He wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve.
“Much better,” he whispers, looking at my face lustfully.
I feel the heat on my face, on my lips. There is nothing to distract him from my eyes now. I pray the foundation masks my embarrassment. Does he enjoy looking at my miserable face? Is he one of those sadistic bastards who get off on other people’s agony?
My breathing is uneven and I’m finally beginning to doubt my decision to have come there.
“You have the most beautiful sorrowful eyes I’ve seen,” Matt says regretfully. His face is soft with compassion.
I look down to my hands. I’m too tired, too exhausted to walk away now. I simply resign myself to his care.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asks me.
I shake my head bleakly, desperately holding back my tears.
“Break your heart?”
I sit there emotionless, unwilling to reply. Confirming it only makes it more real.
“Come to my bed.” It isn’t a plea, nor is it really a command. It’s just him giving me directions. Turn left at the floor lamp, continue onwards until you reach the GVARV double bed with dust grey upholstery.
He walks me there by hand anyway.
I stand there like a puppet as he begins to undress me. Regularly he throws a glance at my face, as if to see if I’m still there, conscious.
“You just tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers over my shoulder as I stand still in my simple black strapless bra and string.
He doesn’t go on until he receives a response for me. I nod.
“You can cry too if you feel like it.”
Somehow the very suggestion makes my eyes water. I swallow it back in.
I can feel his hot breath against the back of my neck. I know he is inspecting me. Like a used car, will it run?
He unhooks my bra and places it gently on a chair that seems to function as his nightstand. The thong is the next to go. He folds them away neatly. I feel like a child, incapable of performing these actions by myself.
He undresses himself with less care, throwing his clothes on the floor and kicking them off the way. I don’t even steal a glance. I’m sure he is gorgeous. There is no room for him in my head.
His arms, covered in fine red hair, wrap themselves around my waist. Short as I am, the higher arm presses my breasts tight against my chest. The chill in the room has made the nipples hard. I don’t know if he is kissing or merely breathing into my updo. But it feels comforting to be held like that, even with his boner pressing against my ass.
I refuse to close my eyes and allow myself to imagine myself to be held by someone else entirely. That’s just not right anymore. He wouldn’t want me thinking about him anymore, least of all while in the arms of someone else. Those lips are not his. My lips are not his. He rejected them, just like the rest of me.
A tear escapes me. Matt kisses it away.
He lifts me up with ease, his hands cupped around my ass. My white breasts are pressed against his trimmed chest, my arms holding myself tight around his neck like a baby koala clutching for comfort. He looks up to my face in-between his eager kisses. Maybe he is hoping one of them would come through, convince me that I am still wanted. Sweet lies from a stranger. The things we are willing to do just to make each other feel better.
He presses my back against a wall. God knows how he manages to insert his cock inside me but there it is, inching its way in me.
I let out an involuntary gasp. His length had escaped my attention. With a grunt he dips into me with ease, as if my cunt had become yielding like hot bath water. When had I gotten this moist? Somehow my own body is working against me. What a whore it could be. I hate it. My eyelids clench at the tears of betrayal. They seep through my soot black lashes anyway.
My ass sits on his coarse hands oddly comfortably. He’s fucking me up. I’m pinned in the wall like one of those dead butterflies. But he refuses to let me remain dead. He is determined to bring me back to life, resuscitating me with each pleasurable thrust.
I was sandwiched between the heat that Matt was radiating and the icy surface of the concrete wall. His heat is beginning to engulf me, spreading through my very core, melting the frost that has been making it so hard for me to breathe. It’s like eucalyptus for the asthmatic. My whimpers are turning into loud complaints on extreme rapture.
My melodious moans generate deep dimples around Matt’s sweet mouth. I notice a blissful despair shining in his eyes. To my surprise, it is merely a reflection of the spark that had returned in my big grey eyes.
I cling tighter to the dear stranger as if my life and happiness depended on him. I would cling to him until finally I would have to let go.