Continuation from ORIGINS:Falling

Caught.

I made it about two steps out of the bathroom when I felt a hand around my neck, pulling me into the bedroom slamming me up against the wall. I blinked. The door to the bedroom, kicked shut, cut off the light from the sitting room. My eyes had hardly adjusted from the brightness of the bathroom when I felt teeth on my neck and hands pulling my clothes off. I willed my hands to move against him, to stop this. He was being rough. Fingers pulling on my clothes and there goes a button and why am I letting him do this? I should say no. I should stop him. Lifted from the floor and thrown to the bed where the rest of my clothes were unceremoniously removed, I try to think clearly. What was he doing? Why don’t I stop him? Why can’t I stop him? Is this what I want? Shouldn’t he ask first? His hand again around my neck I gasped for air, and even as I thrashed about, in the dim light from the lamps outside the bedroom I saw him smile and his hand tightened. Kissing me, feeding me air as he controlled how much I could breathe. Pulled over by the hair, his belt now around my neck as his fingers enter me and I cry aloud the flesh of my shoulder caught between his teeth and he growls. My face pushed into the pillow slaps to my ass making me writhe furiously as he tells me what a gorgeous bitch I am, and didn’t I want him to fuck me and now he wanted me to beg for it and if I didn’t he would stop…and even as the rational reasoned voice in my head rebelled and kicked and shouted for this craziness to end, my mouth opened to whisper, quietly “please, please don’t stop…fuck me please I beg you…please don’t ever stop…”

I was properly cowed and blown away but not enough to forget to procure protection…I asked him if he had any and hid demeanor shifted to a sheepish grin that fiercely drew me within its crooked slipstream. “Ah love, didn’t really expect to need any…” I, of course, absolutely DID expect so. Prayed so, and so, I gestured to my purse on the other side of the bedroom. He shoved me back down on the bed with that divine smile and grabbed my bag and the vital cargo within.

I wish I could say it was smooth sailing and an insane transcendent moment, the first fuck, but it wasn’t.

The truth is, that fucking rubber was not in the mood to fit comfortably on his …rather substantial cock.

This was fucking unbelievable. We managed to get one most of the way on, then all the way on with substantial negotiation.

I was amused and frustrated while he was bemused and irritated and therefore determined to fuck the smile off of my face…

Later, lying dazed on the bed I turn over to watch as he went, naked, to fetch his cigarettes from the sitting room. Three seconds later he bounded back in giggling. “Van and the girl are still out there! Hand me that robe, will you love?”
I about died. “You mean to say they were there the whole time?!?!?” I hid under the blankets.

I sorted though this.

Here I was in a hotel room with a near-stranger, a man who’d practically sexually assaulted me. And I liked it. Begged for it, in fact. And now I find out that Van Morrison, a fucking MUSICAL. LEGEND. Had sat in the next room with a gal who was the younger sister of the lead singer of the Pogues and the both of them had, without a doubt, heard me begging to be fucked harder.

Yeah, OK, that was about right.

Eventually he threw on a bathrobe and went to chill with Van and Siobhan in the living room. I lay in the soft light and warm breezes that poured in from the windows and taxed my heart, already pared naked. Despite the turmoil and unbelievably unbelievable nature of the moment, I knew one thing for certain.

We were going to have to have some roomier prophylactics.

A few minutes later…or perhaps hours…?…he came bounding back in the room and asked me if I could spare a few of the other condoms.

I was leery.

“What are you guys doing out there? Making fucking balloon animals?” he whispered conspiratorially that Van was in need of a few, in case he happened to get lucky. Being helpful, I tossed the whole box at his head. “Take ’em. They ain’t fitting on your cock. Perhaps they’ll work or him. And be certain to tell him the reason I gave them all up.” He smiled wickedly, walked back over to the bed, grabbed a handful of braids, and terrorized me with his mouth again.

I refused to re-join the party.

I was too mortified.

It was a Strange Night.

The next morning I woke before he did, took a shower, picked up his laundry from the concierge. I noticed that he smoked hand-rolled, but had stolen several of my Camel’s in favour of his own, so I got him Camels and coffee, and croissants for breakfast, drew him a bath and woke him. He was difficult to extricate from myself and from the bed and I felt compelled to push him away and be responsible and get him to the lobby for the limos to the venue for sound check. When he smiled at my efforts, I felt as though I had discovered the very source of the purest fucking happiness and that I’d do anything, anything at all, to see him smile for me.

Weird.

It was weird and dangerous. And I was already terrified and counting the days he was in Los Angeles. I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving. I was panicking every moment I wasn’t in his presence and knew that in 7 days he would leave me to travel north to San Francisco.

I was broke as fuck, driving a 17 year old car and brinking closer to insane irresponsibility already by taking this week off of work. But none of that mattered. Not at all. All that mattered was his hand on my flesh and the headlong rush and expansive peace I felt when he pulled me so roughly to him and bit my throat, groaning as though it hurt him as much as it hurt me while the breath whistled through my clenched teeth, my cunt nothing but wet wet wet as I desperately wondered how I would live my life ever after this unlikely twisted troubadour of a Prince Harming left my country to return to his home. And to his girlfriend.

…To Be Continued…

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