Unmasqued

Ah, out, his hands were there… on her shoulders, her arms, her breasts… brushing gently over her nipples, bringing them to their peaks. His mouth… warm, gentle, featherlight, nuzzled over a shoulder, then down her skin to close reverently over her breast. He took care not to hurt her, to draw carefully from her the response he wanted. A gentle tug, tug, and then one long pull with hot, wet suction closing around it.

Her labia swelled, filled, closing together as they moistened and throbbed. Her pip awakened from its three-week slumber… twitched, grew.

Already, his cock lifted against her; he'd shucked his trousers as he fondled her breasts with his mouth, Raoul moved his fingers down through the wiry, curling hair of her quim, teasing it away from her skin and sending new rivulets of awareness swimming through her.

Christine moved her hands over Raoul's chest, pulling his shirt away, peeling it from the warm, smooth skin… so different from Erik's hairy torso.

She would not think of him.

Raoul dipped his head back to her neck, and drew on her flesh with his mouth in a hard bite that made her cry out. He would leave a red mark, brand her with his ownership.

She was sprawled against the gold brocade chaise longue, her legs spread, her breasts bare and cool from the moisture left by his mouth. Christine turned her head, and she could see the mirror to her left.

The mirror.

No.

She closed her eyes and looked away from the memory, returned her attention to Raoul, whose hands skimmed along her thighs and held them open. The edge of the seat bit into her buttocks; she was half on, half off the chaise, propped by her bent legs, held in place by her feet.

She wrapped her right arm over the back and one side of the half sofa fringed in deep red, her body turning partially toward the mirror, her hair dark against the gold and cream of the sofa. She had a three-quarter view of Raoul's bare ass, the long, lean lines of his pale golden body, his jutting cock, and the swath of smooth tawny hair. His muscled arms held her thighs as he knelt between them.

But Christine could not keep her attention from the mirror, the clean, cold silver that had held her, trapped her, once before. Her breasts, tipped up toward the ceiling, rose and fell as Raoul's face moved between her legs. His nose rode through the dark bush of her hair, his prominent eyebrows dark blond slashes in his fair skin, melding with the thick hair that fell from his head.

She watched, watched herself, as she felt his tongue dive into the wet, warm depths of her quim. Her shoulders twitched, and her breasts shuddered and moved as she drew in long, streaming breaths. She saw the gentle flush rising over her beautiful, round breasts, and realized then, distantly, why men loved such things. The nipples were tight, flaunting themselves as though needing to be kissed and sucked. Her left hand moved, and she watched her movements in the mirror, playing her forefinger over the hard, sensitive nipple of her right breast. Pleasure coursed from the tantalized nipple, spreading down to where Raoul tasted her, murmuring wordlessly into her quim.

The vibrations from his mouth jiggled and burned against her pip. It drew in, tighter; folded out, even tighter. It pitched and throbbed and burned, pleasure rising in her belly and suddenly peaking from her nipple to her sex.

Christine saw herself jolt against the cream-colored chaise. She shuddered, her shoulders slipping, her breasts bobbing, her nipples iron hard. The orgasm poured through her, curling her toes and releasing a great sigh from the back of her throat.

Erik. She wanted Erik.

She swallowed back the sob, the gasp of his name, before it gusted forth.

Raoul did not move. He held her in place, keeping her thighs apart, pulling away just far enough to look up at her.

Desire burned in his eyes; she could see the shiny, purple sway of his cock in the mirror… yet he bent his face back to her. He pointed his tongue and traced each fold of her lips, ran it down and around her anus, licking up the moisture that poured from her sex. He dabbed at her pip, where it contracted painfully, still recovering from her orgasm. He was relentless, pulling, sucking, tugging with his pointed tongue until she cried out in pain.

She tried to move away from the insistent plying of his mouth, but he held her firm. The harsh sensations from her overstimulated sex built as she cried for him to stop, to end the torture… but his fingers closed tighter over her tender thighs.

"Raoul, please," she begged. This was not pleasure; it was pain… It hurt… It built… Her nib throbbed and suddenly… the pain burst into rough pleasure and the orgasm sent her into uncontrollable tremors, seizurelike. She saw her face in the mirror, the twist of pain and pleasure from her open mouth, the flush over her face as her body quaked helplessly. The angry red tips of her breasts from her own fingers that had never left…