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Estelle is growing impatient. She has been thinking of Mark since they parted. She recalls last summer when her sister first got married and Estelle had been invited to stay for the weekend. They had been lounging by the pool, Estelle in a tiny white bikini and Mark in nothing but board shorts. Jaymee was inside making mocktails.
Estelle was wearing sunglasses with a dark tint and she was appreciating Mark’s taut physique while he was taking a dip in the water, supremely unaware. Jaymee was pregnant but barely showing and Estelle was thinking how lucky her sister was to have the pleasure of enjoying this man naked in her bed night after night. Estelle was unashamedly mesmerised. Estelle was only sixteen, but even she could see that Mark was a delicious meal to be savoured and consumed only as an occasional treat, too magnificent and rich in beauty to be part of any regular old staples diet.
He came and lay beside her on the sun bed to her left and Estelle was thankful for her sunnies for they concealed her desire to touch him. She could smell his cologne; the salt water from the pool had preserved the scent and the sun was amplifying it.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asked innocuously, ‘You smell better than usual.’
Mark had laughed out loud and assumed she was joking, but replied none the less. ‘Opium, by Yves Saint Laurent.’
Estelle smirked, he smelled like a drug all right, she observed as she felt the sexual energy rolling off his masculine build in giant waves that threatened to drown her childish body. Estelle was losing control. She was barely treading water in a hazardous sea. Her sheltered life had not prepared her for Mark. Opium was her drug of choice and she was addicted.
Estelle hops out of bed and brazenly walks to the master suite. She needs him, she is moist and ready and he had promised her relief with his mischievous gaze. Jaymee has her back to the door but Mark is facing it. He senses a presence and opens his eyes. They stare at each other for seconds, maybe minutes; he can’t quite comprehend what he is seeing. Estelle’s legs begin to work again and she walks out of the room. Mark follows.
They enter her room and close the door behind them. Mark has her dress off in less than a second; Estelle’s hands go up into his hair. She grabs two fistfuls and pulls, yanking his face down to hers. Mark had not expected her to take control; she has caught him off guard. The baby starts to wail in the background.
‘Get on your hands and knees!’ he growls at her. Estelle obeys but she feels dejected, this is not how she had expected her first time to be, but she reminds herself that beggars can’t be choosers. She doesn’t know when she’ll get an opportunity like this again. The baby continues to cry and Mark temporarily panics at the prospect of Jaymee sleeping through their daughter’s feed.
He enters her without warning and Estelle has to mask a cry as she feels her hymen tear. Mark is delirious; she feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before, she is a virgin. He is already planning ahead, when is the next time I can sneak off to have another hit of her? Mark pulls out and drives himself into her over and over again but Estelle has become silent. Her mouth is frozen in a mute scream. Mark wants this feeling to last forever but he can hear the muffled sound of his baby’s face nuzzling into her mother’s breast.
Mark figures he has at least thirty undisturbed minutes until Jaymee finishes and comes to look for him.
‘Get up,’ he instructs her brusquely, ‘I want to look at you when you come.’ Estelle stands up and follows him to the desk in the corner. Mark pulls out the chair, sits down and motions for her to sit in his lap facing him. He holds her by her hips and massages her back and forth harder and harder into him.
Estelle’s mood changes, this is no longer painful, this is magical. She is panting and Mark’s hearing becomes hyper sensitive.
‘Shh,’ he tells her.
‘I can’t,’ she moans, “you’ll have to stop rubbing me into you if you want me to be quiet.’
‘I can’t,’ he rasps.
Mark feels like a fool, this girl has reduced him to adolescence. He can’t control his climax, he can’t slow down, and he can’t stop touching her.
‘Your breasts,’ he groans, tortured by their close proximity.
‘Taste them,’ she moans. Mark leans down and licks her nipple while his fingers knead the other. Estelle moans so loudly but Mark is consumed, his tongue runs over her chest, her groin massages his, back and forth, up and down, round and round.
‘Yes!’ she screams as Mark feels her tighten around his girth and then implode as her orgasm takes over. Mark surrenders and ejaculates, making a note to himself to wear a condom next time.
He lifts her off him and replaces his boxers and t-shirt.
‘Why didn’t you return to me before?’ Estelle asks him in a timid voice, ‘when my sister came and took you away.’
Mark walks towards the door and glances at her over his shoulder, ‘I had husbandly business to attend to. Goodnight kiddo.’
Estelle falls asleep with an impenitent smile on her face. She can still smell him, taste him, and feel him.
© Belle Cupid 2014
Belle Cupid lives to put into words the scenes that play out in her mind during the minutes before she falls asleep at night. Belle is the author of The Love Story, a novel that pushes the envelope and can never be described as safe. A Night of Firsts is an extract from the yet to be completed sequel. Belle enjoys writing that is bold and honest. When she is not absorbed in her writing she can be found fussing over her three young children and works part time for one of Australia’s leading insurers.
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