Alessandra Torre - Masked Innocence

She tasted like peppermints, her tongue small and delicate in mine, so different from the possessive kiss I had shared, moments before, with Brad. Then her body stiffened and her mouth was gone, and she threw back her head, her rigid body telling me what was coming.

When she came, it was strong, her moans turning to yells, a string of Russian words that we instinctively knew the meaning of. Brad somehow managed to keep up the furious rhythm with his fingers till she collapsed, shaking and quivering, ragged breaths on top of me, and he never stopped the delicious rhythm of fucking me, his speed increasing once she rolled off my body. He reached the point of pounding, my body shaking with the force of it, his face beautiful in its sexual intensity, and I was close to coming again when she finally recovered from her climax. She propped herself up, watching me, watching my face as it clenched and I bucked, and as my hands reached out to grab on to something, anything, she was there, her hands on mine, her greedy mouth on my nipples, and I exploded again, every muscle in my body tensing as waves of pleasure rocked my core.

After Brad thoroughly touched, licked and coaxed the Russian through three orgasms, she fell, exhausted, on the bed, a smile plastered to her face. She reached for me, pulled me to her lips and kissed me once, gently. Her hands turned my head and I felt her breath on my ear, her accented voice speaking. “Thank you. For sharing.”

I tried to think of an acceptable response, but my mind was useless, drugged with champagne and sex. I smiled, and she rolled over, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over her body. Brad gathered our clothes and pulled my arm, tugging until I was upright and naked in front of him. He looked down, staring at my nakedness, then leaned over, kissed me gently along my cleavage, scooped me up and carried me out of the room and into the other bedroom. He avoided the bed, setting me on the floor, and I looked up at him in puzzlement.

He lay on top of me, completely bare, his arms keeping him light on my body. “I haven’t come yet,” he whispered.

I smirked. “I know. But I’m a little tired. I was thinking about going to bed.”

He nuzzled my neck, biting it gently while he pushed against me, his shaft sliding up between my legs, almost inside me, but a fraction too high. I groaned, untangling my legs from underneath his body and wrapping them tightly around him, my pussy now impossible to avoid, my need wet against him.

“Going to bed, huh?” His arrogance in my ear, my moan in response. His cock, so close, so teasing, there but not yet inside, lying hard against my ass instead.

“Maybe I’ll stay up a little longer.” I gasped as he was finally there, just the tip of him inside me, and I dug my heels into his back, panting, trying to push him farther in. He leaned down, whispered something against my mouth, then kissed me, softly, sweetly. As un-Brad-like as anything I could imagine. He tasted my mouth, trailed kisses along my jaw, sucked gently on my bottom lip. And when I finally relaxed, finally surrendered to his mouth and kiss, my legs going slack, he pushed his cock all the way in, taking my breath. I almost orgasmed right then, my need had been so great, then so fulfilled, his cock insanely perfect inside me. It took about a minute of deep slow strokes, almost painful in their perfection, and then I was done, shattering into pieces in his arms, my mouth open, frozen, as the swells washed over me. I was whimpering by the time I was done, and he held my face in his hands, looking into my eyes, his fire burning into me.

What had just happened, in the other room, that had been us, an experience we had shared, the blonde somehow an extension of our union. But now, alone in the room with each other, I was captivated, held in his arms, him filling me, his strokes quickening, our eyes locked in identical pools of lust. Then he took in a quick breath, closed his eyes and buried himself deeper, his thrusts stronger. I wrapped my arms and legs tight around him, riding his wave of orgasm, burying my face in his neck, his strong heat inside me.

He rolled over, pulling me with him, and I lay limp across his chest. I ran my hands down the clefts of his body, his skin damp with sweat, his muscles tight from exertion. His eyes were closed, and I pulled myself up until my face was above his. I ran my fingers lightly over his face, awestruck at the beauty in his strength. God, I was in trouble. In more ways than I could count. I didn’t know what I would become if I stayed with him, to what further depths I would plunge inescapably into, a slave to his sexual drugs. And I didn’t know what I would become if we parted, and how I would ever again find sexual satisfaction without the man.

We could just stop in, see how it works and leave. I made a mental note not to fall for that one again.

The limo moved quietly through the dark streets. Curled into a ball in Brad’s arms, my body limp, weakened by orgasms, four-inch heels and champagne, I watched passing streetlights flickering by, softened by the car’s dark tint. I closed my eyes and let my body go limp, kept warm by Brad’s jacket tented over me.

A few minutes later, on the verge of sleep, I heard him talking, softly, and my ears strained to catch his words.

“I need you to take care of something.” Brad spoke into his cell, looking out on the passing lights.

“What, a body?” The voice laughed roughly, loud enough that I could hear it. He shifted, and I saw his jaw tighten, face hard.

“There’s a Russian girl, at 42 Hemingway Drive. In the morning, have Maria call Beverly Franklin—I’ll text you her number. Tell Maria to offer assistance to Beverly, see if there is anything she can do to help out with the girl’s situation. Have her mention our contacts in immigration.”

There was silence for a moment. “You fucking this girl?”

“No. Not that it matters.” Brad’s voice changed when he was on the phone. Softer in volume, but harder in tone. The smooth cadence and cultured voice were gone, replaced with a rough brogue and steely tone. He ordered rather than asked.

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”

“If I was fucking her, I wouldn’t have left her there. Just tell Maria and call me when it’s taken care of.” Brad ended the call, tapping his phone to his mouth and then looking down at me.

I shifted, turning onto my back and gazing up at him. “What’s going to happen to the girl?”

He smiled down at me. “Don’t worry. Beverly won’t abandon her. She will be fine.”

“Who’s Maria?”

He looked away from me, out the window for a brief moment. “My sister. She is the saint of our family. She is the one person I would trust with something like this.”

“Why don’t you just take care of it? Doesn’t someone in the firm deal with immigration?”

He shifted underneath me, looking down again, locking me into his stare. “Julia, one danger of our type of relationship is the risk of getting involved with a sexual partner. I don’t ever want to worry about you falling for someone that we meet with, and vice versa. We have to be very careful to separate ourselves emotionally. What happened tonight, everything that went on, it was too much already. I shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t have done that.”

I frowned up at him. “Because you’re worried you have feelings for her?”

He chuckled. “No. It is very rare for me to have ‘feelings’ for anyone, which is what makes my relationship with you unique. But I’m not the only person involved in a threesome, and other people don’t have the same cavalier opinion of sex that I do. I shouldn’t have done anything with her because of everything else that went on. The fact that she was a virgin was a whole other moral issue, but in her state tonight, upset and scared, there was more of a chance for her to take that experience as more than it was. All I’m saying is that there are a billion people out there for us to meet with, to fuck. We have the means to be picky, to isolate our experiences, to only be with other people or couples who are emotionally safe. Some couples in this lifestyle like to ‘hang out’ with their outside partners. I don’t follow that philosophy. I feel like that is a dangerous game, not to mention a colossal waste of time. I don’t want to ‘care about’ or ‘become friends’ with the people in this lifestyle. That leads to nothing but problems.”

I laughed at his serious expression. “Yeah, you like to skip the talk and go straight to sex.”

He leaned over, pulling me up to him for a kiss. “When I can.” He laid me back down and ran a hand through my hair, snagging my extensions, and I winced. “Sorry.”

I swallowed, closing my eyes and trying to focus my mind on anything other than what lay beneath my head. I liked what he had said. The “getting involved” part seemed to be what my feminine jealousy had the most trouble with. I relaxed, pushing my hands underneath his legs, the warmth of his body comforting. “I didn’t know you had a sister. Just one?”

“Yeah.” His tone was short, and the stress in it caused my eyes to open again. I turned to him with a question in mine. “I have two brothers.”

It didn’t answer my question, but I sensed the land mine behind the simple statement. I reached up, capturing his hand before it went through my hair, and brought it to my mouth, kissing it softly. He ran his fingers over my lips, and then looked out the window again.

“You mentioned that you rarely have feelings for anyone. What did you mean when you said I was unique?”