He smiled briefly before closing the distance between us. I leaned into it at the last second, eliciting a tiny moan from him as our lips met. This kiss was different. Harder. Demanding. His hand snaked around my neck to hold my head firmly in place against his insistent lips.
My lips parted and I took in his hot breath in an open-mouthed kiss for several moments. Then his tongue invaded my mouth in one self-assured breach past my lips. The lingering zest from the alcohol infused nog landed on my tongue as I, in turn, explored his mouth. My head spun from it.
The sudden, wonderful kiss, the alcohol, and the affinity I already felt for this man whom I'd just met. I could explain none of it. It made no sense to me.
I was just going to hang out with friends tonight. Nothing more.
He was an amazing kisser. Soft and hard at the same time. Exhibiting both longing and restraint in equal measures. And this just fueled my desire for him. The longer his lips assaulted mine, the more urgent my need became.
God, how long has it been?
And just like that, reality jumped into sharp focus and snapped me out of it. I pulled back ever so slightly.
"What's the matter? Did I hurt you?"
I was momentarily confused by his question, until I realized that during our heated exchange, his fingers had worked their way into my blouse and found my scars.
My fingers hastily wrapped around his hand to push it away.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No. I don't ... want you to ..."
It was difficult to even say the words out loud because they weren't entirely the truth. I wanted him to touch me. More than anything. But I wanted him to be touching the body I had two years earlier. Not the marred one that I could barely look at in the mirror.
"What happened to you, Jen?"
His empathetic voice made my eyes sting with fresh tears. I sucked air sharply into my lungs to choke them back. No more crying over this. You promised yourself.
"It was a knife attack, about two years ago."
"This was someone you knew intimately."
I gasped, "Yes. How did you know that?"
"They're across your breast, too far over to be aiming for your vital organs. The wounds were meant to maim, not kill."
I nodded and whispered, "Yes."
David quietly waited for me to continue, not showing a single sign of moving away from me in the process, as one might expect after hearing such a horrific thing.
"It was my boyfriend. Or, my ex-boyfriend, I should say. I'd just broken up with him the day before.
"He showed up at my house wanting to apologize for some of the things he'd said the previous night. I didn't think he'd do anything at my parent's house. At first, he was real sweet. He apologized and told me that he just wanted to be friends. I accepted his apology and hugged him.
"It all happened so fast. One minute we were standing next to my bed, the next minute, he had me down on the mattress and was sitting on top of me, holding me down." I stopped talking, afraid I'd already said too much.
"What did you do?"
"I screamed as loud as I could. No one was home and the windows were shut. I guess that gave him some sort of ego boost. He pulled a knife about 4 inches long from his pocket and unfolded it. It had this nasty hook on the end of it. F-frightening."
Vivid images of that day played before me like a bad horror film. I fought to push them out of my memory so I could speak without stammering. It was one of the most unwelcome after-effects of the incident. On most days, I could keep my stutter to a minimum. But I'd yet to recant the story without a full-blown stammering attack.
This is why I rarely told anyone about it.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. David simply waited as I pulled myself together. I wondered for a moment if maybe he'd slipped into a coma. He hardly moved.
"I learned later that he used a fish g-gutting knife. From his father's tackle box.
"He ripped open my shirt and sliced my bra. He told me that I didn't deserve pretty, uh, breasts, or, uh tits, as he called them, because I just used them to get guys. He always thought I was cheating on him. Even then. He called me all sorts of names. Said I was s-sleeping around. Told me that he was going to start, uh, up top. If I was good and didn't scream, he'd stop there. If I screamed and made it hard for him, he was going to, uh, f-f-fuck me with the kn-knife."
I could feel the anxiety gripping me again. I clamped my jaw tight for a few seconds, then forced the air from my lungs in a sharp exhale.
"I held still at first. He drove the hooked end into my skin and yanked. There was hardly any resistance to the blade. It s-sliced right through my skin and tissue."
I searched David's face for his reaction. He remained utterly stoic.
"It didn't even hurt that bad. Like my body and mind were separated.
"Then I heard someone coming up the stairs. Before he could cover my mouth, I screamed as loud as I could.
"He was furious with me. He began stabbing at me with the knife while I thrashed and screamed. Blood was flying everywhere, splattering his shirt and my face. I had to close my eyes; it was j-just everywhere.
"It was my little sister who'd come up the stairs. Thankfully, my dad had taken her to a doctor's appointment and was downstairs. I passed out after that."
I took a deep breath and sighed. I'd made it through the story. What was even more amazing was that I was only feeling a little anxious about it. Mostly, I wanted to know what David was thinking.
He appeared to be contemplating what to say. He looked directly into my eyes, and for a moment, I swore he could see me.
David leaned over and placed his forehead to mine, with our noses touching. After several silent moments like that, he steadied my face between his palms and kissed me deeply. I would've never thought that such an act would seem appropriate at that time. But it felt right. It felt so right, that I know without a doubt that anything other than that would've been wrong.
There was nothing for him to say. He could tell me that he felt sorry that it happened, like everyone seems compelled to say. Or that it wasn't my fault. Or that there must be some higher purpose behind my survival of the attack. He could have said any one of the dozen other things that people say to comfort. I'm sure he'd heard his share throughout his lifetime, too.
But I didn't want his sorrow. And I didn't need him to comfort me. What I desperately wanted and needed at that moment was for him to desire me. I wanted him to love me like Roger loved Shauna. Like a man loves a woman.
As his kiss deepened, I yielded to it. I wanted him to know that I welcomed his advances and wanted more. So much more.
My hands reached around his back, and as we continued to explore each other's mouths, they closed into tiny fists around his shirt until I was clinging to him. I was desperate to stay close to him, as if my life depended on it.
He broke our connection to pull me onto my feet as he stood. Holding my hand firmly in his, he turned off the lamp next to the sofa and led me down the hall to his bedroom. I glanced back over my shoulder at the Christmas tree, now the only source of light in the condo.
David unfastened just the top button of his shirt and then pulled it over his head in one swift motion. Ambient light from the street shone across his chest. I felt my breathing hitch at its unveiling and became painfully aware of my thunderous heart. I turned away to catch my breath.
David's hands reached out and found my shoulders. He pivoted me so my back was to him and then pulled me to his impossibly big and warm chest.
His cheek came to rest on the crown of my head and for a few silent moments he buried his nose in my hair and breathed in my fragrance. It was the most sensual experience to me. He wasn't doing it because he'd seen or read it in a cheap romance novel, it was essential to how he perceived his world.
"God, I love the way you smell."
His mouth had moved to my ear so the words were no louder than a husky whisper. My stomach tightened, and gooseflesh lined my skin as his hot breath tickled my neck and ear.
When his lips closed on the flesh of my neck, I let go a tiny gasp. He was working me into such a tight coil, it seemed that his every touch was electric.
His fingers moved down the front of my shirt and began to work on the buttons there. It was the moment of truth for me. I hadn't had any sort of sexual contact with a man since the incident.
I wanted to go there with David. I felt that somehow he understood and wouldn't be critical of my mutilated breast. Maybe it was because he couldn't see it, and somehow that was worst than just feeling it. Or maybe because I just trusted him, already. More than I'd trusted any man. I knew he would never hurt me. No matter what transpired between us.
As my shirt parted, I turned my head to the side to avoid looking at it. I tried to remember how beautiful my chest once was. I'd been an early bloomer, sprouting a lovely full bosom before I could drive. I was proud of my curves, wearing the sleeker style of tops to accentuate them.
While I was not loose, I was not a virgin, either. I'd forgotten just how much I loved sex; how important it once was to me. I'd been denying it for too long.
David pulled my shirt down my arms and let it fall to the floor at our feet. His fingers loosened my bra clasp in a single, easy movement and he pushed my straps down my arms in the same way.
He wrapped his arms around my torso and held me close to his bare chest as he kissed the top of my head. He kept a tight hold, with one arm wrapped around my middle and held firmly against him, while the other hand moved over my scarred breast.
Shallow pants kept me from panicking and fighting him. I clamped my eyes shut as his fingers traced the outlines of the scarred tissue and moved over the lumps of hardened flesh and divots. As a result of removing damaged tissue, my left breast was smaller than my right. And not at all round, anymore.
I started pleading with him, but I wasn't sure for what. I wanted him to show me some mercy and skip past this part. Surely we could have sex without so much attention being paid to my left breast.
But he paid no attention to my plea. If anything, he gripped me tighter.
His hand moved over the center of my breast, and my nipple responded by tightening to a solid point in his palm. David groaned appreciatively and cupped his hand around my breast. Then his fingers zeroed in on the hard pebble, rolling it between his fingers, and pinching and pulling at the point until it grew painfully hard.
I'd always had sensitive nips. I could almost climax just from being played with there. And it had been so long ...
"You're so beautiful, Jen. So fascinating to the touch. And wonderfully responsive."
I couldn't believe my ears. He'd just moved his hand over a battlefield of flesh and he thought it was fascinating? Beautiful?
David released his tight grasp, but held onto me as he moved around my body to sit on the bed. He then pulled me toward him so that I was standing between his splayed thighs. Without hesitation, his mouth sought out the already hard nipple of my left breast.
He sucked it into his mouth, eliciting a sharp yip from me. My entire aureole was engulfed in hot wetness as he suckled. He pushed my nipple to the roof of his mouth and drew me into the back of his throat. It was an amazing feeling. Damp heat penetrated the crotch of my panties. God, this is such a turn-on.
He released my nipple and looked up at me with a crooked smile before moving to the other side. He palmed my left breast while his tongue flicked the nipple on my right side to a hard point. Then he drew the pebble between his teeth and worried it there, just on the edge of being painful.
He knew exactly what to do, just how far to go. He played my body like it was a well-tuned instrument in the hands of a maestro. And it sang for him.
He would work one side until I was on the very edge of climax, and then move to the other side. Always keeping me right at that edge of sweet release.
"We need to get you out of these wet clothes."
He was referring to how soaked my panties had become. I'd forgotten what he told me about his heightened perception. But I was only mildly flustered by it at that point. I was steeping with need. He'd made me that way.
And yes, please, by all means, GET ME OUT OF THESE CLOTHES.
David's fingers worked on my button and zipper. He held open the fly of my jeans and kissed the delicate skin just above the elastic waistband of my panties.
"Your scent is positively intoxicating. I can hardly concentrate. I need to taste you."
I gasped and gripped his shoulders to steady myself. God, he knows just the thing to say. What started as a dull ache between my thighs had now turned into a steady, needy throb.
Hooking his fingertips over the elastic rim of my panties, he pulled down both my jeans and soaked underwear in one movement. I'd kicked off my shoes and socks hours earlier, after a brief quirky conversation that had us all comparing the size of our big toe with our second toe, so a simple step out of the legs of my jeans was all it took to render me completely nude.
His hands moved over my buttocks, smoothing the skin, caressing and kneading until they cupped the undersides of my fatty flesh. The very tips of his fingers stretched between my thighs to explore and tease me from behind.
I fought the urge to spread my legs and squat to impale myself with his fingers. I wanted to do it so badly; I needed to feel them inside me. My quivering nether lips were practically nipping at his fingertips.
He had no intention of impaling me like that, though, even though he knew how badly I wanted it. He'd made his intention known.
David gently urged me onto the bed and positioned a pillow underneath my head. He stood and removed his jeans and then pulled the familiar foil square from his dresser drawer. With a deftness that would be envied by any man with sight, he opened the package and rolled the condom onto his steel erection. The grace with which he did this could almost be called art.
He lowered his body over mine and kissed me deeply for several long minutes, his tongue moving in a lovely, lewd rhythm, giving me a taste of what was to come.
By the time the kiss was over, I was eager for it. I could hardly stand another minute of the sexual tension he'd so skillfully crafted in me. I needed a release.
As his lips trailed down the center of my body, and his hands parted my thighs, he looked up at me as if watching my reaction. It was impossible to tell that he was blind.
In bed, he wasn't handicapped at all. His sensitivity to my cues made him a superb lover. A better lover than any sighted man I'd been with. Even at that moment, as he dipped his head between my thighs, he knew that I needed to look into his eyes. Even if he couldn't see me. Because it was important to me to feel that connection.
He showered me with soft kisses right on the most sensitive part of my upper thighs, along where my panties had left indentations from the tight elastic. Then he trailed his lips up my folds and down again, caressing me with the soft flesh of his mouth while he inhaled my scent.
I could picture my juices wetting his lips with each pass. I was becoming aware of my own scent. It was rich and pungent. And for the first time in my life, it was adding to my arousal.
His tongue snaked from his mouth into my folds, exploring each side, sliding into my wet channel and then retreating, and working lazy circles around every inch of exposed flesh. He luxuriated in the act, his tongue languid and soft, lapping at my juices and sucking them down. The tension began to coil up tight again inside me. The throbbing returned and it felt like my channel was gasping for air, for him; pleading for him to enter.
As if he heard the invitation, his tongue stiffened and penetrated me. I groaned with need. It wouldn't be enough. I wanted more. I wanted him to fuck me.
He pulled his tongue from my hole and held my labia open with his fingers so he could circle my clitoral hood with his hardened tongue. The coil tightened further. Every muscle in my body tensed, my breath held fast in my lungs.
He brushed over my swollen clitoris and then clamped his lips around my entire hood to suck it into his mouth.
All at once, everything unraveled. I released my breath as I mewled my released. Stars of every color blanketed my vision. My muscles, which had been tense for so long, were now shuddering.
David held my thighs open and positioned himself on his knees between them. He placed his hands on the mattress along my sides and tilted his hips until the swollen head of his cock settled into place at my opening. Then he eased just a fraction of an inch inside.
My walls pulsed and lapped at him in the aftershock of my climax. He gripped the sheets and gritted his teeth. Sweat was beading up on his forehead and chest as he fought to restrain himself.
I was momentarily confused as to why he'd stopped like that. It was obvious that I wanted him to continue. Then, as the pulsations diminished, it dawned on me. I hadn't had intercourse in over two years.
"I'm ... It's been a long time for me."
David nodded. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead onto my chest. He was taking deep, controlled breaths, concentrating on gaining control. "I don't want to hurt you; but you're so damned perfect, you're making it difficult to hold back."
"Don't hold back, David. Please. I want to feel you inside me."
I wasn't even sure it was me that said those words. It was so unlike me. I'd never uttered a word in bed while making love before. At least not an intelligible word.
David groaned and then growled as his hips tilted and his pelvis eased forward. My walls stretched as he filled me. He took short, shallow strokes, inching his way deeper with every pass, until he was fully seated inside me.
He held still for several moments, panting, his eyes fixed on mine. He was beautiful, even more so than when I first saw him in the kitchen doorway. A sheen now covered his flushed face. The street lights glimmered in his blue eyes, throwing sparks to start the fire I knew was about to rage out of control.
He caressed my forehead and cheek as he swayed his hips to glide in and out of me. For several minutes, he maintained an even, slow rhythm. My attention was on the way he filled every inch of me. How he caressed me with every stroke.
Once again, my body was responding to him. My hips involuntarily undulated in rhythm with his. The incessant throbbing returned.
"Oh, God, Jen."
David hooked my thigh in the crook of his arm and began thrusting his pelvis hard into me. He was deeper than I thought possible, and somehow suddenly even larger.
I gasped and grunted, and groaned, and moaned, and mewled. I may have uttered words in half a dozen different languages, for all I know. But, what was certain, what I couldn't deny, was that I was having one unbelievable orgasm. And David was right there with me.
David lowered himself onto me as he released his grip on my leg, but remained seated firmly inside. His ragged breathing resounded in my ear as he nuzzled my neck. I could still detect my own scent on his face, and my channel twitched as I remembered how he pleasured me in that way.
He lifted his face in response. I still wasn't accustomed to just how in-tune he was to my body.
"I was just replaying it in my mind. Sorry."
"Don't apologize. It feels amazing."
David kissed my cheek and then sucked my ear lobe into his mouth for a few seconds.