Trashed (Stripped 2)

After an eternity, Adam tosses back his coffee and sets the mug down on the side table with excessive gentleness, as if to combat the urge to smash it. And then he stands up, squares his shoulders, lets out a breath, and walks with stiff precision to the balcony, closing the door behind himself.

I stay where I am, still and silent and cold.

But I can’t leave him like this. I can’t walk out and let him think this meant nothing to me. I can’t walk away yet, not when I can see the hurt in the slump of his shoulders as he leans his forearms on the railing of the balcony. It’s a sunny, beautiful morning, no clouds in the sky today. A gull wings past the window, cawing. Adam is utterly still, his broad back a frozen sculpture of muscle and skin. I want to go out there, run my hands over his spine, over his shoulders. I want to kiss each vertebra of his spine. I want to feel his skin, slip my hands under the elastic of his shorts. I want one more moment with him.

My feet are carrying me out there. I’m unable to stop them, even though I know that whatever happens next, I’ll still shut down, close him out. But I can’t fight the momentum of my feet, can’t stop my hands from pulling open the sliding door. Can’t stop my palms from touching his sides.

“Change your mind?” He doesn’t turn when he speaks.

My lips are pressed to the wide arc of his back, between his shoulder blades. Yes, I want to answer. But I can’t lie to him. I haven’t changed my mind, and if I speak, he’ll know the truth. If he looks at me, he’ll know. So I just touch him. Explore the bulk of his chest, palms moving in slow circles. He hangs his head, as if he knows I’m avoiding his question. Perhaps he doesn’t. Of course he does. He’s so smart, so perceptive. He can read me, somehow. He takes a deep, deep breath, his chest swelling.

The sound of a door opening alerts us that we’re not alone. The balcony we’re on is part of a shared structure. The floor extends across at least three or four rooms, each room’s balcony made into a separate area by a pair of white, wooden, seven-foot-tall partitions that is part wall and part bench. If you stand at the rail, like we are now, you can see the other room’s balcony. I hear voices, an elderly man and woman. They talk about how beautiful it is out here, how lovely the view is. The wood beneath our feet creaks as they move toward the railing.

Adam spins, pushes me backward, takes me by the shoulders and moves me toward the partition bench-wall. He turns me to face the wall, takes my wrists in his huge hands and presses my palms to the wood. His foot slips between mine and nudges my feet apart. His body is a mountain behind me, blocking out everything— the sun, the rippling blue of the Straits, the balcony. My heartbeat increases, begins to hammer in my ears. His hands slide up under the shirt. Touch my waist. His front presses against my back, and I can feel his heart thudding against my spine, feel his breath coming deep and fast, feel his cock thickening and rising against my ass.

His lips touch my ear. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispers. “Don’t even breathe loud.”

I nod, and feel dampness coat the inner walls of my vagina, feel heat curl in my belly. His palms slide over my stomach, up, up, and cup my boobs, lifting and caressing, thumbs scraping across my nipples. The heat and pressure tighten inside me. And then one hand dips down between my thighs, the other remaining at my tits, toying with one nipple and then the other. I have to bite my lip hard to keep from gasping, from moaning as he slides not one, but two fingers into my channel.

Those fingers, god…they drive in, smear my juices over my clit and circle and circle and circle, and I’m grinding my pussy against his touch, silently begging him to make me come. He knows, oh he knows exactly what I need, what I want, and he gives it to me. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t play games. He brings me to orgasm within seconds, and I taste the tangy salt of blood as I split my own lip in the effort to keep silent.

“Oh, my. Why didn’t we come here sooner, Bob?” a shaky, elderly female voice says, mere inches away, just on the other side of the thin wooden wall. “It’s just so lovely and pleasant.”

“I don’t know,” the man says, his voice coming from the balcony’s edge. “But we’ll come again next year.”

Adam’s voice is a hot breath in my ear, barely audible. “Don’t move.”

And then he’s gone from behind me, and I tilt my head to watch him carefully, silently slide the door open, step through and snag the square packet of a condom from the bedside table. I hold my position and watch him, pulse pounding, climax still tremoring inside me, keeping me breathless and shaking. He leaves the door open, standing just inside. His eyes find mine, and now he’s making sure I’m watching. When he knows he has my full attention, he drops his shorts, baring his erect cock. It strains, juts high and proud. He rolls the condom down his length and takes cat-silent steps out onto the balcony, completely naked and fearless. When he’s behind me, he drags his fingers up the backs of my thighs, over my ass, lifting the T-shirt as he goes. My ass is bared, then my breasts, and then he’s guiding one of my arms out, then the other, and now I’m naked too. I shiver, not from the cold but from being nude in broad daylight, and I’m about to be fucked.

Adam leans into me, and his hands run over my shoulders, along my arms, to my hands. His fingers tangle in mine, my palms pressed against the wood, his palms against my knuckles. His chest is hot against my spine, and his cock is a thick, rubber-coated rod nestled between the globes of my ass. His breath heats my right shoulder, and then his lips touch the back of my neck.

“Ready?” The word is a warm thread tickling my earlobe.

I nod. It’s all I can manage. I’m not breathing. I couldn’t move a single muscle but for that incremental inclination of my head. I feel Adam dip, bending at the knees. He pushes his hips against my ass, and I feel the broad tip of his cock nudge against my clit. He rolls his hips, and I have to stifle a gasp. Another nudge, I have to hang my head and suck in as silent a breath as I can. And then he draws his hips back ever so slightly and pushes, and the head of his dick is spreading the lips of my pussy apart, and I’m angling myself to let him in, sinking down and pushing back.

My mouth falls open in a silent scream. He exhales in my ear as he slides his cock into me, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated within me.

“Not a sound, Des,” he whispers in my ear. I shake my head, and his teeth nip at my earlobe.