A Fall of Night

"If you have to ask, I guess I'm not doing that well," he said quietly.

She blushed, suddenly shy. "You're doing fine."

He stared at her.

She swallowed.

His leg really was very warm and he was so close beside her - close and beautiful and sexy. His eyes were intense, like hot coals on her skin.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, every moment etched precisely in her mind. She fancied that she could almost hear her own heart it was beating so hard.

"Nick..." she breathed.

He took the pasta bowl from her, setting it down on the table.

Nervously she plucked at her dress, smoothing it over her thighs, her palms damp. "Nick, I've, uh, never... I'm a -"

"Shhh, I know," he said. "I'm your first."

"Oh."

He kissed her, his lips warm and soft on hers.

"Oh," she said again.

"I'll be gentle. I promise," he breathed.

Then she was clinging to him, her lips pressed against his, breathing the scent of his skin, feeling the play of his muscles beneath his shirt.

Every nerve in her body seemed to be tingling, as if she had not blood but electricity running through her veins. She felt his tongue against her lips, in her mouth - his arms around her, holding her. His hands found her head, twined in her hair, pulling her against him - his tongue deep in her mouth. She gasped, leaning into him, seeking his caress, desperate for the feel of him.

Without knowing how, she found herself lying back on the sofa, his mouth on her neck - hot and soft and gentle. Her skin tingled, felt hyper-sensitive - his every touch burning along her skin, making her desperate for more.

"Oh God," she groaned. Everything felt unfamiliar - the strength of the sensations overwhelming, disorientating her.

His hand was hot on her leg, stroking her through her stockings - she pressed herself against it, gasping with the feeling - then he was pushing her dress up to expose her panties, her suspenders, her hips rising to meet his touch.

She felt hot, hot and sweaty and excited and...

Oh God Nick, what are you doing to me?

Her body was chasing his hand, craving his caress with a fearful, helpless passion.

Her legs opened to his touch, his hand brushing her skin, slipping over the top of her stockings to touch the bare flesh at the top of her thighs - she jumped, gasping, burning with his touch.

"Nick..." she whispered. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, it felt so good. "Condom..."

He kissed her again, his tongue deep in her mouth, his lips frantic on hers. For a second their teeth clacked together and he withdrew slightly, breathing hard.

"Later... Trust me..."

His mouth dropped to her neck, nibbling, stroking her with his tongue - kissing a line like fire along her neck to her naked shoulders. She groaned, her body on fire. Then he was slipping down her body.

Oh fuck.

His head was between her legs, her hands clutching at his hair. She felt his tongue lick along the damp skin above her stockings, heard herself gasp in pleasure.

"Oh God, Nick..."

His mouth was on her panties, his breath hot.

Fuck, she was so wet.

Bizarrely she wondered if she should be embarrassed.

Then she felt his mouth pressing into the thin fabric covering her cunt and she forgot everything else. When he pulled her panties down she willingly lifted her hips, groaning with the sudden feel of his breath on her moist flesh.

For a while he teased her - kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs, kissing the sodden flesh of her labia, breathing softly on her partly opened lips - then it seemed that the hunger that burned her tormented him too. Hastily, almost roughly, he lifted her legs, placing them over his shoulders. With a groan of passion his tongue forced itself into her flesh.

She gasped, her body convulsing, pleasure lancing through her.

In seconds she was whimpering, small sounds of pleasure, of lust, forced from her. Unbidden her hips were jerking, pressing against him - chasing his tongue - twisting beneath him. His tongue seemed to be everywhere - inside her, sliding wetly between her lips, stroking her clit so that she moaned and jumped. Her body seemed to have taken on a life of its own, her hips writhing, her hands clutching uselessly at his too short hair.

With a long groan she came, her body shuddering at the intensity of the feeling.

"Oh, my fucking God!" she said, gasping, her chest heaving.

His tongue didn't stop.

Oh fuck.

She felt helpless in the face of her passion, her body writhing and gasping at his behest, under his control. The second climax was better than the first. It took longer - his tongue less frantic, her body less anxious - and it was gentler; but she was more present in the moment, able to feel him in her flesh, able to feel the pleasure of just having him there.

By the time he lifted himself from between her legs - kissing her with the taste of herself rich in his mouth - she felt drunk, intoxicated, befuddled. Without apparent effort he scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom. She clung to him, both helpless and willing, until he laid her on the bed.

Unnoticed, somewhere between her first climax and the bedroom, the clock had struck midnight and Valentine's Day had begun.

In the shadowed light of the city's sleeping skyscrapers he undressed for her, the sculpted muscle of his body concealed and revealed in equal measure by the weak light through the windows. She stared fascinated. His body was marked by a twisting tattoo of exotic design - a dark, limbed serpent crawling over his skin. It started on his left thigh, coiling over his hips, twisting over his back and down onto his right shoulder, onto his chest. It lent him a savage air.

When he was naked, his cock erect between them, he drew her from the bed to stand before him, placing her so close his breath brushed her face. For a moment she was nervous, standing awkwardly, overly conscious of her hands at her side, afraid to either touch him or not to touch him. Gradually fascination overcame her and she reached out to him, the tips of her fingers tracing the line of his tattoo - caressing the curve of his thigh, stroking over his torso, his skin soft and hard and hot. When she reached his neck he caught her hand, kissing it softly, his fingers stroking her in turn.

He undressed her slowly, his strong hands soft and careful. Fingers little more than a whisper on her skin he slipped her dress from her shoulders to puddle on the floor at her feet, unfastening her bra to free her breasts with accomplished ease - her nipples already achingly hard. As she had done, his eyes drank in her body - his gaze tracing the line of her long legs, her firm belly, the curve of her breasts.

When his hot mouth engulfed her nipple she gasped again, felt weak at the knees - her hands clutching for him. For a moment he held her, supporting her gently at the elbow, their bodies so close she could feel his warmth seeping into her. Then he guided her to the bed, lowered her back onto it. Unbidden, she scooted herself into the middle, lying with her legs open, feeling a little anxious for the first time.

Nick knelt above her, his hands caressing her, his eyes hungry on her spread body. She beckoned him, drew him down, kissed his lips, tasting herself again. She wanted him and she wanted him to see that - to see it in her body, in the way she was with him - because she was afraid to say it, afraid to speak in case she said something to spoil it, to spoil how good she felt right then.

When their lips finally parted she read it in his eyes and the last of her nerves disappeared.

He reached into his bedside table, returned with a condom. She giggled a little as he pulled the packet open.

"You think it's funny - you do it..." he said breathlessly.

"Okay..." Her voice was hoarse.

He handed her the condom, slick and rubbery.

For a second she looked at him, excited and nervous in equal measure. His cock stood waiting. Slowly she bent down, condom in hand, then - impish - she kissed the end, her lips caressing the tip for just the briefest moment, her dark eyes staring widely at him.

She slipped the condom onto his warm skin, rolling it gently from the pinched tip, felt him jump. "Sorry," she said.

"Don't be - you didn't hurt me..." He was grinning at her, his eyes dark.

For a moment she held his cock, smoothing the condom with her hand, watching him. Lust burnt in his dark eyes, fuelled her own arousal - the molten rush of her body, liquid between her legs.

"Oh fuck," she whispered.

She lay back, opening her legs beneath him, a smile that was as much lust as shyness playing around her lips.

For a moment he stroked her legs, caressing the silk of her stockings. "We'll go slow, okay?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

Gently, almost tentatively, he slipped the end of his cock into her.

She gasped slightly as he entered her body, reaching out to hold his forearm - a small gesture of reassurance. For a second he paused, holding her hand softly, then he gradually pushed himself further inside her. She felt him filling her, a strange intoxicating mix of pleasure, of tightness, of flooding, liquid warmth - his progress slow, sure, assured. She had expected pain, resistance, had partially braced for it, and was surprised when there was none. Finally she felt his hips meet hers, his cock buried completely inside her and she smiled up at him - a shy, satisfied smile.

He started to move, withdrawing slightly then sliding back into her slick flesh. Her eyes drifted closed, her mind focused entirely on the feel of him in her body.

She moaned gently. "Mm. That feels nice..."

With a low gasp of his own, he folded himself over her, kissing her gently, then passionately. Instinctively she clutched him to her, her legs embracing him as much as her arms. Together the rhythm of their bodies changed, the tempo of their fucking increasing as they became more confident in one another.

"Oh, Nick..." she gasped, breaking off into a small moan.

She stared into his eyes, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the muscles of his back, luxuriating in the feel of his cock deep inside her. Her body was slick with sweat where their skin touched. Flickers, a candle flame of pleasure, spreading from her cunt, the feel of him thrusting into her. They were both breathing heavily, his tongue flicking in her mouth, the wet sounds of their fucking loud in the silence of his apartment.

"Oh, fuck..." she moaned, feeling her climax kindling.

It felt so good, his cock hard, hot, inside her, the feel of his body against hers. She breathed his scent, licked salty sweat from the soft skin of his neck, all the time that feeling of possession and absence - his cock in her body - driving her, making her moan and gasp and groan and wish that he would never stop. His tongue was licking her ear, soft, ticklish - a hellish counterpoint to the hardness inside her.

Oh, fuck Nick, do you know what you're doing to me?

She held him, gripping his body with frantic strength as he fucked her, pressing herself to him - feeling his body with every inch of her own. His hand was on her thigh, stroking her flesh, caressing the curve of her hip, the touch of his fingers molten on her skin - dear fuck, her body felt like it was on fire - she wanted him, wanted him deeper inside her. Gasping with lust, she drove her hips against him, ground herself onto him.

Oh, fuck, she was going to come again.

Not fair. Not fair. Too soon. She wanted this to last...

Oh, God!

She grabbed his face, pulling his mouth to hers, her tongue frantic in his mouth. "Oh, sweet fuck, Nick, I'm cumming..." she breathed, her lips on his - heard him groan in response, his body thrusting between her legs.

She came writhing against him, her body slick with sweat, the room echoing to her cries - earthy sounds of fulfillment, of passion, of release - his own climax coming just seconds later.

He held her, crushing her to him as her climax peaked - her body spasming, crushing him between her thighs, small aftershocks of pleasure following, making her moan gently, contentedly. Then his body relaxed, draping heavily over her - as satiated, as spent as hers was - and she laid her head in the nape of his neck, her breath hot on his skin, her arms around his back, his cock soft inside her.

"Oh, God, Nick... Oh my fucking God!" she said huskily, when at last she could speak, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.

He kissed her neck gently and slid off her, his cock sliding slickly from her body as he lay down next to her, his arm flung back above his head. She shuffled over, laying her head on his chest, wrapping herself around him. The sex had left her exhausted, her limbs rubbery.

After a while she clutched him a little harder, kissed his chest, whispered, "Thank you. For being so gentle. I didn't think it could ever feel so good the first time."

He squeezed her and she snuggled against him, feeling him stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head. She was content to lie still, listening to his breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall, his arms warm about her.

"Will you stay tonight?" he said eventually, stroking her back.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide, nodded against him.

"I have a tee shirt you could use if you like."

"Okay," she said, watching as he moved to remove the condom from his now flaccid cock. She stopped him, her hand on his cock. She felt him twitch, grinned. "I'll do that, it's okay."

"You sure?"

She slid it from him, pinching the end, capturing his semen; smiled at him.

"Okay, I'll get the tee shirt then."

It was the work of moments to tie it and wrap the condom in a tissue, placing it in her purse. She flushed the toilet after to cover her duplicity. When she returned to the room Nick was in bed, the tee shirt next to him. Smiling she removed her stockings, pulled his tee shirt on and climbed into bed, snuggling against him.

In moments she was asleep.

******

Dorien was still asleep when he woke. It was early, the first weak light of dawn misty through the apartment's large windows. In the aftermath of sex he'd forgotten to close the blinds. He managed to extricate himself without waking her. For a while he watched her sleep, admiring her flawless skin, the soft sheen of her hair. He couldn't remember the last time someone had shared his bed. It was a somber thought and he shrugged it off, pulling the blinds closed carefully.

The rose he had bought for her lay discarded on the bedside table. Taking care not to wake her, he laid it down next to her on the bed, where he had slept. It looked pretty - red against the white pillow. Pretty but not perfect. With a small smile on his lips he reached down, touched the flower gently with the tip of one finger. When he withdrew it was a perfect sable black, its petals just opening.

He grabbed a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt from the room, folding them over his arm, but made no attempt to dress. Instead he padded naked into the lounge, closing the door quietly behind him.

From the window the park lay below him like a wound in the flesh of the city, a green scar stretching away into the distance. Gazing at it now in the early, watery light of dawn he was struck again by its beauty. From this height it was a place of serenity, a place of mystery - distance blurring the fine detail, making an impressionist landscape of it. Normally, the sight of it would have been enough to bring him peace. But not today.

There was no escaping how he felt, his unease seemed to be dogging his steps. It was as if something was ending, something he'd taken for granted for far too long. Perhaps this thing with Dorien was a mistake? He was used to being alone, had tried to convinced himself that he was happy alone. He laughed at that - she was showing that to be the worst kind of lie. Was she the source of his unsettled feelings? There were too many things going on here for it to be a coincidence.

Then there was the visit from the wraith in the park last night - its appearance unsettling if not unexpected. What did that foreshadow?

Unconsciously his eyes drifted to the landscape hung above the sofa. For a long while he looked at it, picking at the subtleties in its strokes, the shadows of its rolling moorland. The lone croft. On days like these he almost fancied that he could see her face in its black window, as if she'd painted herself in some secret way, hidden but real. For a while he could almost imagine her look, the tears she must have been crying. It gave him neither ease nor answer.

Sighing, he dressed, making do without underwear for the time being. The apartment had at least two bathrooms other than the en-suite he used regularly but he needed coffee more than a shower and he didn't want Dorien to wake to an apparently empty building.

There was a ritual to making a cappuccino, he reflected. Something Pietro had mentioned on more than one occasion. The selection of the grounds, the heating of the water, pumping it through the coffee to produce the espresso. One third steamed milk, one third foam - sweet and smooth. A hint of chocolate. Warm, not hot, and never after eleven in the morning. It was a ritual in which he found comfort if not peace, as familiar to him now as shaving was to most men.

When Dorien finally emerged, he was on his second, bright sunlight streaming through the wide windows, and part way through the daily paper.

"Uh, hi," she said, running her hand through her unruly dark hair, lifting it from her forehead. She looked shy, a little unsure of herself, the black rose held daintily in her off hand. For a moment she glanced at it, half held it up - blushed a little. "Thanks... It's beautiful."

The tee-shirt was far too big for her, baggy, shapeless, short and very, very sexy. He smiled. "You're welcome... And good morning." He folded the paper, put it aside. "Breakfast? Cappuccino?"

"Uh, what are you having?"

"Croissants. Jam. Butter. Strong coffee."

"Mm. Sounds good."

She sat at a stool on the breakfast bar, watching as he gathered it together. The croissants were still warm, courtesy of Pietro's. He made the cappuccino for her from scratch.

He watched her intently, a small smile on his lips. "Do you have a passport?" he said, as she sipped it.

"What? Uh, yes." Foam on her upper lip.

"Good," he said. "I'm going to Venice tomorrow evening, coming back Wednesday. Would you like to come with me?"

She pretended to think about it for a second. "Are you kidding? I'd love to."

He smiled warmly and she felt her heart skip. "Excellent. My treat."

She sat up. "No, that's not fair... I can pay my half."

He raised an eyebrow, looked at her mock serious. "I thought you were a student? Doesn't that mean struggling to make ends meet? Always short of money?" he said, smiling. "If it'll make you feel any better, think of it as my gift to you for Valentine's."

For a second he thought she looked guilty, shamefaced, then she laughed and said, "Okay, you win. Didn't you say that talking about money was vulgar?"

"I did. And it is."

"Has Venice got anything to do with what happened in the park last night?"

For a moment he paused - croissant halfway to his mouth - then he continued, chewing it slowly, face pensive. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss. Not this morning, not feeling on edge the way he did.

She watched him carefully, saw the indecision on his face. "What was that thing, Nick?"

He chewed his croissant. Sipped his coffee. "How did you know it was stalking us?"

She thought about that for a while. "I didn't really... I just felt kind of tense, anxious. I had a feeling like I was being watched."

He nodded, thoughtful. "And you were a virgin, before last night?"

She blushed, nodded, a small smile touching her lips as she recalled. "Why does that matter?"