First And Lonesome Pt 03

-Three-

"I—I came here to—"

"I know why you are here."

"... You do?"

"Yes."

My mind is reeling. The atmosphere seems to be being sucked away, heavy, yet absent. The warmth and scent of roasting cocoa beans, distinct notes of vanilla, something floral-- perhaps lavender, and something I can't equate to anything but a sickening, salty fishiness are becoming so intense I can't seem to even think straight; it's all close.

So close.

Too close.

And damn, my body is in overdrive. I'm perspiring and breathing shallowly. My head is beginning to spin but his arms around me never falter. I don't know whether to feel safe, or terrified.

"I—I think I'm going to pass out."

I hear him sigh deeply from behind me, his mouth just behind my left ear. Reluctantly, he says, "Here, to my office."

Through the blackness, I'm delivered through an equally black doorway into an equally black room. I'm completely disoriented and off-kilter until suddenly, a large hearth lights ablaze and the room glows with orange light. A small desk lamp turns on seemingly without aide, the same going for a very elaborate, expensive looking Tiffany style floor lamp on the other side of the room, and I realize we are standing in a windowless office. The walls are painted matte black and the furniture is sleek with modern, clean lines and an exotic looking dark wood. I plop into the nearest seat in a very disgraceful manner, unsure of whether I set myself down or he had forced me to sit. My head is spinning.

"Marina Christianson--" His voice booms unnaturally; startling me. My head snaps in his direction and for a moment, I am jolted awake and alert from my stupor. When I look at him however, standing near the fire, I begin to swoon once more. The light flickers on his pale, olive-toned skin in a hypnotic dance that makes me feel dizzy and lightheaded. His hair is impossibly shiny and black, slicked back from a dashing widow's peak and long enough to just touch the collar of his fine, black suit which is masterfully cut to his tall, lean body. The material has a subtle gloss to it that you don't have to touch to know is expensive. I'm held mesmerized by what I can only describe as an exquisite masculine grace and beauty, the likes of which I have nothing to compare to. The firelight bounces off his rugged and yet, refined features; high check bones, square jaw line, nose as straight as an arrow and narrow hawk-like eyes—which appear to be alternating between a bright emerald-green and black, back and forth, terrifying and beautiful. I stare into this impossible constant transition, my heart beginning to quicken once more and yet I cannot look away.

"Your eyes—"

"Your father has passed away, leaving you Christianson Confectionaries." His dancing irises seem to be melding into solid green as he speaks matter-of-factly.

Trying to come to my senses, "You--you've heard." My voice to my own ears sounds as if I'm speaking in a dream; breathy and slow.

"You could say that."

My head nods slowly.

"As your sole supplier of chocolate, you thought it wise to just show up here on my proverbial doorstep, to what?" He twirls his long, graceful finger in the air, "Question me? Demand an inspection?" He laughs, his teeth impossibly white and perfect. "Demand exclusivity?"

I stare dully at my feet. Nothing about him seems to correlate to the ratty disrepair of this building, let alone the redneck little town in which it is located.

"I am sorry for your loss." His voice is almost tender for a moment, but then he continues coldly, "Your father was a man who cared for nothing as much as he did his money, not even his very beautiful daughter, and especially not for the craft."

"The craft?"

He laughs, "The chocolate, of course. His once-beloved confections."

For a moment, I think to deny it. But no, I know it to be true and obviously he knew my father well enough to know it as well. It had been many years since anything seemed to make my father happy, other than money and women.

A brandy snifter appears in front of me. I reach for it absently. I hadn't even noticed him move from the fire, nor pour the drink. "You appear as if you could use this." He says softly and I look up into his eyes, which are now a shining but steady, brilliant emerald green. He smiles before moving back to the fire and I note he also has a brandy in hand. He swirls the amber liquid in the firelight before taking an appreciative sip. I watch as his throat works the liquid down, the taught flesh moving over his Adam's apple.

I take a small sip and the warm liquid goes down smoothly. I drink more and warmth spreads across my belly like a hug. It feels safe and good.

"You don't seem to care much about money. I assume my father has paid you well over these years, and yet this building belongs on the set of a horror flick."

"Merely aesthetics. I assure you money is well spent on the things that matter... Besides, I don't care much for unannounced visitors."

"Wait a minute—how are you so young? Are you the same chocolate maker we have always used? Or was that your fath—er... grandfather?"

He smiles again, that dashing smile that could take a woman's breath away. I find myself just staring like an idiot.

"I am just youthful in appearance. Call it, a family trait."

"Uh... right. Whatever. Look, I'm ready to talk bus—"

Before I can finish, he is standing above me—towering over me. He moves like a whisper, seemingly distorting space and time with him and I find myself feeling disoriented once again.

He takes the empty brandy snifter from my hand and pulls me up and into him. My body instantly responds to his closeness and touch; the warmth of his body.

"Marina, a man could take advantage of a woman in your state of mind."

"...What?"

"I can feel your loneliness, your desire for connection." He lifts my chin and I'm held by his eyes as they are once more alternating in color between green and black in a hypnotic wave. I raise myself onto my tiptoes and pull his face to mine, my lips crushing into his. I act merely on a carnal basis; rationale has left me. He groans in his throat, lifting me into him; his mouth opens and his tongue presses into mine, tasting of sweet brandy.

I moan.

"Don't do that, Marina." He says, his lips barely pulled away from mine. "I'll ravage you here on my desk."

I moan again. I can't help myself.

He makes a sound, like a hiss, relocating me without effort, bending me over his desk. He swipes his long arm across the thing, knocking its contents to the floor, then my wool coat is being pulled down my arms and tossed aside. My slacks and panties are being yanked unceremoniously down my legs. All the while, he holds me with a single hand pressed into the center of my back, between my shoulder blades.

But I'm not trying to get away.

My stance widens, I hear a jangling sound and then the unmistakable spongy, silken hardness of his cock notching into place. He thrusts into me and I cry out from the shock of it. He's big and it's been a long time.

A very long time.

My pussy is clamped down on him hard in protest of this sudden invasion. He withdraws slowly before plummeting into me again, breaking past my walls of resistance. My inner tissues are stretching and burning.

And it's good. So good.

"Marina

hhhh...

" He hisses through clenched teeth; my cheek to the cool hardwood of the desk, only the fire in my line of sight, but his beautiful face is clear in my mind's eye. I can see him there; sweat beginning to glisten across his forehead as he thrusts into me.

He slows his onslaught infinitesimally, and then I can feel his fingers come around me, slide through my pubic hair, then slip over my sodden, engorged clit.

I come— hard.

My legs are trembling, wobbling; barely holding my weight, but it doesn't matter. He swears, slamming into me then growls deep in his throat and I feel hot semen flooding me, spilling out of me, coating my inner thighs.

He stills, then growls, "Don't move".

I couldn't even if I needed to.

He stays inside me, his cock twitching. His hand remains at my back, holding me down, while holding me up as surely my weakened legs would not hold me.

Then, he slowly slips out of me, grabs onto my torso and somehow flips me over to a standing position, by bare ass on the edge of the desk. I fall backward as he pulls my slacks and panties off, having cast by boots across the room, and his face is between my legs which are spread scandalously wide.

Looking down, I'm shocked to see there's blood smeared across my inner thighs—blood and cum and he's licking it away with ravenous greed. His eyes flash briefly to mine as his mouth works at lapping up our combined bodily fluids.

They shine, black as his hair.