Strange Haven

He hadn't been a monk. He'd been enjoying the bodies of woman since before he'd had his driver's licence. All kinds of women. Until relatively recently, he hadn't gone without for long, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember having sex like that.

Could've been the wait, he thought drowsily. Could've been the surprise of it.

It took a few minutes longer for him to soften enough that he couldn't stay in, sliding out on the gentle flow of their combined come. Her arms loosened then, and he rolled to the side, feeling her move away, reaching out with an arm and pulling her back against him. He was warm. He was tired.

He loved her smell.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sara woke two hours later, slowly and languidly. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was, or whose arms were wrapped around her. Memory returned and she curled up her toes, feeling an answering tingle in her skin and muscles. Sex with a complete stranger. Incredible sex with a complete stranger.

Neither of them had really moved, she realised, faintly surprised. She hadn't wanted after-sex cuddles much, even when her husband had still been ... husbandly ... and he'd liked them even less, rolling away and leaving air space between them.

This felt different. She wasn't sure how, but it did. Under the quilts, the heat they made together was just enough, not stiflingly sweaty. Beneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell and she extended her tongue a little, tasting him; slightly salty, musky.

A single throb shook through her and she inched closer to him, breathing in deeply.

This was what she'd missed so much, she thought. This skin-to-skin intimacy. Love wasn't essential to sex, but over the last eight years, she'd come to the conclusion that sex was essential to love. At least the sort of love that a still-fertile woman might feel for a very virile man.

Lying there, his arms around her, she floated in her thoughts. She felt safe, she thought, in a very primal and primitive kind of way. Protected. That was probably a fantasy, considering the man who was holding her had almost certainly escaped from the prison three counties over, but despite the logic, the feeling remained.

She felt womanly, she realised. Not just desired, though that was a powerful aphrodisiac. Not just feminine, although it'd been a long time since she'd felt so fully feminine, aware of her body, of her skin, of her desires. Something else ... something deeper. The clichés rushed through her mind and she rejected them. They were a part of it, but not all of it.

Who cares, she derided herself, letting her hand move over his chest and down his side, revelling in the freedom of touching him, stroking him. That low-down hum was returning, and everything about him was charging it.

Shifting her weight onto the arm under her, she brushed her mouth over his chest. He wasn't hairy, but he wasn't smooth and hairless either, a fine mat over the big muscles that protected the ribcage, thinning out where she found his nipple and tongued over it curiously. He moved a little, his exhale slightly louder.

Exploring with her fingers, she followed her hand with her lips, curving over muscle and nuzzling against his side, his body twitching at her touch. She licked along the places where his muscles fluttered beneath the skin, smiling as he rolled onto his back, his legs sprawling apart, and she pushed the covers down further.

He smelled ... manly, she thought, repressing an almost-hysterical giggle at the banality of the thought. There wasn't another word for it. The woodland scent was still there but very faintly now. The chill, oddly metallic, scent of the snowy night outside had gone completely, overlaid with the powerful but pleasing smell of sweat, and that mixed in with the combined odours of their joining and release.

He smelled of sex, she thought, her smile getting a little wider. Ducking her head, she traced the outline of muscle from above his hip down to his groin, licking along the crease between thigh and pelvis, nuzzling her face against his flaccid cock and the thick pubic hair that surrounded it.

She'd missed the social revolution when men had made the decision, collectively it seemed, to start wearing make-up, pay attention to how they smelled, what colour their hair was and lay down their cash to be body-waxed. Had been married and unaware of it, at any rate.

In both the abstract and in reality, she couldn't work out if it was a step of evolution or a sign that form had completely overtaken function and western society had way too much time on its hands.

That this man hadn't followed the trend was a relief, she decided, turning herself around and easing his legs further apart, her tongue sliding under his sac and curling around it.

She had no idea of what he looked like, only the knowledge of her other senses; the smell of him and the way he tasted, the textures of skin and body. He was beautiful to her, in his unapologetic maleness. Beautiful and intoxicating.

His hips rose as she stroked him, his erection growing slowly. His response, even unconscious, sent a quaking, shivery delight through her.

She'd tried hard to get the intimacy with Dan back, even when he'd gotten too large to enter her, had tried everything she could think of or could research to give him pleasure and recapture his desire. Not much had worked. And, after a while, she'd stopped trying, the imbalance between her desire and his apathy too great. And, finally, she'd stopped asking for intimacy altogether, her hesitant attempts sounding too much like pleas, to her ears; always only coming from her.

Exploring the thickening shaft of this stranger's cock, tracing the veins, squeezing gently along the length, running a fingertip featherlight around the rim of the head, both hands massaging and teasing as her tongue played with his balls, it was a power of some kind, she thought vaguely. It turned her on to create this arousal, to fan it and inflame it. It wasn't a one-way deal. She was in it for the sensations it brought to her as much as she wanted to give him pleasure.

She was moistening again, heat and a simmering passion arousing her nerves and filling her with a languid need. Leaning forward, she tasted the thinner salty liquid leaking from him, an answering trickle tickling between her legs. She'd missed this - all of this - so much, she thought was a soft moan, her tongue sliding around him, savouring the taste.

The gusting exhale he released was just vocalised, rumbling in his chest and she lifted her gaze, seeing his head move. He was hard, and gaining consciousness, if he wasn't awake already.

Straddling his hips, she slid herself up and down his cock; her nether lips hot and swelling, drenched in her juices, her clit demandingly hard and throbbing. Her head tipped back slightly as she rubbed herself more forcefully against him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke to the exquisite sensations of being swallowed, a moan vibrating along his shaft, oscillating around him. Opening his eyes, he could see her, the covers pushed down, his body warm and flushed with blood rushing to his cock as her fingers clenched and released at the base and a tongue laved and teased the head.

Memory returned in tiny shards - the forest, the snow-filled fields, the warmth of the house, and then here. This room. This bed. This woman.

As she changed position, her thighs against his hips and her cunt dripping hotly over him, he couldn't help the involuntary upward thrust. He felt her lips part to either side of him and arched up again, rewarded as she seemed to lift that little bit higher, and he found her entrance, slipping inside an inch or so, the tight muscles there blasting a full return of memory, along with the furnace feel of heat and welcoming pressure.

For a long moment, she held herself above him, and his cock twitched, straining to get in deeper ... then she plunged down, taking his breath and hers, he thought incoherently as he heard her gasp. Before he could react, she was rising again, almost agonisingly slow, her slick heat pulling and sucking at him. He lifted his hips in an attempt to stay in that inferno, and she dropped suddenly, enclosing him, squeezing him, all the blood rushing out of his brain with the rush of shocking ecstasy.

Her hips swung a little, forward and back, as she rose again, and his cock was twisted in that tight channel, palpated from different angles. She was moving faster, increasing her speed gradually and rhythmically and every movement seemed to hit him from a different position, the sweet glide of her steady, but the effects unpredictable and heart-stopping.

Tightening his grip on her hips, he jerked upward, matching every downward thrust, feeling her body tremble as his cock brushed past the sensitive patch inside of her. That tremble only added to the pleasure, the mutual passion of giving and taking, locked together and in sync, her breathless little moans ramping him up as much as the feel of her, surrounding him, did.

Fuck, he loved women. Loved their taste and their scents, the way they felt and the way they looked and the hand-in-glove way he fit inside of them, filling them up. He loved how they shook, when they were about to come. It didn't last, but god, it was good in the moment.

She leaned forward and he reached up automatically, catching her hands against his, sucking in a deep lungful of air as she accelerated, her breath rasping audibly in and out. Her fingers contracted around his and he felt the first staccato pulses along his length, thrusting harder as she rocked down, feeling that pulling sensation, somewhere deep, feeling it build, faster and faster.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sara shuddered as his hands found hers and she increased her pace, slamming herself down on him, her body throbbing and clamping around him in syncopation with the thundering beat of her heart.

Every stroke, up or down, brushed over the tight bundle of nerves inside her and every stroke was building a conflagration, a wildfire of sensations she couldn't ever remember feeling, not once through several lovers or in a marriage of twelve years.

More than physical, it was a mindless, yearning ache for something she couldn't define, couldn't imagine, a clinging desperation that pumped her hips faster, harder, feeling him hit somewhere, deep inside, needing it more than she could bear.

It was different from the first time. More thunder and lightning. More of everything.

Deeper.

Stronger.

Rocking her from the inside out, her fingers gripping his with all her strength as the first shockwaves rippled through her body, from the tightly contracted muscles of her feet to the crown of her head; her internal temperature swinging hot to cold and back again; exquisite sensation exploding along the pathways of nerves, and when she felt him arch up under her, felt the hotter spurt of his seed flood her, heard his stifled groan, a second detonation hit her, overtaking the first.

Contract and release. Contract and release. Light-headed and dizzy with the washes of pleasure. Shaking helplessly in the grip of sensations that had taken over. Lost and held. Stirred and sated and perversely, already longing for more.

She tipped forward and he caught her, arms going around her, his breath on her hair, the brush of his beard against her temple.

"Thank you," she gasped, glad that darkness was hiding her expression.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He slid his hand down her back, a part of him wondering at the kind of woman who thanked a stranger - a criminal - for coming into her home and having sex with her.

The kind of woman who's as tight as a virgin despite having two kids, a small voice at the back of his mind suggested?

Was there a husband around? The question wasn't that urgent. If there was, he wasn't there now.

He closed his eyes, feeling her heart beat settle under his hand, his cock softening and slipping out of her. She wasn't heavy but it wouldn't stay comfortable for long, her lying on top of him, their hipbones and ribcages pressing together, and he rolled to the side, feeling her squirm away, his arms closing around her without thought, drawing her back against him as he settled mostly on one side.

It wasn't just the need to keep her from slipping out and calling the cops when he was sleeping, he thought drowsily. She could've done that instead of waking him up again. Usually, he didn't want to be this close, after. This time he did. He was too damned exhausted to try and work out why.

He felt the odd tension in her dissolve slowly, felt her turn and curl against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder and nestling there, her arm sliding tentatively over his chest.

It'd been a while since he'd been able to pull off a couple of fucks in the space of a few hours, let alone ball-busters like those had been. Then again, it'd been a while since he'd had a tight pussy, hot and welcoming, to slide into.

He drew in a slightly deeper breath, and the thoughts vanished without fanfare, his body heavy and loose, sated and comfortable, the darkness and the soft whisper of her breath lulling him into sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was still dark, in the room, when he woke abruptly; disoriented by the warmth surrounding him, the woman he was still holding. Still dark outside as well, a stray thought suggested, the blackness of the window unrelieved.

Memory returned, a flush of heat shooting up his body, and he relaxed back onto the pillow under his head. From close to freezing to this, he thought, one side of his mouth lifting in a slightly derisive grin. Someone was looking out for him.

He'd pulled some pretty shifty shit on women over the years, but he couldn't recall anything as blatantly bad as this. It was hard to believe it wasn't going to backfire on him, sometime soon.

She'd wanted him, he reminded himself, listening to the barely audible whisper of her breath. Wanted him a lot, the memory of the second time coming back. Waking to the delirious feel of her mouth around him being a good argument for the lady's choice. And she was still here, he thought, tilting his head to look down at her. Curled in his arms and showing no inclination at all to trying to escape or call the cops or anything else.

Stop looking in gift horse's mouth.

It wasn't a situation that seemed likely to last much longer, he thought, fingertips brushing lightly over her skin, drawing a muted shiver from her. He thought he'd been pretty much fucked out, but as memory and the smell and feel of her in his arms registered more strongly, his cock twitched hopefully.

Licking his lips, he realised he wanted to taste her again.

He eased himself out from under her, and drew in a deep breath when he was leaning over her, smelling the fresh scents of her hair and skin, mixed with the heavier smells on the sheets beneath them.

Ducking his head, he kissed her neck, savouring the slightly salt flavour of her sweat on the tip of his tongue. Her skin was like silk, he thought, one hand running lightly down her shoulder and arm, fingers caressingly tracing the shape of her breast. His cock gave a deep throb and he closed his eyes, lapping at the nipple and rolling it under his tongue, feeling it harden in the heat of his mouth. His fingers played with the other one, and a faint moan slipped between her parted lips.

He sucked harder as that soft noise seemed to zap straight from his ears to the root, any worries about getting up after the night's activities gone in that second. Moving lower, he tasted and licked under the swell of her breasts, one hand stroking a smooth thigh, letting his senses swim and drown in her body.

There was something about a woman's body, something that contrasted and complemented a man's, he thought vaguely. Their softness, maybe. Their scents, sweeter and wilder. Their taste, complicated and addictive. It could've been instinct, plain old reproductive drive, all that crap about spreading seed and best combinations, but it never felt that simple, not to him. Those things were there, a rush of triumph somehow at the critical moment, a sense of completion, momentary, at least, for something he'd never felt could be completed. There was a feeling of conqueror as well, not just of strength but of will. A thread of self-satisfaction, in both the doing and in being chosen. Beyond those mostly physical things, mostly biological things, there were others.

Watching their eyes, and mouths, as they reached with the same determination for the pinnacle of sensation, for the long sigh and release, he thought he saw more in those moments. Saw them give themselves up unconditionally. Saw an acceptance, not just of themselves but of him, in those fleeting glimpses. He'd felt as if he could almost understand that feeling, but not quite.

He followed the curve of her hip with his mouth, realising he'd come closer to that understanding with this woman than with any of the others, despite knowing even less of her than almost any other sexual partner he'd ever had.

Between her legs, the folds of her cunt were soaked and running, and he licked along them, savouring the smells and taste, distantly aware of the increase in her movements; small, restless twitches as he touched and tasted, more and more intimately.

He drove his tongue inside her, the sweetness of her juices flooding his mouth. Fuck, she was sweet, he thought, a little incoherently.

"Uh-aa-ah."

The moan spiked through him and he lapped at her clit, pushing her legs further apart and sliding his fingertips between her rapidly-swelling lips, over her entrance, and under it, feeling her cheeks flex as he rubbed a fingertip over the tight, puckered hole.

He couldn't believe how responsive she was to everything he did. Couldn't believe how those responses kept winding him up, either. Closing his teeth gently around the hard protrusion of flesh at the top of her pussy, he dragged them over it as he slid two fingers into her, and she arched up, another moan escaping from her, his cock throbbing and rigid.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sara was catapulted out of sleep, aching fluxes of intense pleasure swelling out from her pelvis, through her thighs and abdomen, tightening her nipples, seizing her chest and leaving her gasping for air.

She arched up under the mouth and fingers that were driving her, twisting as he changed technique, and a new set of pulsing sensations rolled along her nervous system, bringing her closer and closer to the melting point she needed.

"Turn over."

His voice was rough and low, disembodied in the near-darkness and she sucked in a lungful of air and complied, rolling onto her stomach, her hands fisting in the sheets as he lifted her hips higher.

"Spread your legs, wide."

Cheek pressed against the sheet, she obeyed without thought, her pussy open to the cool air, her body jittering and shaking with the need to be touched. Licked. Fingered and filled.

She jumped when she felt his tongue slide up, thrusting into her pussy for a second or two and withdrawing, then continuing up to slick her ass. A shivery, quaking feeling filled her, her imagination clocking into overdrive, accompanied by the sensations he was creating, in his touches and caresses and the excruciatingly slow, deliberate exploration of her.

How could it be so different each time, some distant, still sane part of her wondered? How could he touch her and pull more out, each and every time? She'd thought she'd been wanton and horny the last time ... it'd been nothing to what she felt now, spread open to him, her breath rasping harshly against the cotton fabric under her face, her body jerking and flooding with moisture every time he moved, touched her. She was hyper aware of her skin, of the connections between nerves and muscles, muscle and tendon. She could feel the deep-seated throbbing in her pussy, building fast to an ache as he played with her. She wanted things she'd never wanted before, wanted him to ... own her ... the thought surrounded by a glowing astonishment ... as she'd never wanted anyone to do before. She had to bite down on the plea, rising in her throat, for him to take her, do anything he wanted with her, just take her completely.