I stand in the apartment, completely disorientated as he makes us drinks; silent and calm like we’re just
up here to have our usual chat and arguments, and yet I am completely on edge and cannot relax. He
seems normal, unfazed, unaffected, and he hasn’t made any moves to touch me since we got in the lift.
It’s weird, unnerving and I shouldn’t be like this. I’m not a virgin or an amateur. Sex is part of what I do
or used to. I taught myself how to overcome all the shit that surrounded it emotionally and learned the
art of making it feel good instead. Finding the pleasure in it and getting off instead of the trauma of my
past. I separated the memories and the act and used sex as a tool to get ahead in life. It got me here to
America for a fresh start and I have never looked back.
I like sex, I crave it and I have had it on my own terms many times. I have no reason to feel sick with
nerves at the thought of sleeping with him, I have slept with hundreds of men in my lifetime and this
won’t be any different. I just need to separate in my head who I have built him up to be and look at him
as any other hot-blooded male. A gorgeous specimen who makes me wet and is built like a guy who
should have a sizeable package and the skill to use it.
I jump when his fingers trail my arm from behind so softly that it sends warm shivers through every part
of me and I realise in a flash of nerves that I am completely at a loss with him. I am always the seducer,
the one in control and making the moves. Sex is always down to my own devices or needs and I target
what I want and go after it.
It’s not the case here, far from it. I have no angle to work with by sleeping with him and in fact, I think I’ll
lose an edge if I do, yet I can’t stop myself from wanting it. He has flipped the tables by being the one in
control. My seductions failed.
He’s powerful, dangerous and makes me want to see what it could be like even if he does put the fear
of God into me at every turn. His coldness and composure make me want it more than anything and
this is completely new to me. A man who didn’t fall over themselves to get me naked.
‘’Take your dress off.’’ He leans in, whispering into my ear from beside me and I just erupt in
goosebumps, sensitive to everything that’s him and unable to hold my calm and confident persona. I
lose the ability to talk and just unbutton the front of my Gucci dress until I get it to waist level, sliding it
down from my shoulders obediently, like some dumb mute bimbo. Letting it fall to pool around my
ankles submissively, before kicking it away. I am left standing in my favourite navy Victoria secret
lingerie set in transparent lace and shiver when his breath fans the back of my shoulders and ignites a
sense of complete longing. I’m aware of him hovering to the right of me, almost behind me but not
enough to make me scared. I have a thing about being approached right from the back and the touch
of anxiety peeking around my head could just be that.
‘‘Maybe we shouldn’t,’’ I whisper softly, getting that niggle of doubt once again; being taken over by his
air all over me and completely losing my courage. I am afraid that letting him possess me will change
more than the dynamics between us. I can’t explain it, it's like I’m standing on a precipice and doing
this will be like stepping off a cliff. I have no idea what this feeling is other than complete doubt and
apprehension. I put it down to fear from the scene with Gino earlier and give myself a mental shake for
my cowardice.
‘‘Losing your courage, London?’’ Alexi’s deep husky voice gives me tingles. I shiver as hot firm fingers
trace my spine from the edge of my knickers, up my naked back to my neck, and close my eyes as the
sensations overtake me. No man has ever ignited my body with just a simple touch and now I know for
sure how stupid this is …. He influences me, some power I do not understand, and I should take my
dress and walk the fuck away, yet I’m glued to the spot and my body won’t listen.
Mind and emotions completely at war with one another. He unclips my bra and I know I am in the
moment of choice right here. Stop it now, end this foolishness, or suck it up and just enjoy whatever
sex happens between us. My lady parts make the aching choice for me, practically crying to be
remembered. Two years is too long without a real man between my thighs. Stop overthinking this and
dissociate this moment with Alexi Carrero and just see him like any other man. I can do this. I want
some release for my throbbing body, and he might be a good fuck with a more satisfying orgasm than
my ‘‘BOB’’ can supply. Although that’s a high standard to reach.
My indecision falls to the floor in front of me along with my bra that he expertly unhooked, and he shifts
beside me and comes further forward, so he’s looking at me completely side on. and I take a moment
to compose myself and find my backbone. I know sex, I control sex and seduction is my forte, if I let
him walk all over me I’ll end up tied to his bed and gagged like a whore. I have no intention of letting
him think he can treat me like all those little sluts he brings up here, I won’t be his submissive. My fear
won’t allow me to be that whether I want it or not.
Over the years my phobia of being used that way has grown and it’s unbearable now, so I need to
make sure I stay with my head in the game and not lose myself in surrender. I turn to him boldly,
surprised to see he’s already peeled off his shirt and is unbuttoning his trousers, completely topless
and toned with a muscular toned body on show and wasting no time at all. Those tattoos are not as far
spread as I expected, curling over both shoulders and one side of his neck, down both arms
sporadically and peeking out on his hand. As he leans to push down his trousers I catch a glimpse over
his shoulder and see the majority of his artwork is down his spine and across his shoulder blades,
taking up most of the skin on display and its crazily sexy. All black ink and interwoven oriental designs,
dragons and skulls. Something gothic yet beautiful in the way they all flow together to make an intricate
lacework of patterns. He has a taste for the darker style of tattoos and I catch a snake interwoven into a
skull on his left shoulder as a black widow nestles on top. Morbid beauty. Very Alexi.
He has a body to die for, all toned, tight, and sculpted. That sallow Italian skin is tanned just enough to
make me weak at the knees but not garish and overdone like a man who frequents a tanning bed, this
is all natural. He is, by physical standards, complete perfection and I guess he spends more time in the
gym than I give him credit for—either that or he has great DNA and is lucky to have a fast metabolism
and effortless physique. Alexi straightens up in only fitted boxers and I have to try not to check out how
much he is packing but it’s unbelievably hard not to notice. If he’s even semi-hard right now then he’s
carrying way more than most men and I have a moment of doubt that this will be good. There is a fine
line between well-endowed and uncomfortably large, something I learned from working the streets for
years. I look away and try and just focus on his face and see the smirk already in place. Mr Confidence
oozing all over him. He knows he has a decent size in his shorts, smug prick.
‘’So … no kissing?’’ He regards me with a look of complete amusement and I shake my head. It’s
almost like he’s negotiating our contract once more and we’re not standing naked in front of one
another, about to change everything. I can tell he thinks the kissing thing is dumb, I mean why wouldn’t
he? Nothing is personal or intimate for him; he can kiss sluts all day long and feel nothing. To me
there’s something worse about being kissed than being screwed face to face, eye to eye and I would
just rather not go there with him after his kiss in the bar started to affect me in weird ways. I kissed
people in my past, sometimes. Usually to seduce and as a tool but it’s not something I have done for
my own pleasure, or because I wanted to kiss anyone.
Alexi however, changed that.
His eyes look paler, even in the dull light of the kitchen glow from the counter lights; shadows cast on
chiselled perfection and I try to steady my racing heartbeat. He works me into a fever just by looking at
him this way and I am so going to hell for this. Sleeping with Satan surely has to be bad for your health.
‘’Just sex. That goes nowhere else.’’
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