The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 03

He opens the door.

The hall is beautifully decorated with a woman's touch. Curios and accent pieces hang on the wall. And as he has come to expect, finely woven carpets cover age-old wooden floors.

"Out here!"

Our hero closes the door behind him and steps into a warm, if cluttered, living room that is bathed in natural light from a dozen windows. He frowns and calls out, not knowing which of its three exits takes him to her.

"Are you lost? Do you need help?"

Outside. He makes his way to the glass door and slides it open. He's about to complain before he sees her. She is either naked, or wearing a top without straps, and is submerged halfway in a large, above ground jacuzzi. Her arms are spread out and she has a pleasant smile that's neither cunning nor open, but somewhere in between. "You should shut the door so flies do not get in," she says. Then, after a moment adds, "...and the same could be said for your mouth."

He cannot say for certain that she winked beneath her shades, but he believes it. He, however, closed the door behind him and made his way over to the side of the massive tub.

"Look how dashing you are in those shades-very sexy. I am glad you agreed to wear them. I wondered what it would be like not seeing your eyes. I do love your eyes, My Mister. So bright and blue and not at all what I am used to And, as it turns out, you hiding them from me? I do not miss them that much!" She laughs, like a normal woman, not at all like the first night. Then she splashes water at him.

When he dodges she laughs again and kicks her feet out of the water so that her naked knee is visible.

She swims up to his edge of the jacuzzi and rises out of the water, her breasts nearly visible. Then she pushes her hands against the railing and leans forward. "Are you going to come here, or do you fear another splash?"

He moves over to the edge of the tub, tempted to look down, but keeping his eyes on her. And once he's made the decision it almost too easy. She is transfixing and somehow, only seeing the outline of her eyes through the smoked lenses almost makes her more appealing. "You are a very striking man."

There is alcohol on her breath, light and easy. If she was anyone else he would ask about it.

But still, even as the heat beats down on him, he waited for what was next. "Thank you. You know how I feel about you. How beautiful I find you."

"I do. I am no stranger to me thinking it. Most men come for the looks, or the breasts, and only figure out I have the wit somewhere later. You are such an enigma to me. You knew I had the wits first, I told you that you'd never get the breasts or see the face. And yet..."

She runs the front of her hand up and down his chest, feeling him through his shirt. They stare at each other as before she grabs him, clings to him. Then his hands move up her back to her hair, still dry, and they lock her head in that position. She swallows and he can hear it like a gunshot; sees in her eyes the first moment of fear.

Then he leans in, presses his lips against hers. For a moment, they are only touching and she is trembling, despite leaning in the water, despite holding onto the railing. Then she pushes back and he follows, bit by bit, until the kiss is whole.

They dance with each other, hold on to one another, with that kiss. Their lips say all the things they can't because it would be too soon and daring, because it would wound him and worry her. So they say them here, in this kiss, before they even part their lips.

Then, for the first time, he invades her. His tongue in her mouth, his hands through her hair. His shoulders exerting force on her body with his size, holding her in place until she kisses him back, licks his tongue with hers and sucks it into her mouth with vigor and not just pleasantry.

When the kiss is broken they look at one another. She bites her lip and he looks at her with his mouth falling open, terrified that she is going to withdraw again, ask him to turn around while she escapes into the day once more. The feeling is hot, in his stomach, in his eyes. He's never wanted to pin a woman down like this.

But instead, she laughs. She laughs and says, "You're a very good kisser!"

So he vaults over the edge of the tub, clothing and all, and sinks into the water next to her. He's wrong on the depth, though, and sinks in until his brown hair is soaked with water and, for a moment, as dark as hers when he comes back to the surface.

"No!" She splashes at him, kicks him in the thigh. "No! I'm naked! I didn't say you could come in here! You get right back out this momen-"

Our hero kisses her again, this time capable of wrapping his arms around the small of her back and pulling her to him. And this time, she stops fighting, almost immediately, putting her hands on his hips and letting herself be dragged to him, almost weightless from the water.

Either he's pushed his way between them, or she's opened her legs, but he's gone from kicking to latching them around him.

He pushes until her back is against the wall and they kiss. And they kiss. And they kiss.

When he pulls back she is a different creature entirely. Her mouth is open and she is panting. Her hair is ruined, not perfect for the first time and she is looking at him in a way that is almost terror mixed with arousal. He feels the darkness stirring in him, telling him that he could take her now. That he could push her and she would yield.

Instead he bends down and places soft, firm kisses on her forehead, her cheek. He is only mortal, and has as finite a reserve of nobility as any man, so the kisses slide south. Then they are playing over her neck and collar bone. They are on her shoulder and her upper arm.

Her breasts are large, beautiful and sleek with water. They have been hidden so long that they hardly seem real. When he kisses them, instead of revelling in it, he thinks that they are just another part of her. The Girl. The one he cannot stop thinking about no matter how much he tries.

The sucking of her nipples, the pulling of her skin closer to his, makes her head tilt back and mouth open. She bobs her head, rolls it from side to side, as she feels him pushing her breasts together, sucking both nipples at once. When she comes back up for a kiss he releases her, moves back to her mouth and moans as their lips touch again.

His cock is hard through his wet slacks and rubs against her bare pussy, as they lock onto one another. When she pulls back from the kiss, she looks lost, wide-eyed and enthralled all at once. One arm clings to his back and the other strokes his face. "Can you pull out? Promise me that you will? Can you?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he uses his strength to simply move her from the position she's in to a bench, so that she's barely above water at all. There he reaches down beneath the surface, her eyes following his hand until it breaks the waterline and once again after it resurfaces.

When he falls upon her she tenses up, like she will scream no, but the beat of her own heart is so loud that he can hear it. He picks her up again, his hands so large they're nearly the size of her shoulder blades. She floats under his touch until pushed back up against the railing, his strength allowing her to be laid gently against it.

Then he shoves himself into her once, slowly, just to spread her open. He is sure the gentleness in him will fade.

His cock is hotter, harder than usual. It seems fueled by his confidence and, for the first time since meeting her, not in any way inhibited by the booze. When he finishes his push he can feel a small ripple, a wave, continue forward—bounce inside her.

One of his hands closes around her throat, not in any way to choke her, but simply be present. She strokes it, puts her on hand on top. Her eyes are intense, evocative. They seem to be telling him to hurry up, slow down, make it hurt and be good to her all at once.

Her nipples sway as they sink and rise, splashing water against his chest. And every time they do, it takes power away from her and gives it to him.

He focuses. Tells himself to stay in this moment. To feel her, watch her, when she's at her most intimate. To take her, get inside her head and heart, now that her defences are finally falling. To get under her skin in such a way that she cannot take him from her blood.

And that's all before he pushes into her pussy a second time.

The swaying of her breasts, the feeling of his cock opening her up and the water flowing inside. The intensity of her eyes, so bright that they nearly shine through his glasses and she moans, turning her fingers into grappling claws, clinging to him. She wants more, and he grins as he gives it to her in a third, strong shunt.

"Oh God," she says as she closes her eyes, body going more lax while her pussy tightens. This is where he is a king, unlike other men. Where his resolve can pass tests and commit to deeper, stronger connections.

Another thrust and a curse escapes her lips.

His rhythm begins, slow and easy pushes, but constant now with only the slightest hint of tension as he grabs her neck, pulls her closer to him. He is simply enjoying her without hurry. Without fear. That knowledge in the back of his mind that she belongs to him here. That finally, he's the one in control.

"Devour me! Take me!" She screams the words but they are lost on him. You cannot urge a man on a single mission to abandon it. It comes across as hollow, empty. He can see the concern growing in her eyes, the more difficult and husky tones escaping her lips. "Damn you, I said fuck me!"

But he remains constant. When a light chuckle escapes him, her furious eyes snap open wider. She shows her teeth to him, growls, but he only keeps his eyes on hers, pushing at the same speed.

"I waited a very long time for this," he says in a tone that isn't even breathy. "You're not going to hurry me. You're just going to enjoy it. We're just going to enjoy it." Then he sends a single stroke, hard and fast inside her and feels her pussy flex to grab him. Take as much of him as possible.

She whimpers, earnestly whimpers, as her head twists and eyes shut again. Then there is nothing left to feel but his skin on her, the water flowing in and around her and the merciless sun as it bakes the top half of him and leaves everything under the water cold and distant.

This spurs him on. He begins to plunge faster, deeper into her. Now there is a kind of snap at the end of each push so that a second mini-wave flows inside her.

Her pussy grows tighter now, starting to make him work for each shove even with the ease of the water. He rues it, but only for a second, as it takes him out of that control. The pushing, the growling, being everything to him at this moment.

She is a wall that is being pounded. And cracks are starting to appear.

"Yes! Yes! Yes, My Mister!"

And he responds this time, going faster, applying more pressure to her neck, driving his cock into her with more vigor.

Her back arches in response, legs tighten, she shifts ever so slightly in his grip to take more of him in, to make it easier to explore her as deeply as possible.

Then for the first time, he fucks her in earnest.

There is a low grunt from him every time he pushes into her now. He's leaning forward as well, to get the perfect angle that the setting will allow. To make it so that every push in and out will be perfect, in its own way.

There is only his cock driving into her. The waves he makes inside her. The splash of her breasts and the bob and tickle of his snarls as they bounce off her face.

So she starts to scream. It's low, from the back of her throat, but it's becoming higher pitched. Her pussy clenches around him as her nails pierce the skin of his back. He can feel her hips, for the first time, pump against his just to get that last greedy little bit of him inside her.

She cums, but she asks for more with her screams, somehow pushes her body behind the explosion to get a little bit more of his body.

And he's not stopping for anything. He's speeding up. Her eyes open as her mouth makes rough shapes and half sounds. He knows what this is. The moment just after an orgasm that being pushed inside hurts and it causes him to smirk. He shows her, that despite her efforts, he has no intention to stop. To do anything but keep pushing, going faster—making her melt.

As his orgasm approaches the heat inside him, hotter than the sun, and he hears her scream. "My tits! Please, my tits!" There are more words, but they become nonsense as he pushes in and out. The hot tub shakes like turbulence in a plane. Like the entire world is shaking and not just the earth below.

He pulls out of her and she clings to him, tries to pull him back in a song older than their ancestors. But he opens her legs without effort and leaps out of the water, on the bench he sits and aims his cock at her.

Her eyes find his, but then move to his cock. Then they both watch the harsh, almost violent stream of cum that lashes out against her breasts. He is lost, screaming, and she pushes herself around him with both hands, sliding herself up and down his cock as he cums the second and third wave.

When he is done swearing, thrusting his hips through her breasts sleek with cum and water, he slides down beside her and breathes heavily.

After a moment of playing with his cum she laughs and nuzzles her head against him, then into his chest.

"What are you laughing at?" He asks in a distant, vacant tone as an arm comes around her.

"I said 'Tits' for the first time. That is an ugly word. I do not like it." She laughs again, kisses his chest, cups a hand to it and plays up and down it.

"Why'd you say it then?"

"I was trying to remember English. Some of the words vanished. You're a bad influence on me, My Mister."

She laughs and kisses him again. It is dangerous, wrong, and against the rules she stated he must follow before he ever landed. But instead of warning her off he grabs her face with both hands and kisses her back. They sink beneath the water embracing, then rise back up to kiss once more. They are into one another through that kiss. With one another. There is no fear and no doubt.

Not until she breaks it, at least. She looks down at her own naked form, at his still clothed body. "We need to get you out of those clothes." Her tone is lost, absent. "Could you get out, hand me a towel? It's just over there."

He takes a moment, fights his ego, and nods before jumping out of the jacuzzi, kicking off his shoes and socks and sloshing over to the towel.

Suddenly she is modest, low, not making eye contact and giving a small, fake smile. "Would you turn around?" It hurts, but he does and can hear her lifting herself out, wrapping herself in the oversized towel. Then, after a moment, "could you pass me the smaller one, for my hair?"

He turns back to her as he does so and again, another small, empty smile with only the briefest bit of eye contact before a fake, faux-pleasant tone escapes her lips. "My, I have gotten you so wet. So silly of me." She kisses his cheek in that same hollow way. "Will you stay here, just a moment? I'm going to check inside to see what kind of things we can put you in. I'll be just a minute. There's a towel for you, just on that picnic chair. I'll—be..."

And she walks inside. Our hero takes up the towel, slaps the socks over the edge of the jacuzzi and switches it off after dumping out his shoes. He dries his face, his neck and then squirms out of his shirt. He dries it off and looks back to the entrance.

After debating, he takes off his slacks and wrings them out as best he can, dries himself down and strips entirely to wrap the towel around his waist. He calls for her, waits, calls again. Waits.

Finally he knocks on the glass door, slides it open and calls.

It's only then that he realizes that he doesn't even know her name. Just something that he could "call her."

And as soon as he does he realizes that she's no longer in the house. That it's not hers. That there is, in fact, a very good chance that she has no connection to this house at all.

That he is naked, alone with wet clothes, in the middle of a strange city.

That it is just him and the sun.