Strangers & Sinners
Part Eleven
by sarAdora
~~~

"Come up here and kiss me, kitten," he gulped air, his lungs starving for oxygen. "Come up here so I can kiss you."

"Later, Sergei. Had you for appetizers. Now, I'm eating my dinner before it's completely cold."

He groaned at her words. She was defying him. If he had any sense, he'd haul her over his knee and give her the spanking she richly deserved for defying him. But he didn't have any sense and he sure as hell didn't have any energy, either. She had drained him and oh, sweet Jesus,  it had been very satisfying. He felt fuck-stupid. Sighing, he lay back against the couch, his chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly as he tried to fill his lungs. His arms were limp at his sides and his legs were splayed, his organ exhausted and soft. Her mouth was pure magic. He couldn't remember the last time an orgasm had been so intense.

She remained on her knees between his thighs and he swore he heard her giggle. As soon as he had the strength, he was going to... "What are you doing?" he growled, trying to sit up, failed to maintain his balance, and fell back to his prostrate position.

"Eating," she replied, dipping a wonton into the sweet and sour pork and into her mouth.

"On my lap? My naked lap!" he asked incredulously, hoping that this was just a post-coital hallucination, the result of far too much sex in a short period of time.

"Not on your lap, Sergei. Between your thighs," she said with her mouth full. A dab of the sweet and sour sauce dripped onto his balls and she cupped them, licking the sauce and sucked him lightly. "Mmmm, I love the taste of you. You're delicious," she laughed softly.

His wild animal roar startled her and she dropped the wonton and overturned the container of sweet and sour pork she had placed next to his thigh. It was no longer hot, but warm and sticky, and it coated his inner thigh and scrotal sac.

"Damn it!" he snapped. "I'm going to..." The humor of the situation caught him off guard. He bellowed with laughter, hauled her up onto his chest and then, sucked her lips into his mouth. "You're a naughty kitten, tiger, a very naughty kitten."

"Am I a kitten or a tiger?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "And what makes me naughty?" She twisted in his arms, spied two pieces of sweet and sour pork on his ribs and scooped them up and into her mouth. "I'm hungry."

"You're a tiger kitten and before I look, tell me. Is that red sticky mess that's all over my balls on my couch, too?"

"Yes," she murmured, looking behind her for more food. "But it wouldn't have been if you had let me keep eating."

"It's going to have to be professionally cleaned, isn't it?"

"Your balls or the couch?" she giggled.

"The couch," he sighed heavily and with a little exasperation. It occurred to him he was doing a lot of sighing since he brought this tiger kitten home.

"Probably," she said nonchalantly, grabbed a wonton and munched on it, seemingly oblivious to him and concentrating on the food at hand.

"You feel good, Anastasia," he murmured, still feeling the blissful effects of his orgasm. He ran his hands up and down her sides under her T-shirt, and cupped her breasts. "You smell good, too." He pulled her closer, his lips mouthing her neck and throat. "And you have a magical mouth." He captured her mouth with his and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her lips. "But you taste like sweet and sour pork."

"I'm hungry, Sergei."

"We'll eat later, Anastasia." He bent her over his arm, his mouth making inroads under her shirt, his lips seeking her nipples. "I want to love you now."

"Sergei," she moaned. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"I merely have a healthy appetite."

"Me too, kitten," he assured her, his mouth teasing her breasts, one hand covering her mound, and tugging a little on her silky curls.

"Will I ever get anything to eat around this place?" she gasped, her back over his arm, one hand on his shoulder, the other clutching a wonton, desperate to finish a meal.

"You mean besides me?" he chuckled, nipping the underside of her breast, then kissing it and finally, sucking the nipple between his lips. She started to protest, but she barely uttered a few low, throaty sounds, his actions effectively silencing her.

His fingers teased her, dancing between her thighs and her navel and all the sensitive flesh in between. His mouth loved her throat and breasts, his lips suckling, nibbling and kissing. She was soft and sweet and he had difficulty taking his hands off of her. When he finally indulged his mouth and lapped her juices, her body shuddered in orgasm. When she was able to speak, she begged him to stop.

"Sergei, I need to rest."

"And I'll bet your hungry, too," he laughed softly.

She agreed, sighing deeply, still feeling the effects of his lovemaking.

"You can rest later. I have to love you now."

"You just loved me," she gasped.

"Not as much as I wanted to," he murmured, his lips caressing her soft folds, his tongues flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves that brought her pleasure. "I need more of you." And he took what he wanted, Sophie helpless to stop his mouth from devouring her.

Afterward, he held her close to him, relishing the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her in his mouth, and surprisingly, the tug of his heartstrings as he looked at her.

What is it about her that gives you pause, Sergei?  his nagging conscience asked.

Don't know.

We've established that sex with her is good. Anything else worth mentioning?

She's sweet.

He swore his conscience snorted. And... she's... different.

How is she different? Sex is sex, old man. Don't get soft just because she's a good lay.

More than that,  he argued.

Don't lose yourself in that beautiful body, Nick Verona! You're thinking with your cock instead of your head. You don't fall in love with a woman just because she's good in the sack.

She's beautiful, too,  he added, knowing that was as lame a reason as any he'd ever had.

Your Ex was beautiful, too, and look how that turned out.

Fuck you! This isn't about her. This is about... this is about Anna Sophia.

Are you sure?  His rational mind asked quietly, no hint of sarcasm, and no accusations implied, impartial in its quest for answers.

No, I'm not,  he admitted.

He washed the stickiness from his body, then nuked the cold food and they finished it off in record time. Neither spoke as they stuffed their mouths, satisfying their hunger. He had placed a towel over the stains on the couch, making a note in his head to get it cleaned.

Sophie snuggled next to his warm chest, her stomach finally full. His arm was around her shoulder, keeping her close to his side. He was content. Her hand massaged his thigh, moving toward his penis.

"What do you want to do now?" she asked mischievously when she spotted the tenting in his sweats.

"I want to fuck you," he said simply.

"What?" she inhaled sharply.

"I said I want to fuck you." He cupped her chin, tilting it up so he could kiss her mouth.

"Fu...fuck me?"

"Did you think we were making love?" he sneered, his emotional defense mechanisms swiftly throwing barriers between them, shielding him, protecting his heart.

"No," she spoke softly, suddenly saddened, "but I didn't consider it... fucking either."

"What did you think it was?" the assistant derelict asked, his voice unyielding.

"Sex," she whispered, taking a deep breath, the ache in her chest starting to burn from his hurtful words. "Just plain sex, that's all." She looked directly at him, feeling like a slut, knowing she had been acting like one for the last 24 or 30 hours. "I don't think of it in those other terms."

Reaching for her, he roughly hauled her onto his chest, leaned back against the couch and squeezed her ass. "Call it whatever you want," he groused. "It's still fucking."

"Enough," she protested, pushing herself away from him. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," he snarled.

"Let go of me," she demanded. "I don't want you to... fuck me."

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently, watching her closely, wondering if she would cry. His mind was in turmoil, arguing. One part of him wondered if he had given her ample reason to leave him, and hoping that she would leave. Then he could go back to playing the hard-hearted martyr, unloved, unwanted, and rejected. It was a role he was used to, comfortable but lonely as hell. The other part of his mind perched precariously on eggshells and fervently prayed that she would stay.

"I want... I've been here long enough. It's time for me to go."

"You're not going anywhere!"

"Would you force me... against my will?" She bit her lower lip while she waited for his answer.

"No," he said softly, immediately drained from their short altercation and hating himself for acting like an animal. He gently lifted her off of him and onto her feet.

Are you happy, now?  he snapped at his conscience.

Are you?  It retorted.

~ End Part Eleven ~

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