The Bleakest of Seasons Pt. 02

The lift stops and the door opens to reveal his living space and you disengage from him and stride toward the bed. You shed your clothes gracefully as you walk to it, your need for him to be inside you sudden and immediate. The sheets are cool as you turn and sit on the messy bed; the marks he left on your skin barely even itch now. You look at him as he follows you to the bed, amused by his attempt to pick up your discarded clothing.

'Leave them please. You promised me something.'

Scott looks up at you amused, and then tosses the clothing over his shoulder.

'And what did I promise you Addie?' He says with a little smirk.

'Extra Stupid!' You declare firmly to him and make a come hither gesture with your finger.

'Maybe. I need you to do something for me first.'

'Like what?' You say with a pout.

'Show me.' He says with what can only be described as a wicked smile.

'Show you what?' You respond with confusion.

'Show me how badly you want it.' Scott replies as he casually drops the clothing he was picking up and saunters over to the bed.

'I'm naked in your bed and I whipped off my clothes the moment I got out of the elevator. I think it's pretty clear how badly I want it.' You reply with just an ounce of irritation.

'Oh, I saw that. But it's not really clear if you were tired, or just wanted a nap...'

'Are you kidding me?'

Scott laughs and then he kneels and gently grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, locking eye contact with you. You feel a shiver travel up your spine and a tingle in the hairs on the back of your neck. He does these things all the time to you and he doesn't even realize it. He just... takes control and you melt.

'Show me girl.' He commands you. And this time you know exactly what he means.

Your hand trembles slightly as you reach between your legs and dart between your lips. You were already aroused just coming up the elevator, now with him taking charge of the moment and holding your chin you've dropped into a state of lust. You're so wet you're afraid you're literally dripping and your fingers slide inside yourself with no resistance at all. You bite on your lip as you hold his gaze, and he slides his free hand across your stomach and cups your breast.

You moan at both your touches. His fingers are soft and he squeezes you gently but firmly. His fingers creep up the soft globe of flesh and tweak your nipple in just the right way. You can feel the pressure building in your stomach and you clench your muscles tight, bracing yourself for release.

He bends down and brushes his lips against your own. You pant between passionate yet delicate kisses. He drifts across your face, his lips kissing your cheeks and your eyelids.

'Ngghh... ' You gibber and buck your hips as you approach release. As you start to pant, Scott whispers in your ear.

'Not. Yet.' He orders you.

'What?!' You gasp, so close to orgasm that request seems ridiculous.

'Hold it! Wait. Do not come until I tell you girl!'

'Oh god... I can't... you... what...' You panic as you try and do what he tells you to do, desperately holding back what feels like a wave of pressure inside you. You lock your thighs around your hand and press hard to try and physically hold back.

Scott watches you and he slides the hand that was holding your chin around the back of your neck and seizes your hair tightly. You gasp at the sudden reinforcement of his control, and it makes it easier and seemingly harder to hold back at the same time.

'I can't... can't... God Scott PLEASE!'

'Not yet.' He growls in your ear, then sucks your earlobe between his lips and drags his teeth gently across your delicate skin.

'OH CHRIST! PLEASE!' You shriek loudly, taken aback at how desperate you are for this.

'Come.' He orders in your ear and like a wave you let it go and it smashes through you. You arch up off the bed and pull him to you, burying your head in his neck as you howl with release.

It's an intense, powerful, orgasm and he still has his pants on.

He still has his pants on.

Oh. Shit.

Just as you suddenly figure out what he's been planning, you feel his hand between your legs and on your hyper stimulated clitoris. You wail in horror as he starts to skilfully and rapidly stimulate you even further. You buck frantically, trying to get him away from his diabolical fingers but there is absolutely no escape. He overpowers you and rips climax after climax after climax out of you until tears roll down your cheeks and you lay limply on the bed.

You want to call him a bastard, but you've literally shrieked yourself hoarse.

Also, you know that would just make him smile.

As you lay there on the bed like a limp rag, you hear him sliding out of his clothes and you make a superhuman effort to force your eyes open you see him slide off his shirt and pants and his manhood springs out erect and hard. It makes little slapping sounds as it bounces off his stomach.

'Oh... my... god...' You pant.

'Just Scott Addie. God seems a little formal.'

'You can't... I... you'll kill me.'

'I doubt that. But if I did, wouldn't this be an incredible way to go?' He says with a smirk as he crawls on top of you.

You're exhausted, gasping for breath, and you've just had multiple orgasms for about five straight minutes. Your thighs and hands tremble as he lowers himself on to you and his lips find your rock hard nipples with ease. You groan as his tongue does skilful dance with your skin and your legs part to let him inside you.

As sensitive as you are, you gasp as he slides inside you. Every other guy you'd been with made sex a quick little joy to be experienced occasionally. Scott is like a satyr from myth. He's always hard for you. He knows how to touch you, arouse you, control you and pleasure you.

And use you.

God you want him to use you.

Impulsively, you reach up with both hands and pull his face to yours and you kiss him hard. He kisses you back and your tongues slide into each others mouths.

He's so passionate with you now. He's not thinking about anything but you. His eyes are locked onto your eyes like lasers and as he starts to thrust in and out of you with increasing force and speed he keeps your gaze.

Of course, as over stimulated as you are and as aroused as you are, he has you climaxing in mere moments and he varies his speed and angle of penetration to keep you in a maddening land of bliss and pleasure and passion and border line insanity. Without thinking you spread your legs wide for him and pull his mouth to your breasts so that he can bite or suck or do what he will with you.

You don't care anymore. You have no regrets with him. Whatever this is, you hope it lasts a long time because he'll be the yardstick with which you measure every other man from now on.

And as your overloaded brain finishes that thought, your body begins riding yet another wave of climaxes. And more tears and gasps flow from you as he kisses those tears away and presses his mouth to yours as if to share his own breath with you.

And even then, you realize that he's barely even breathing hard yet. He's just measuring his pace to ensure that the sex you have now is as mind blowing as he can make it for you.

He goes, and goes and goes, and you come and come and come until you swear you can't take any more.

'Scott... please.... please finish...' You lift your hands to his face and plead with him.

'I can't... I can't take any more... my heart is going.... To stop...' You beg him, desperately wanting him to stop yet secretly hoping he'll say now.

Sweat drips down his cheek and his gray and straw coloured hair is damp with perspiration. His chest is heaving now too, yet you know he hasn't finished yet. If he had, he would have frozen and gone silent and he has done neither.

He looks at you and nods, then shifts his hands to grip your shoulder and your hair with a sudden ferocity. His tempo picks up and his member starts rapidly sawing in and out of you. You squeeze him indelicately, trying to help him finish.

It takes you both a minute, but he finally buries his face into your shoulder and releases, and for once he comes instead of you. You feel his body shudder against you, feel the sudden heat inside you and you know that he's finally taken a little pleasure from you.

Thank god. This is fantastic and all, but sometimes being with him is like running a marathon.

You half giggle, half pant as he lays on top of you, dripping sweat on you as you feel him start to soften inside you.

You both stay like that for a long time. Both of you spent and exhausted and sated on nearly every level.

It's good. It's nearly perfect.

After a time, he slides off of you and beside you and wraps his arms around you. Like you always do, you slid his hand over to your breasts so that he can play with your nipples while he cuddles. You like it when he absentmindedly plays with your flesh while he snuggles or talks with you.

He's not talking now though. He just lies next to you, and breathes into your neck. Eventually, his hand grows limp and you realize that he's sleeping.

This isn't surprising though. He just spent a full three days... doing what exactly? Making love to you? Violently using your body? (With your complete consent.) Showing you what a real lover could be like? What exactly was this?

You carefully lift his hand from your chest and slip out of the bed. You accomplish this pretty easily but nearly fall over when you realize that your thigh muscles have turned to jello after that last incredibly passionate coupling.

You need to think on this. It's too fast and too much and as much as you want it you're glad you need to be at work tomorrow. There's still too much to process for... everything really.

Quietly, you slip into the bathroom and take a quick shower, the first one in his place that hasn't involved intense and frantic sex. You grab one of his fluffy towels and dry yourself off and then carefully brush out and braid your hair, then pad back out to the living area where he still dozes.

You slip on most of your clothing quietly but as you are slipping on your shoes his eyes open and he sees you getting dressed.

'Addie?' He says sleepily.

'Hey Scott. I need to go home now. I have to work tomorrow.' You say to him quietly.

Why does this feel like you're slinking away?

'Ok. Lem'me walk you out.' He says groggily, and he swings his feet over the side of the bed.

'It's ok, I got it.' You say, hoping that he'll crawl back into bed and go back to sleep. You're afraid that any conversation you might have right now will be awkward, but you don't know why.

'No... got something to take with you. Gim'me a sec...' He grumbles and then he staggers over to the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. He fumbles around for a second and then pulls out a clear glass bottle full of orange liquid and a bottle of water. He stumbles back to you and as he passes the counter he grabs something else.

He hands you the bottle, and it's cold. It looks like orange juice. You give him an odd look.

'I squeezed it f'r you last night when you were sleeping. Forgot to give it to you when you woke up. Should still be good now... I hope.' He says blearily.

'Oh. Thank you.' You say sincerely. You love the fresh squeezed orange juice. He may have ruined regular orange juice for you now with that.

'What's the water for?' You ask.

'The water is for me.' He says with a chuckle. 'I'm dry as a bone.'

And he cracks open the water and takes a long slug from the container. Then he offers it to you and you gratefully share it with him, the cold water soothing your still ragged throat.

'Well... I guess...' You start as you finish the water and Scott interrupts you.

'Oh... and I wanted you to have this.' He says calmly and he hands you a key.

'What is this?'

'It's a key to my place. You can come over whenever you want to.'

You look at it and look at him. He's still groggy, pale and naked and he just gave you a key to his house.

This is too soon. You shouldn't take it. You should give it back to him.

You put it into your pocket then reach up on your tip toes and kiss him.

'Night you. Get some sleep.' You whisper in his ear.

'You too Addie.' He says with a sleepy smile and gives you a big hug.

Moments later you're sliding into your car, pulling the seat belt into place and watching the garage door slide up for you. The drive home is surprisingly automatic, and you're in your lobby before you know it.

You've already showered, so you simply head to your bedroom, pull a nightie from you're your dresser and slide into your bed. You think to set the alarm clock for the morning, and it's a good thing that you did because nearly the moment your head hits the pillow the long weekend full of sex and exploration and pain and pleasure catches up with you and you drop into a deep slumber.

And you dream that night, not of that bitter day of betrayal, but an odd but strikingly clear dream.

You're in a garden, filled with plants and flowers and trees and fruit all teeming around you. The sun is bright and beaming down and you're walking barefoot through the grass.

As you walk through the garden, you see something dark in the shadows.

It's a wolf, and a huge one. It moves soundlessly through the brush and keeps pace with you until it emerges under a tree and lays down in the shade watching you. Its coat is rough, mostly black with gray and the occasional white strand of hair jutting through.

It sniffs at you, its ears swivel in your direction as it watches you.

Without hesitation, you walk forward and sit down next to it, then lay down in the grass beside it. It sniffs at you and your hair and then gently licks your ear and shifts over beside you.

And in your dreams you lay in this lovely garden next to this huge black wolf and rest.

It should be scary, this dream, but it isn't. It's comforting. The wolf isn't a threat. It's a companion. And as you lay there and watch the garden, beautiful flowers and fruits and vegetables sprout and grow and fill the paths until all you can see is a bounty of growth.

The wolf leans over you and licks your ear again and then he whispers in your ear.

'Are you my girl?'

'I am your girl.' You respond without thought.

And suddenly, you're back in his bed, Scott on top of you and deep inside you. There's no motion, just his calm, weathered face looking down at you.

'Are you my girl?' He says.

'I am your girl.' The response is just as instant.

'Good girl.' He whispers and his lips find yours.

'Good man.' You whisper back and pull him to you.

Morning comes too quickly, like it always does.

You roll over in your bed and snuggle into the cool sheets, still crisp and fresh as you've barely slept in them at all since Friday.

Oh God, did that weekend really happen? You think to yourself.

Slowly, you sit up and ponder everything. You've had more sex... more pleasure than you've ever had over the last couple of days.

Your nightie rides up a little and reveals a fading welt. Yes it really happened, and it wasn't just pleasure. There were other parts too. Some not so fun. Some things that were terrifying to you and some things... that you just had never even conceived of.

And there was him, that sarcastic, chubby older guy with a voice like steel and a sex drive like a fifteen year old. And he just snaked past all your defences and did things to you that you never dreamed you would do.

Good lord it was crazy.

Crazy good.

You sigh, you're now a day behind on your work week and you need to play catchup. And this is after a long weekend where you did everything and anything and... good lord, you're no longer a virgin anywhere you realize with a shock.

That stops you cold. Not only did you enjoy it, you initiated it twice!

You wander into the kitchen in a daze. The battered little coffeemaker sits on the counter, and you absentmindedly fill it with water and some grounds and start brewing a fresh pot. It isn't until you glance in the fridge that you see the bottle filled with Orange juice that he squeezed for you by hand.

It's in your hand before you can think about it, and then you're pouring that golden liquid down your throat. It's ice cold and still refreshing, although not as fantastic as it would have been a day ago when he made it for you.

You look at the empty bottle, then rinse it out thoroughly and set it on the counter.

He's going to need to make you more of that.

You're going to need a lot more of a lot of things from him.

You stand there in the kitchen, gently running your fingers over the empty bottle, missing his smell and the feel of his fingers on your skin and tugging on your hair and that animal growl that he makes in your ear sometimes.

Idly, you wonder if this is how a junkie feels. You're so far removed from that incredible sensation that you feel lost and hollow. It's almost like you've been enveloped by a snow storm in January, and you feel as brittle now as you do in the bleakest of seasons.

Coffee brings some small solace, and you take a far too hot shower to chase away this lingering sensation. But even the shower reminds you of him and his brutally passionate and relentless lovemaking.

You can't stand it anymore and your fingers slide between your thighs and gently coax a tiny measure of pleasure from your flesh.

You release after a few minutes, and as you lean against the shower wall, water beading on your skin you wish he was here to rub the sponge across your shoulders and back, luxuriously wash your hair and then slide his hand between your legs...

That thought makes the next measure of pleasure not so tiny.

And it also makes you late.

Cursing, you towel dry your hair rapidly, and pick out some acceptable work clothes. A sunny dress and a jacket sweater slip on over comfy cotton undergarments and you start to slip into sandals... until you notice the new toms that he bought you by the doorway.

It suddenly feels like a tiny betrayal to wear something else, so you slip out of the sandals and into the Toms. They're comfy and light and they feel good as you rush out to the car.

The trip to the office is easy, traffic is light and you realize that you're actually making good time.

You stop in quickly to get a muffin and a coffee and as you do so, your phone pings, letting you know that someone texted you.

You look at it and smile and feel lighter. It's him.

'Hey Girl, thinking of you and missing you. See you soon.'

It's nothing, it's a little throwaway message. More a casual virtual wave than anything else.

But it makes that brittle ache disappear.

He's thinking of you.

You grab the phone and hammer out a text back to him.

'Can't wait to see you again.' You text and then you add a smiley face with an extra big grin.

You wait what feels like an eternity, then he texts you back a smiley of his own.

The smiley is making a big hugging motion.

Then he pings you one last time.

'Off to work now. Catch you later Addie.'

And with that little exchange, you feel right again. You know he's out there thinking of you, and you like it.

It's been a while since you were intimate with someone. It seems even longer since someone cared about you.

And nobody was ever as intense or passionate or... or... as completely *dirty* with you as he is.

God this will be a long week, you think with a sigh as you pull into your office.