Chapter 4: Sneaked Ecstasy

The pounding of Elena’s heart hit her ribs like a wild feral beast as Sophia’s footsteps faded out to the kitchen, the door clicking shut.

There was a heavy, stinging scent in the air, a hangover from the kiss they snatched away, her lips still tingling, swollen from the dance of tongues that choked.

Alex sat there, head down on the sofa, erection full and as a banner, all wide-eyed with storminess, guilt, desire.

His scent was in her breath, salty, and he’d breathed his yearning into the air, and into the sexy perfume of her own titillation that filled the space between them.

Sophia hummed in the kitchen, cheery, and it cut the tension like a knife and reminded Elena of the line they were on.

But the risk made her pulse race, a murderous thrill that made her slickness drip down her inner thighs.

She wasted no time.

Straddling him once more, the skirt puffed up around her waist, Elena pushed even harder, his pulsating shaft rubbing the soaked cling of her panties against her slit.

“Can’t you see? We gotta keep going,” she murmured, her voice turned husky with an order, with the hard cadence of her Mediterranean blood, rhythmic and insistent as waves upon an ancient shore.

Elena pinned his shoulders against the cushions, nails leaving a notch, slight control over her youthful passenger who did a half-hearted groan as he jerked his hips up, his body betraying his wary eyes.

“Sophia ... she’s right there,” he blurted.

But she could listen no longer, as she pushed her hips in a slow circle, heels pressed to the hard ridge of him, rubbing her clit into it.

The velvet sofa fabric rasped and was cool and textured, like the texture of her own thighs, and hot against Alex’s skin.

Elena nibbled on his neck, approached his mouth, tasting the salt of his skin and the wild fluttering of the pulse beneath her tongue.

“That’s why it’s so perfect,” she thought, indulging in philosophy: why bind desire with morality, let vice free her?

Neglected by Mark, she starved, she stole him, ate him, made his virginity corrupt.

She let go of his hand, lowered it to her skirt, his fingers just touched the damp lace.

Hesitating, then he touched her folds through the lace and her breasts jumped up against her blouse.

Sophia’s knife chopped in time with Elena’s killing-with-grind, thud, thud, thud, the audio echo making everything so much more real.

What if Sophia walked in? Think of the rush riding through her body, her nipples sprouting up like angry weeds, begging for a touch.

Elena unbuttoned, shaking, unveiling the lace cups.

Then she pulled them down.

Alex’s eyes locked on them, the heavy, flushed breasts with the black of night on their soft areolas, the pinnacle of their black nipples.

Alex’s eyes darkened with hunger.

“Touch me,” she said, the grotesque wit of her voice a single filament of control that keeps him in check through his guilt.