Falling

Verité hated coming down to the ground; she felt infinitely more clumsy, immeasurably graceless when her feet were flat on the floor. But her feet didn't touch the floor; Nikolai caught her around the waist before she could land, and lifted her gently away from the clinging touch of the silk. Kneeling with her in his arms, he laid her on the mats, her hair fanning around her.

"I told you," he breathed. His hands tugged at the straps of the leotard, peeling it off her body and pushing it away from them. She lay entirely naked against the faded blue mats, eying the bulge in the dance pants that couldn't conceal even a passing interest.

"You did," she agreed breathlessly. "And now I have fallen."

"No," he corrected, his voice hoarse. "You have only begun to fall."

He worshipped her with his mouth and hands until she was writhing on the floor, begging in her native French for him to stop torturing her. She clutched at the slithery material, her voice cracking in her desperation. Finally, he yanked off the pants and lay flush against her, hard and heavy against her thigh. "Do you feel yourself falling?"

"Nikolai, please!"

Laughing wickedly, he tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her savagely, claiming her. She was his now, should have been his for a long time, and he intended to teach her that. She kissed him back with equal ardor, this silent little shadow whose only other passion was for silk and weightlessness. One hand roamed down her body, two fingers slipping inside her to test her readiness. She was soaking, her hips rocking against his hand as he stroked her inside and out.

"Guide me," he hissed, groaning as her hand wrapped tightly about him. She hooked one leg around his hip and gently pulled him towards her, rubbing the head of his cock against her dripping slit. "Don't tease."

"But you are the one who taught me how."

Grinning in spite of himself, he pushed her hand away and placed himself against her opening, looking her steadily in the eye. "You shouldn't have made me wait so long, Verité."

"Nikolai, please," she pleaded, her voice so thin he could barely hear her.

He entered her slowly, letting her feel every inch of him as he slid into her depths. Her eyes fluttered closed and he could see the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. Keeping still within her, he reached up and suckled that butterfly movement, feeling it speed up even further. She sobbed his name; would he never stop torturing her!

Nikolai finally began moving against her, his hips pistoning slowly. She was so damn tight around him, and he was actually a little worried about hurting her, but he could see no sign of pain in her flushed face. He pulled her other leg up around his waist, bracing himself on his forearms so he could trace wet paths about her tiny breasts with his tongue. He knew he was being cruel, but he didn't want her walking away from him, didn't want her to have any excuse to pretend she wasn't affected by him. This was the only chance he would have to get under her skin.

She sighed under his attentions, arching her chest up to his nimble tongue as it wrapped around her nipple. He flexed his jaw, drawing strongly upon the darker flesh, and she felt sparks smolder into flame. Her hands smoothed over his back, soothing the heated flesh, pulling against him to encourage him. His cock in her was marvelous, heavy and thick and long, but this slow pace was maddening. She dug her nails into his back and scratched, feeling the skin give way beneath her fingers.

With a hissing breath, he picked up speed, hitting just a little deeper each time. His buttocks clenched and unclenched with each movement, driving into her with her juices easing the way.

He suddenly buried himself completely inside her, bruising her cervix, and held himself frozen still. She whimpered, past the ability to speak for the whirlwind of sensation overwhelming her. "Wrap your legs tighter," he urged. "Now, Verité! Tighter!"

Helplessly, she did as he said, her thighs gripping his waist so tightly that not a breath of air could pass between them. He rolled them and stood, still buried within her, and twined the crimson silk about her hands and wrists. Only when she was holding her own weight did he start to move within her again.

Verité cried out, a strangled gasp. The teasing was done now, and he was leaving his mark. She flexed her arms to help her rock against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he drove into her. His hands on her hips pulled her up and down with her motion, their skin slapping wetly together. His thumb twisted about until he could rub against her clit, sending her flying over the edge.

She was flying, floating and falling and she was never coming down. She shattered into a million pieces, and only his hands grabbing suddenly for hers kept her grip on the silk intact.

Nikolai gritted his teeth, riding through the delicious throbbing of her walls clenching around him. He wasn't done with her yet. He held still while she slowly came back to earth, residual spasms still dancing down his shaft.

"Nikolai, mon Dieu," she breathed. She could still feel him hard within her.

"How much do you trust me?"

She arched an eyebrow and glanced down to the juncture of their bodies.

"Then lay back."

By this point, she wasn't about to argue. He'd made her feel like never before, and she only wanted it to continue. Tightening every muscle in her body, including a few that made him swear fervently, she held herself perfectly perpendicular to the floor, her arms out to either side and grasping the crimson silk that had been his.

He pulled her legs from about his waist and straightened them into a wide split, wrapping the lengths of emerald fabric about her hips and legs. For good measure, he wrapped them twice about her waist and arms. She was trapped completely in the scarlet and green material, held entirely open for him. She watched him through half-open eyes, a small smile curving her bow-like mouth.

Grabbing the silk just about her hands, he steadied himself on the balls of his feet, smirking down at her. "Are you ready?"

"Most likely not."

In one fluid motion, he pulled almost all the way out of her and slammed back in, and she buckled against him with an inarticulate cry. There was nothing tender or teasing, only the breathy gasps that tore from their chests as he drove into her. He was killing her, burning her, and she could only urge him on with sharp rolls of her hips and the undulating dance of her inner muscles. She was shattering again, soaring off into that weightless eternity.

When her walls rippled around him for a second time, Nikolai knew he couldn't ride through another one. With a pained groan, he pulled from her just in time, the thick white cream erupting from him onto her stomach and chest. It spurted twice, then a third time, before the drawing sensation eased.

Neither of them moved; they couldn't have even if they wanted to. The cold air of the theatre slowly dried the sweat of their skin, and she was beginning to feel more than a little dirty with his seed crusting on her stomach. "I told you I would catch you," he murmured, his cheek resting against her chest.

She smiled and nodded. Perhaps falling wasn't so bad after all.