Chapter 55– Hera
Chapter 55– Hera
"For a face you haven't seen once you seem really obsessed.” His voice is so low it could have been mistaken for soft.
Not by me though. I'm no fool. I know arrogance when I see it. “Try not to flatter yourself too much. I'm fixated with your identity, not your person. I just want to know the exact kind of nutcase I'm dealing with."
Lies.
Heaven knows I want to pull his mask down and see what lies behind it only because a part of me knows that my fantasies will always fall short no matter how much I mix and match features in my head. It's why I crave to remove the barrier that separates us and not be stopped.
Yet once again he is non-compliant. “My identity is the least of your problems," he answers simply. “Why not focus on something more your business?"
But I shake my head. "No, this right here is my business. And the only reason I still care what you look like is because I want to be sure I'm not dealing with some criminal– nothing else.”
“Apparently, lying is second nature to you...” At a look of confusion from my end, he continues– justification for his previous statement: "You're telling lies now… as you were earlier.”
"What?”
“Your excuse for wanting to skip our meeting?”
“Wasn’t a fabrication," I respond with all the self-righteous indignation I can muster. “My English Grammar teacher thinks I'm socially maladjusted because she found me skulking around our class when she was whispering about the place suspiciously. So she asked me to go out with friends, on a date– something– and then write an essay on it."
“Write about me then... About this very moment.”
Where your groin is just a caress away from my throbbing pussy and your lips only a breath far from mine? Are you trying to drive me insane or something?
"I can't write about you," I reply emphatically. “And were I to even do so, I’m not allowed to add your name, am I, Mr. Tall, Masked and Obnoxious?”
“No, you're not,” he agrees, moving his face away from mine, over the rise of my chest and down my belly, eyes on the buttons in his way. He draws even closer to them and I swear I feel his breaths through the cotton. "Make something up," he suggests. “Write about how you went on a date with Mike Andrews or fucking John Cena from Chemistry and ended up making out with him on a pool table in an abandoned recreational center in the middle of Novadale’s biggest wilderness.”
Date. How ambitious.
"To start with," I lay it on him, “that is not what this is– a date. I have to like you to want to go on one with you in the first place and I despise you, Czar. Two, no, I can't write about making out in the woods for an academic essay regardless of who the personalities involved in the smooching are. And three, if only you had let me be, my evening would have unfolded without a hitch and I would have gotten material for my assignment. Now I have nothing.”
“So let me give you something to write about."
Before I can completely digest the statement he pulls me by the waist and yanks my dress up. It happens so fast that a gasp leaves my lips at the suddenness, the pure surprise of it. The pressure behind his hand is the next thing that has my mind in pieces. First, it's just small strokes, half circles that caress the clean shaven surface of my clit and then slowly dive inside the slit to rub the hard nub there. In mere seconds I'm arching over the pool table’s baize, solid and striped balls spread around me like scattered, color-riot constellations.
Soon enough, Czar’s middle finger is sliding down my petals and into my pussy, spreading my arousal all over the place right before it begins to dig inside at an angle, stroking my walls until my head is spinning and the world is blurring all around me.
The plastic on his face is in the crook of my neck, nuzzling slightly– or I think it is– until the words come out of his mouth, smooth like brushed fur yet loaded like a gun: “Are you taking notes? The lesson is almost over."
‘What do you mean?’ I want to sit up and ask, realising that it might prove important much later but he hits a spot and instead of the question on my mind what leaves my mouth is a sob. I don't even realize I'm near crying until I am whispering– whimpering– for him to keep going, chest heaving like it's well on its way to bursting open.
I forget that I told myself that I wouldn't unravel like a present if he dared touch me, that I won't beg him to tear me to pieces again. I ignore everything and just give in because even though I resent him for all the feelings he awakes in me, my body likes what he is doing; wants more of it. That is why I am near screaming like a mad woman only three minutes after he began but no sooner have I come down from that high am I aroused again because he slips his fingers in my mouth so I can taste the arousal he has gathered on his fingers, locking me out of a shattering orgasm.
One look into my eyes and he knows that I am very far from sated… and what I see in the darkness that surrounds his tells me he likes it like that.
“Lesson over, Enchantress.”
I'm so disoriented I don't even realize he's pulling me along until I am already following. “Where are you taking me?" A hand is still trying to fix my dress because it is so high up my laps that my soaked, moved-to-one-side panties are out… yet apparently we're supposed to be leaving somewhere. Like this?
But Czar doesn't respond to my question, just continues to tug me along. By the time we stumble into another part of the place my dress is only covering one of my thighs but then the darkness here is so thick I can almost grab it so I don't worry about decency too much... Doesn't mean I want to remain here wrapped in the oppressive shroud of black that covers every inch of this space though. I am heading back for the slightly open door we came in through when Czar pulls me back, then pushes me against the paneled oak until it shuts itself.
"Friday Nights are mine, Hera. You don't get to walk away.”