Unmasqued

When he touched her, she jerked, slamming her hips into the mirror before she could stop herself. His hand-no, a finger… just one finger trailed, bumping, down her spine as the other hand lifted her hair away, baring her back, without touching her skin.

A bare finger. Not a gloved one.

Flesh to flesh. Warm, roughly padded, firm and sure, his finger moved down to the curve of her buttocks, slipped quickly into the top of the cleft… then disappeared.

Two hands gathered the mass of her hair; she felt them pull it together, lift it, and twist it into a loose coil… Then something slid into it, a comb across her scalp holding her hair in place, and he removed his hands. Her nape and shoulders and back were bare.

Christine closed her eyes, waiting, trying to slow her breath, to release the coil of lust that was so tight it was painful.

Then she felt him at the back of her left leg, two hands deftly rolling the silk stocking down her thigh, over her knee, and to the floor. She lifted her foot without hesitation, and felt the rough wool of the carpet under it when the stocking was removed. He did the same with the other, and then she was completely naked. Totally bare. Hidden only by the mirror against her.

"Erik…" she moaned. She didn't know what else to do. He wasn't touching her anymore; he wasn't speaking. "Please…"

She felt rather than saw his shadow as he stepped closer; his figure blocked the direct light from the gas lamp, so all she could see in the close mirror was the dark shape of a head and shoulders looming behind her.

Then a hand pressed flat against the center of her back, just between her shoulder blades. Fingers curled gently around the nape of her neck and delicately held her there as another hand slid down along the right side of her body. His hand traced her ribs and over the swell of her hip, then cupped one side of her rear.

Nothing but that, nothing but that bare touch, and she was trembling beneath it. Panting. The stinging between her legs grew, and she felt wetness surge as she throbbed and pushed against the mirror.

"Spread your legs."

His fingers dipped low from behind, and slid into the lower vee between her legs, up, and into the pool of her moisture. His thumb fit in the valley between her buttocks, and his fingers began to circle around her inner lips, tracing the slick opening, rolling through the wetness, and spreading it over her plump labia.

Through the roaring in her ears, she could hear his breathing rough behind her. She felt the way his talented hand, prisoning her neck so gently, trembled and flexed over her skin. But most of her attention was focused on the hard, throbbing nub of her pip as his fingers slipped around it, and next to it, and then, finally, cupped it from behind. Flicked it. Once, twice… she moaned, pushing back, away from the mirror, into his hand.

"Christine…" His voice shook.

Now he was close behind her; his forehead rested on the mirror next to hers so that she couldn't turn to look at him. She felt the bare brush of his sleeve to the left of her shoulder, and down, near her knees, where his trousers touched the back of her leg. He moved again, and then she was trapped between his tall, powerful body and the cold, hard silk of glass.

His arms traced hers, spread far from her body, his hands closing around her wrists; his legs pushed into the backs of hers. His hips, his cock, pressed into the small of her back, the buttons of his trouser fastenings stamping on her skin.

His hands slid from her wrists along the length of her arms, down over the underside of her shoulders, and alongside her breasts. She arched back from the mirror as far as her taut arms would allow, and he laughed softly against her head, his breath hot at her temple.

"Impatient, are you, Christine?" But he slipped his hands around the front of her, closing over her hard nipples, still cold from the mirror, and covered them with his warm palms. From behind, he pushed her hips into the mirror and massaged her breasts with long, flexible fingers. She moaned, and rolled her pubis into the glass, and he followed her rhythm, rolling and shifting with her. She was trembling and pulsing all over, her entire being focused on the need he aroused within her.

Christine tried to turn her head, to put her face next to his, but he hissed and pulled his head away from the mirror before she could come face-to-face with him.

"You are impatient, aren't you?" There was that edge again, lacing his erotic voice, the edge that told her he was not pleased with her impatience. She tipped her head back to the mirror, pressing her cheek again to the moist spot she'd left, and closed her eyes.

"Please, Erik," she whispered.

He pulled on her nipples, one after the other in a fast, tortuous rhythm that caused her breathing to grow rougher, more ragged. Spikes of desire shot down to her pip with each tweak. It felt as if it was growing, swelling, and could take no more before it would burst…