I screamed.

  The lightning of his flicking slithering wet hot tongue against my clit was everything—fury and fire and bliss, taking my explosive arousal and pumping rocket fuel on it, setting flame to fuel.

  I detonated immediately—I have always been fiercely fast to orgasm and, even for me, this was too fast. His tongue simply touched me and I was gone. Then he slid his fingers inside me and I lost it again, screaming, gasping, riding his fingers and his tongue.

  I came, and I came, and he devoured me, and I came until I was dizzy, shaking, delirious.

  When I regained my senses, Anselm was on his feet. I had to sit down.

  I needed more. Just coming was not enough.

  I reached for him, tugged at his pants, and yanked him free from his underwear to reveal the still-rousing length of his cock. He bent, untied his boots, and kicked out of them. He stepped out of his pants and stood naked before me. We were naked together.

  I clutched his hard backside and pulled him to me, holding on to that round hard ass of his and then used my mouth on him. Slow, my tongue swirling, lips sliding. He growled, snarled, head tipped back. I felt him unfurl in my mouth, hardening against my tongue.

  When he was fully erect, I stood up and wrapped a fist around him, nuzzled against him. “Anselm…”

  He was breathing hard, his breath raspy.

  “I have nothing to protect us,” he murmured. “I wasn’t expecting this, and I am unprepared.”

  I nibbled on his lower lip and took his hand, pressing his fingers to my belly. “Feel.”

  He was silent, exploring my stomach—a thick ropy scar ran across my stomach, with other smaller, thinner ones around it, across my hips, my diaphragm. If he were to examine me in the light, he would see similar scars all over my front, small thin pale lines here and there.

  “What is it from?”

  I moved his fingers from the one longer scar to the other smaller ones. “When I was fourteen, I was in a marketplace in Jerusalem with my mother and sister.” I touched his lips, pressed my body against his, feeling his cock as a hard ridge between us; I grasped it, to have something to ground me here and now in this moment with him as I related this old painful story. “There was a suicide bomber.”

  “My god, Selah.”

  I stroked him, and shushed him with a touch of my lips on his. “It’s old, just scars now. I tell you this for a reason, so just listen and don’t feel sorry for me, okay?”

  He nodded. “Ja, okay.”

  “Mama saw him coming, saw what was about to happen. She shoved me and Rachael out of the way.” I saw it all as if it was yesterday, and leaned against him, my touch stilling, his arms wrapping around me and holding me close. I let go and clung with both my arms around his neck. “Rachael fell. Mom rushed for her, covered her. I was frozen. People were screaming, seeing too late what was about to happen. The bomb went off, and it was filled with screws and glass and nails and little metal balls.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Mama and Rachael were right there, just feet away from him. I was farther, Mama’s push got me far enough away that the actual blast did not touch me.” I paused. “The reason I tell you this right now, at the risk of it being a buzzkill, is that the bomb went off, and all the shrapnel sprayed around waist height.” I helped him trace the worst scar again. “It opened me.” I helped him touch the myriad other scars. “Many little cuts, all over. You will see them when it’s lighter out. Most are just little cuts that mostly healed, little white scars. This one, though. It ripped through me.”

  “Oh, Selah.”

  “I lost my mother, my sister. I was in a hospital for weeks. Papa nearly died of starvation, from not eating as he sat at my bedside, grieving Mama and Rachael and praying for me to live.” I gazed up at him. “Obviously I did live.”

  “But?”

  We touched my scar again. “But my womb was destroyed. They removed it to reduce risk in the future.” I paused.

  “You cannot get pregnant.”

  I shake my head. “No.” I look up at him. “Usually, I would not mention it to a man. They get weird about it.” A pause. “You are not most men, and this is not most situations.”

  “Selah…” He gazed down at me. “I am sorry for that experience.”

  I nodded, smiled. “I know.” I nuzzled his neck with my nose. “I don’t want sympathy or pity, Anselm.” I kissed his chin, his jaw. “I just want this with you.”

  “There is more than just pregnancy to worry about,” he murmured, his hands on my hips.

  “Not for me. Anyone else, in any other situation, I would never consider it.” I took him in my hand, brought him against me—a tease, a suggestion, a hint. “Something about you makes me reckless, Anselm. I want the craziest things. Nothing but you and me. I am safe, I am clean.”

  “Selah—”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  I heard the hesitation. My patience snapped. I stood back, let go of him. “Anselm, you are so frustrating.”

  He narrowed his eyes, reached for me—I caught his wrist, and he growled. “Why?”

  “Because you are holding back.” I lessened the pressure of my hold on him. “I want this, Anselm. I know it is dangerous. I know you are dangerous. I know it can’t be…” I shook my head, unwilling to commit that thought to words. “I do not care. I want you.”

  “Selah—”

  “But if you won’t let yourself want me…” I took both of his hands, brought them to my breasts, shuddering at his touch. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

  “Yes.” He growled as he caressed me. “More.”

  “Then prove it.”

  His eyes blazed. “You want the full force of me?”

  “Want…no. I need you, Anselm.”

  “I told you, I would protect you from the worst of me, from my life. You risk becoming entangled with me.” He gestured at the world beyond our little campfire light. “You see what happens.”

  I lifted my chin. “Do I seem afraid?”

  “Selah…”

  “Have I shied away? Have I hesitated?”

  “Selah—”

  “I have known violence my whole life, Anselm. A suicide bomber killed my mother and sister when I was fourteen. I lost my womb—I’ve never had periods, and my sexual sensation is far more intense than for most. Just so you know.” I gripped his hands, squeezed hard, gave him all the fury in me through my eyes, my voice, and my body language. I tried to show him everything I was. I hid nothing, held nothing back. “My father died in this time as well and I joined the IDF the moment I was old enough. I saw combat—I killed men, and saw friends die. I moved to the medical corps, and tried to stop death and not cause it. I am an emergency room nurse, now. I have seen death in every way there is in this world. Every single day, I stare Death in the face, and tell him to fuck—off.” I raked my fingers down his chest. “I am not afraid, Anselm. Not of you, not of your life. If there is anyone in the world who could see all of who and what you are without flinching, it is me.” I left red welts on his skin, digging my fingers into his pecs, clawing at his back and dragging him against me, pressing our naked bodies flush together. “Do not assume you know what I can handle, or what is best for me. I want you, Anselm, and I will take the risk of having you, all of you.”

  His fingers dug into my hips, and his eyes hunted mine, searching for me, and I know he truly saw me. He could see into my depths as I stood before him and let him see my soul, my need, my fire.

  “So, Anselm See—” I gazed up at him, letting the fury fade, replaced by a gaping boiling hunger, a starvation for him that made me liquid with heated sensuality, made me tremble, erotic, my hair-trigger sexuality all ablaze to a fury heretofore unknown. “Do not be afraid. Stop…holding…back.”

  He stared down at me, his jaw grinding, his fingers dimpling the flesh at my hipbones. He was hard against my belly. I let my hand rest flat on his chest, and I met his fiercely aroused tumultuous brown wolf eyes.

  “Mein Gott, Selah…” he breathed, his hands gentling on my skin, sliding back to cup my ass. “How can you be real?”

  I had no answer for that, but there was no need. He slid his arm under my buttock and lifted me, one hand buried in the mass of my hair, his mouth slashed over mine. His kiss was volcanic, possessive. I moaned as he took my mouth, and I wrapped my thighs hard around his narrow hips, feeling him hard against my core. I ached for him, spread myself open for him—my sex was weeping to accept him.

  He plunged in, holding me aloft—I was above him, kissing down at him, my breasts crushed against his clavicle. I whimpered a half breath as he pushed in, inch after throbbing inch slowly penetrating me—it went on for a bliss-wild eternity. And then I felt him go all the way, until our hips pressed together, his arm under me.

  “Anselm, god—” I gasped, gagging on my scream as I writhed on him, desperate to feel him move inside me, to be taken to heaven on his cock. “Please.”

  He held me easily, buried deep, guiding and controlling the kiss with his fist in my hair, the tug on my scalp unbearably arousing, the ferocity of his lips on mine and the enslaving intoxication of his tongue in my mouth making me breathless. I clawed at his shoulders, scrabbling for purchase to lift up, my thighs clamped on his waist. I lifted myself further up so he dragged out of me, so thick against my tight, clamping walls that I felt the stutter of his veins against my nether lips, and I was burned by the searing ache of taking him, of accepting so much beautiful perfect throbbing cock. I clawed, unable to breathe, lifting up. He let go of my hair to grasp my ass cheeks in both hands, lifting me and pulling back his hips, and now I was truly spread apart. Then slowly, under control, he lowered me onto himself.

  I took him all over again, each inch as incredible as the first time he entered me.

  “Ohhh fuck Anselm, god, yes—” This was in Hebrew.

  He didn’t care.

  He was chanting as well, cursing in Finnish and Russian and English and German and other languages, and then he was just breathing my name as I took more and more of him until I felt him bump up as far as he could go. He was there, perfection, and I was gone.

  I couldn’t kiss him any longer, I was too breathless, to glutted on him, too close to a climax. I pressed my forehead to his and clung to his neck and shoulders and shook, trembled, gasping, my sex clamping and spasming around him.

  “Come,” I whispered in English. “Have to—”

  He drew back, and I mourned the loss of him in me with a whine, a whimper, and then he drove into me, and I screamed with the ecstasy of taking him. God, this was not sex. This was nothing like anything I’d ever felt before. This is the sun itself, this with Anselm, all else before merely a flickering candle flame, guttering in the shadows. This was blinding light and scorching fire, consuming me.

  He powered into me, and I screamed again, my voice catching as the orgasm slammed through me. My sex dripped with need, slicking around him. Welcoming him faster, harder.

  He lifted me, my knees bending and straightening, his hips driving like pistons.

  I gasped through his strokes and clung to him, wanting to move, wanting to show him how he made me come apart, but I could only take it, only let him give me himself…

  I came.

  It was a bomb, shearing my senses into delirium, my voice raised, tears streaming, my breasts heaving. I arched backward, and he lapped at my tits as he drove into me, still holding me aloft with tireless arms, still spreading me open to drive deep and deeper.

  I came, and I came, and then I was limp with ecstasy, shaking, senseless.

  He sat back and faced me. He kissed me, my lips clumsily seeking his as I shook with the aftereffects of my orgasm. I had to open my eyes, to see him, to see the heaving of his chest, see the straining arousal of his cock glistening between us, wet with my essence.

  “You didn’t come,” I said.

  “Not yet.”

  He twisted me, and with his guidance I turned to kneel on the shirt. He pressed up against me, his lips at my ear. His chest pressed against my back, his breathing rough and raspy.

  “That was for you,” he growled.

  I whimpered and pushed my ass back against him as I sat up on my knees, moving my thighs apart. I leaned forward, braced against the wall of the tree roots.

  He fingered my entrance and found my clit, making me gasp, and I was shaking all over again—how many times could he make me come? I would take them all and beg for more. I reached between my thighs and found him, stroked his slick, sticky head and guided him to me. I fit him to my slit, writhing as I did so. He groaned, a low ragged sound, and was motionless for a moment. Then he entered me—slow, so slow, drawing out the exquisite wonder of how we fit together so perfectly. I arched my back and pressed into him. He reached around and cupped my breasts, using them as handholds to keep me pressed hard against him, as he pushed deeper into me. I wept with the sensation of this, the sound of his desperate snarls, my name on his lips at every stroke—I wept freely, unashamed. I cried for how beautiful we felt together. He nipped at my earlobe and whispered secrets to me.

  “You, Selah. This, you, us, me—it’s so much, so perfect.” A breath, a pause in his words, a phrase in German, a phrase in Finnish, I know not what he said. Then English again. “How can you feel so good? How can it be like this? It has never been like this—verdammt, so fucking beautiful. You—you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t believe this is real, that I am allowed to have you like this, to feel you, to experience this with you.”

  I knew I was lost when this man, so powerful, so capable, seemed to drown in the wonder and awe that he had the privilege of touching me—that was the subtext of his words, as well as the words themselves. It was written indelibly in his voice. And it made me feel…so beautiful. So desired, in a way I did not know was possible. I was possessed—in more than one sense. The feel of us, of him, of this—was a possession, as if a spirit of raw carnal female sexuality had overtaken me.

  I was truly and wonderfully and perfectly possessed by him. By Anselm. He had taken me, and now I was owned and possessed by him.

  “Anselm…” I gasped, unable to speak more than his name.

  He pulled back, paused…then slammed in. I screamed, and shuddered. “Selah…” He fucked again, hard. “I…I cannot be gentle.”

  I drove backward against him, writhing onto him, pushing into his thrusts. “Don’t—ohhh fuck, don’t try, please…be rough.” I met his thrust, whimpering. “Be rough. Take me. Fuck me. Use me. Give me your orgasm. Give me your cum.” So lost was I that I heard myself reverting to Hebrew again. English, Hebrew, it mattered not. Anselm knew what I was asking for, what I was demanding.

  He pushed me forward and pulled my ass backward, wrapping my long thick hair around his fist and I screamed yes in English and Hebrew when he used my hair to guide our joining, pounding into me harder and harder, his other hand pawing into the bounce of my ass cheeks, slapping and kneading and clawing one side and then the other until my flesh stung deliciously with the roughness of his use of me.

  Oh god, when would he come? How long could he take me like this? How long could he last? I wanted it to last forever, wanted it to never end; I wanted just as much to feel him lose control, to unleash himself inside me. I’d never let anyone inside me bare, not like this. I had never known the feeling of a man being bare inside me, and now, with Anselm, I wanted it more than anything. It was all I wanted.

  Needed.

  I was growling, each of his thrusts driving me into shattering spasms, hoarse and breathless grunts and cries and whimpers tearing from me.

  He slowed, but his thrusts became rougher. Harder. He slammed deep, his hips meeting my ass with loud slaps, punctuated by my screams, now desperately needing another orgasm, feeling it building deep inside, welling, preparing, rising, building.

  I felt him reaching his.

  It was in the roughness of his fucking, the way he tugged on my hair and clawed at my ass and pounded into me, it was in the way he changed my name, language meaningless because all he could say was my name as he neared his climax.

  Then, just when I knew he was seconds from coming, he stopped.

  He pulled out of me.

  I spun around on my hands and knees, wild, furious, frantic with need. I tackled him, shoving him to the dirt beside the fire, the heat of it singeing us. I slammed him onto his back and climbed onto him, desperate and panting. I gripped his cock, felt him throbbing, and then I notched him inside me and sat down hard. He took my hips in his hands and yanked me down when I lifted up, driving his cock up into me. I rode him, my hands on his stomach, my tits jouncing painfully with each slamming thrust.

  His eyes met mine, and I let him see my tears. He was open, his eyes revealed the depths of his need for me. I saw it and I knew why he had held out, why he had tried so hard to keep this from happening.

  I knew it.

  He knew it.

  It was in the air between us, and yet we could not stop.

  Had he finished while behind me, this revelation would have been delayed, perhaps.

  But like this, face to face?

  We had no chance against it.

  It broke us open, shattered between us. Orgasm, climax, release—these words mean nothing, nothing, in the face of what exploded between us at that moment.

  When I felt him come, I came. I saw stars, aching from the wild force of us, breathless. I dared not look away from his dark blazing eyes, dared not hide the enormity of what burst through me at the feel of him inside me.

  As he came, he pushed deep into me, shaking with emotion, groaning my name in a fragile whisper, all of him trembling as he gave me every bit of himself. He exploded, taking me with him. A hot wet flood of Anselm, and he kept coming and something in his release triggered my own. I gave way with a sob, falling onto him, my lips quaking against his as I came around his orgasm, my own and his tangled and woven together.

  I was lost in him, not knowing where I stopped and he began.

  He kissed me and in that moment I knew nothing would ever be the same.

  He changed my life the moment he chose my home. Changed it the moment I’d seen him. Changed it again when he showed up to rescue me. And changed it again just now, turning me upside down and inside out with the nuclear force of our mutual orgasm, the mad chaotic ecstasy almost more than I could bear. So I did the only thing I could—I clung to him and allowed myself to be present, to witness the most powerful moment of my life.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25