Strangers & Sinners
Part Twelve
by sarAdora
~~~

Sophie took a few steps away from the man sprawled on the couch, his anger surrounding him, radiating. Her mind registered a picture of the handsome muscular male, glorious in his nudity. His skin had sheen to it, the residue evidence of his recent orgasm. She knew the curly hair on his chest was still damp. In spite of his words, her fingers itched to touch it as well as the curly hair at his groin. She looked at his exhausted organ. It was limp but still thick and she licked her lips. Her mouth knew its shape, its texture and its taste. And then, there was that heavy sac. She sighed, confused by the sudden change of events, and moved toward the staircase.

"I'll just change into my own clothes, call a cab and leave," she said quietly.

He said nothing as he watched her long legs until they disappeared up the stairs.

See what happens when you act like a slut, Sophie girl? Told you it was just sex,  her conscience admonished.

Thought it was something more,  she thought sadly. He was so gentle, so tender, so loving...

He wanted you - he had you - now, he's tired of you. Go home.

I'm going.

Sinner,  it hissed at her as she zipped her dress and slid into her shoes. Sinner!

I... it was so good with him. I don't understand. He was so intent on making sure he satisfied me. He... what happened?

It was sex, Sophie, just sex. Sinner!

I thought it was more.

You wanted it to be more.

Yes. I wanted it to be more,  she admitted, feeling empty, the ache in her chest surrounding her heart and creating an awful heaviness.

She ignored him when she came down the stairs, retrieved her coat from the hall closet, and then picked up the phone to call a cab.

"Please don't go," his voice whispered from across the room. His head ached from a vision of the long and empty nights ahead.

"Stay. I want you to stay," he said softly. "Please stay."

She stepped closer to the man on the couch - the man that had barely let her out of his arms since he had brought her home the previous evening. He had pulled his sweats on when she was upstairs but his chest remained bare. She looked at his broad shoulders, his thick muscles and shivered slightly. His hard toned flesh was one of his strengths and if he were a different kind of man, he could have hurt her badly, yet he had been mostly gentle with her.

That has to count for something. She hung onto the sentiment then realized that it was a foolish one. If he had been harsh or mean, her better judgement would never have allowed her to get into his car in the first place.

His genitals were generously proportioned and he could have hurt her by simply taking what he wanted without regard for her feelings or her pleasure. Again, he had been gentle there as well and made sure she enjoyed their couplings. She wanted to touch him again.

"If I stay, are you going to fuck me?" Sophie asked quietly, maintaining her distance and striving to hang onto a semblance of dignity.

"No."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make love to you," he paused. "If you'll let me."

"Sergei," she took a step closer. "You don't have to make love to me. I'm not asking you to make love to me. I'm not asking... you can..."

"I want to make love to you."

She let him pull her to him as he rose from the couch. "Please stay, Kitten. I need you."

His voice shredded whatever good sense she possessed. It shattered her equilibrium as well as her resolve to move on. She sensed a great sadness in him, a loss of something or someone that he had kept carefully hidden from her in the hours of their intimacy. Her announcement that she was leaving seemed to bring that loss to the surface. Whatever the hurt was, it ran deep - down to his core.

Would he have asked me to stay if he were indifferent to me?  she asked her conscience. There was no answering reply. Sophie was on her own.

Nick knew his hot and cold demeanor confused her. Christ! What the hell is wrong with me?

"I need you, Kitten," he heard himself say. "I can't explain my words and..." he paused. "And I'm sorry if they hurt you." Gently, he tilted her head back to look at her eyes. The gold flecks seemed brighter, his own eyes darker with longing. "Please say you'll stay."

"Are you sure, Sergei?" she asked, her heart on hold while he answered.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Why do you want me to stay?"

"Because it's more than sex, more than... I need you, Kitten." His hand cupped the back of her head, the other on her cheek. He looked directly into her gold and brown eyes.

I need you to fill the dark and lonely places in my soul but I'm afraid to tell you that.

"I'm not good with words or feelings, Kitten," his deep baritone softly rumbled. "But I know I need you. Please say you'll stay."

"I'll stay the night. I can't promise anything else, Sergei."

Fool! Her conscience spat.

Maybe, maybe not.

He took her coat, dropping it on a chair and pulled her completely into his arms, lifting her to his chest, nuzzling her neck. "Can I take you to my bed?" his voice soft and gentle, his defenses laid bare.

"Yes," she murmured, willing to gamble on her intuition.

He carried her to his bedroom, cradling her against him as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain. He was desperate to make love to her, to enter her. He needed that feeling of being whole and complete, the way he felt inside her. Out of habit, his conscience cautioned him to protect himself.

Don't lose yourself, Sergei. Don't fall in love. Open up to this tiger kitten and your defenses will evaporate. You'll be vulnerable again, vulnerable to a woman's whims, her quicksilver moods. Eventually, she'll turn on you. You'll be expendable. Can you survive being hurt again?

There was no need to answer. He knew he could not.

Gently, he removed her clothes, kissing her flesh as her body was exposed to his gaze. She tempted his mouth and he willfully, without guilt, without protest and with his heart's ease, surrendered to the temptation.

"You are beautiful, Anna Sophia, so beautiful," he murmured, caressing her shoulders, her arms, kissing the inside of each palm. "I'm going to love you until you beg me to stop."

Sophie smiled at his words. Sergei's deep voice seduced her, leaving her open and aching for the touch of his hands, the touch of his mouth and the fullness of him inside her. She wanted him.

You're a slut, Sophie girl,  her conscience scolded. Are you so needy you're going to let him fuck you?

He's not going to fu... he's not going to do that. He's going to make love to me.  She knew her conscience was shaking its head, exasperated that she had fallen for his line.

My perception of men's characters is not flawed,  she argued. I believe him.

You want to believe him,  her conscience replied a little sadly. It also wanted to believe him.

He placed his hands on her hips, drawing the juncture of her thighs to his mouth. "Spread your legs, Tiger. I want to love you."

She parted her legs, slipping them over his shoulders and reached for him. She leaned forward and wrapped her hands around his neck. "Tell me what you're going to do, Sergei," she said quietly, the hunger in her eyes matching his.

"I'm going to lick you, Anastasia," he murmured, his tongue wetting his lips as he answered her. "Is that all right with you?"

She nodded, unable to speak, his words an aphrodisiac.

"Then, I'm going to suck this sweet spot right here," he promised, his lips brushing lightly over her clit, making her shiver. "Is that okay with you, Tiger?" His voice was deeper now, husky with desire and Sophie remained silent.

"Talk to me, Tiger," he urged. "Is that okay? Am I going too fast? Tell me."

"Love me," she whispered, her hands pulling his head closer, her thighs already wet.

"I intend to, my sweet kitten," his voice faded as his mouth consumed her.

~ End Part Twelve ~

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