite a reserve of nobility as any man, so the kisses slide south. Then they are playing over her neck and collar bone. They are on her shoulder and her upper arm.
Her breasts are large, beautiful and sleek with water. They have been hidden so long that they hardly seem real. When he kisses them, instead of revelling in it, he thinks that they are just another part of her. The Girl. The one he cannot stop thinking about no matter how much he tries.
The sucking of her nipples, the pulling of her skin closer to his, makes her head tilt back and mouth open. She bobs her head, rolls it from side to side, as she feels him pushing her breasts together, sucking both nipples at once. When she comes back up for a kiss he releases her, moves back to her mouth and moans as their lips touch again.
His cock is hard through his wet slacks and rubs against her bare pussy, as they lock onto one another. When she pulls back from the kiss, she looks lost, wide-eyed and enthralled all at once. One arm clings to his back and the other strokes his face. "Can you pull out? Promise me that you will? Can you?"
He doesn't answer. Instead he uses his strength to simply move her from the position she's in to a bench, so that she's barely above water at all. There he reaches down beneath the surface, her eyes following his hand until it breaks the waterline and once again after it resurfaces.
When he falls upon her she tenses up, like she will scream no, but the beat of her own heart is so loud that he can hear it. He picks her up again, his hands so large they're nearly the size of her shoulder blades. She floats under his touch until pushed back up against the railing, his strength allowing her to be laid gently against it.
Then he shoves himself into her once, slowly, just to spread her open. He is sure the gentleness in him will fade.
His cock is hotter, harder than usual. It seems fueled by his confidence and, for the first time since meeting her, not in any way inhibited by the booze. When he finishes his push he can feel a small ripple, a wave, continue forward—bounce inside her.
One of his hands closes around her throat, not in any way to choke her, but simply be present. She strokes it, puts her on hand on top. Her eyes are intense, evocative. They seem to be telling him to hurry up, slow down, make it hurt and be good to her all at once.
Her nipples sway as they sink and rise, splashing water against his chest. And every time they do, it takes power away from her and gives it to him.
He focuses. Tells himself to stay in this moment. To feel her, watch her, when she's at her most intimate. To take her, get inside her head and heart, now that her defences are finally falling. To get under her skin in such a way that she cannot take him from her blood.
And that's all before he pushes into her pussy a second time.
The swaying of her breasts, the feeling of his cock opening her up and the water flowing inside. The intensity of her eyes, so bright that they nearly shine through his glasses and she moans, turning her fingers into grappling claws, clinging to him. She wants more, and he grins as he gives it to her in a third, strong shunt.
