Seduction by Various Page B

sucked on each other. She was smouldering from her feet upwards.
    She thought he was murmuring something, but that was impossible. He was pulling off his shirt as they kissed. He took her hands and placed them on his back and she squealed with the warmth of his skin. She stroked it, and scratched it, and he responded by reaching down and lifting up her skirt.
    What was left of her sanctity struggled up and she battered weakly at his chest. ‘No, Zorzi. I can’t. The bell will go soon and what work have we done?’
    But he lifted her and dropped her onto a pile of old hessian sacks, some empty, others full of crackling leaves. He stood and looked down at her. He was massive against the rainy daylight. They were enclosed in the darkness. Everything was wicked, and dangerous. She realised, as she lay there, that she looked like the sacrificial nun she imagined he’d seduced in Venice. The thought made her wriggle despite all her efforts to remain still.
    He reached behind him to grab the jug of wine, and took two bottles out of her crate. He grinned as he tipped the liquid into the slim bottles until they were full. Still staring at her, he ripped a label off her roll, swiped one across his wet tongue, and stuck it onto the elegant brown glass flank. Then he banged a cork into the mouth and dumped it back into the crate before spreading out his hands triumphantly.
    â€˜Job done! How hard can it be?’ She couldn’t help clapping her hands. ‘Christ, you are a wicked man!’
    He laughed then, a kind of husky breath, filled up the other bottle and tipped some more into her laughing mouth. This time it splashed all over her breasts, dripping onto her nipples, and they both stopped laughing. They looked down at the dark-red, pointed nipples, wet with wine. He remained kneeling. She reached up, and pulled him down on top of her. He hesitated, then let himself sink down. He took her arms and held them above her head. The rough sacking scratched where her blouse had ridden up her back. She raised her spine off the bale to escape the prickles. Her torso was arched towards him and so were her breasts. Straining desperately towards him, his hands, his mouth. The most natural position in the world.
    â€˜They told me never to speak to you,’ she said. ‘But they didn’t tell me not to touch you.’
    He smiled then, and nodded as if he’d heard her, and the warmth inside her turned to fire. His nostrils were flared with the effort of breathing calmly. He was heavy on her legs. Her breath was shallow, barely there. One hand held her arms down while the other started to move down to her breast, feeling its weight against the palm of his hand. Then he bent down, muscles bulging in his arm as he supported his weight, and sucked the wine off her nipple. She moaned and flung her head back. He put one knee between her legs, still sucking, opening her, then he lifted her skirt, her petticoat, to reveal the cumbersome bloomers. Caterina squirmed with confusion, trying to cover the horrible undergarments, but he pushed the skirt and petticoat up to her waist, unaccustomed air playing on her thighs, and took hold of the bloomers. The slight ripping sound as he yanked them down was electrifying in its quiet violence and she opened her legs for him as he touched her, right there, in her wet crack.
    Through the thin material of his trousers she could feel the thick outline of his cock jutting right up against her thigh,nudging against the cleft between her legs. The rain rushed through the door like hushed voices.
    She became frantic now. She wrenched her hands free from his and grabbed at him to unbuckle his belt. She tore at his jeans. She wanted him inside her, his cock pushing up her. He grabbed her wrists again, pinning them down with one hand while he drew his cock out. It was hard, jumping in his hand. She wound her legs round his hips. The hay scratched into the crack of her bare bum.
    Zorzi