The visual makes me shudder, and my fingers slide against my clit, faster and faster. “Yeah?” my voice softly whimpers.
“Oh yeah,” Daniel says in a ragged voice, his hand working his cock even harder. “God, I’d love to see that. Touch your smooth skin all over and hear you screaming my name. See those sweet tits of yours bouncing as I fill you up.”
I inhale sharply at his words.
“And when you’re screaming my name, I’d lean in and kiss you,” he says in a soft, delicious voice. “So you’d know what you taste like to me.”
The thought of Daniel leaning in and kissing me as he’s fucking me—that sweetness mixed with the rawness of sex—is enough to send me over the edge. A jolt shudders through me, and I realize I’m coming. I bite my lip as I do, which causes my breath to wheeze against his throat, but I don’t care. It’s glorious and wet and tense and wonderful and I’m coming and it’s not ugly at all. It’s safe and delicious and it’s with Daniel.
As I come down, he’s stroking his cock still, but his grip is so tense I know he’s waiting for some signal from me to let himself go. I think if I told him to stop right now, he would. But I don’t want that. I want to see. So I slide my fingers from my pussy and place them, wet, against his lips.
He groans hard, and then he’s coming. His hips jerk as his tongue brushes my fingers, tasting me, and I watch cum erupt from his strokes, spattering on his stomach and groin.
And I sigh with pleasure, feeling languid and better than I have in days. “Thank you, Daniel,” I murmur, cleaning him off with the sheet. His hand has never left my shoulders.
Daniel is totally, utterly safe. And I want him more than anything.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten a normal meal in forever. I ball up the sheet that I’ve used to mop his cum, toss it off the bed, and then roll away. “We should get dressed. I’m starving.” I’m actually feeling pretty pumped at the moment. My heart’s still beating hard with the aftershocks of my orgasm, but I feel good and loose. The slickness between my legs is a nice feeling because it’s mine and I wanted it there.
I’m not broken after all; I’m a little damaged. And the thought makes me feel alive.
Daniel, poor man, looks a little dazed at my rapidly changing mood. “Breakfast? Now?” He looks like he could take a nap.
I nod and drag my backpack onto my side of the bed, grabbing a T-shirt and bra and pulling them over my head, one at a time. “I’m starving. What’s our schedule for today?”
When I finally pop my head out of the T-shirt, I see Daniel give his face a quick rub before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Breakfast. Then pharmacy. Then we meet Luiz for our papers. And then we see about getting a new room.”
I bite my lip, thinking about how maybe we should get condoms. The thought doesn’t make me want to puke like it would even a day ago. Because, in the near future, I think I want Daniel to touch me.
Sixteen
Daniel
REGAN IS QUIET AS WE order breakfast at the cleanest cafe I can find within walking distance. Maybe she’s thinking about what the hell happened back in the dingy hotel room. It’s all I can think about. Her smell is on my skin, and the sun is baking it into every pore in my body. I don’t know if I will ever regret it though. If this is all I carry with me when we part, isn’t it enough? It’ll have to be. “This is very, um, ordinary,” she says, forking a bit of scrambled egg into her mouth.
“I thought something familiar might be appealing about now.” I smothered my eggs with hot sauce, and I used to love the spiciness of chorizo sausages, but right now all I can taste is the tang of Regan’s pussy as she pressed her fingers against my lips. The only thing I really want to eat right now is sitting across from me, her legs tucked primly to the side. Consuming food is reflexive at this point. My body knows it needs fuel, so I’m shoveling in the protein and carbs as fast as possible. But my head is back in the hotel room, and we aren’t having a mutual masturbation scene. Oh no, I’m fucking her. I’m driving deep inside her cunt and feeling her slick juice lubricate every thrust.
“How do you know Daisy and Nick?” Regan’s question shakes me out of my fantasy, and I drag my attention back to the table and her question. Be a human being and make conversation, I order myself.
“Ahhh, through friends,” I say vaguely wondering if I could avoid the topic of Vasily Petrovich forever. Russia is one of the leading exporters of flesh, although the home of the brave isn’t so far behind. “You?”
“Daisy answered my ad for a roommate. She’s fresh off the farm. I’m worried about her. You know she hadn’t left her town in years because her dad was a big agoraphobic? She was running away from home at the age of twenty.” Regan laughs a little self-consciously, tucking a lock of hair behind her delicate ear. If I were a soldier home for a couple weeks of furlough and had run across her, I’d have been on her like gravy on biscuits. Hell, I’d have had to fight off some of my squad mates to get to her. And now I’d had a taste of her. I’d heard her sexy noises as she got excited, the soft, wet sounds as her fingers worked her pussy, the moans of relief and satisfaction when she came. And I’m gone again.
“Daisy seems . . . trusting.” Daisy and Nick were perfect for each other. He was a crazy psychopath, and she didn’t know any better that he wasn’t normal. I vaguely remember giving Nick dating advice at one time. He’d laugh—if he knew how—if he saw the state I was in.
“Yeah, too much so, I guess.” Regan sighs and then pushes her eggs around on her plate a bit. “I called my boyfriend when you were in the shower.”
Boyfriend? Oh right, the Mike dude who can’t keep it up for more than five seconds. That’s deflating. I’m cooking up fantasies about the fifty ways I could make Regan come, and she’s worried about calling the guy who’s never given her an orgasm. “That’s fine. Phone’s a burner.” I wondered if she was worried that we were going to get tracked down. “You should call your parents.”
“What can I say to them? I’m here in Brazil, but I’m on the run because some crazy guy with a blonde hair, green-eyed fetish is preventing me from flying home? And by the way, Mike’s already moved on to my girlfriend Becca.”
“Sounds like she’s not much of a girlfriend.” I try to hide my satisfaction that Mike’s not in the picture. I wonder if I should off him, though. Just for being a douchebag. I think the world can only sustain so many asswipes, and I’d be doing a favor making sure the scales were even.