Looking up at him, Grace remembers dancing with him. Back in the ballroom of this sprawling mansion, the well-dressed guests twirling about to the enchanting music flowing around them, caressing them like an old lover who knows exactly what turns them on. As she danced with Rodrick, he looked at her like an old lover, even though they had never had sex. Those eyes seemed to know her. It was odd at first, the intense gaze of familiarity when they had met only recently. She wondered how that was possible. But she had given into the feeling. The knowing-ness of his eyes, the warmth of his body close to hers, the smell and look of him. All of it put her at ease as they glided through the ballroom, allowing their bodies to do what the music told them to do.
She had been aware of everyone’s eyes on them, all of the other guests wondering who she was and how she got the host of this magnificent party to dance with her for so long. He had danced with other women in the beginning, had talked with many other guests. But then, he seemed only to have eyes for her. How did she get to be so lucky?
A question she didn’t have an answer to back then, and she doesn’t have an answer right now. He still only has eyes for her. Seeing her, consuming her, from when he had told her—certainly not asking her—to unzip as he had watched her with those same keen eyes. And her dress had fallen to the floor, with her being grateful that her legs remained strong, even though she trembled with anticipation.
Those eyes still mesmerize her, and she feels as if they have unzipped her outer shell, a wall she’s put up to look strong. But he’s unzipped that shell and looks right into her being, her soul, and can see her innermost thoughts, desires, and secrets. She considers that impossible, and yet the feeling cannot escape her.
Grace can’t also escape the connection of his eyes to that of Lanzo Kahler. Another impossibility, she thinks. That was a drawing in a book, and he is a real-life person. Still, there’s something about his eyes that remind her of the eyes of the man in the book. Even though the eyes in the drawing were but small marks of ink on a page. There’s a world behind the eyes of the man above her, and she feels like she’s plunged into it.
His pounding has taken her breath away. The force of his heaving. The huge hardness sliding in her. His small grunts. The deep thudding of the table against the wall. The tapping of her head against the encyclopedia. It’s a music like the music back the ballroom, swirling around her, gliding on her skin, and she wishes she could stay here, like this, all night long.
But the end comes. It comes as he pushes as far as he can into her and freezes. A statue like he was before, when she had held his thick erection while touching herself. Still as stone. Hard as stone. His eyes the hardest she’s seen them. The explosion of his ejaculation bursts a hot wetness inside her. Her breath still has not returned. His coming seems to last for much longer than other men. Over and over, she feels his strong cock surging against her pussy’s snug grasp of it.
This whole time, thankfully, her heart still remembers to beat, and it has taken over for the table that no longer slams against the wall. The rhythm of her heart helps ease away the spell she was under from his intense eyes, which have blinked and softened as the surges in his cock lessen in strength. Finally, they become trembles instead of earthquakes. Finally, he backs away from her. His cock slips out of her.
She immediately misses the sensation of it, the heat and hardness of it, inside of her pussy. It had been like a promise fulfilled. A man who delivered on his word. Lived up to his talk, but he hadn’t even uttered a word about sex. Still, he had spoken with his eyes and his actions. And his fucking had definitely lived up to what his eyes and actions had promised. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t making love. It was fucking. Wonderful, deep, and glorious fucking.
Rodrick slips his cock back into his trousers and zips up. He walks to the small table next to the leather armchair and retrieves the tumbler of Scotch and takes a sip.
Grace sits up, still on the table, and feels warm and spent and quite wet between her legs. He had left a great deal of come inside of her, and that turns her on immensely. The book on the table grabs her attention. It’s still there, to the right of her. She is a little surprised that the book did not fall off the table during their fucking.
“Who is Lanzo Kahler?” she reflexively asks.
His face turns to her, a frown appearing on it. But instead of asking why she wants to know, he gazes down at the encyclopedia and puts it together, why she would ask this unexpected question.
“He’s my ancestor,” he says. “Lived in Austria. Greatly expanded our family’s wealth and land. That’s his castle there, a majestic sight that I’ve never grown tired of. It’s still standing. Still standing strong. As the stories go, Lanzo was a very boisterous fellow. Doesn’t look it in the drawing there, but he had many great loves, like horseback riding and sword fighting. And he was a legendary lover. Had his way with women from all over.”
She frowns and says, “Meaning rape.”
“Not at all. Meaning that he was a life-long bachelor, and women were quite willing to show him their charms, with the hope that he would marry them.”
“How about you?” she asks. “Are you also a life-long bachelor?”
A smile in one corner of his lips. “Just haven’t met the right woman, I suppose.”
“That’s such a pat answer. Doesn’t that mean you’re having too much fun having your way with women from all over?”
The smile in the corner of his lips grows a little. He looks at her with what she takes as being impressed. He looks at her for a few seconds, possibly savoring the moment. Then he asks, “What we just did was fun, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely,” she says. “I don’t know if I want to marry you, but I sure as hell know I want to fuck you again. If you fuck like that all the time, sign me up.”
He gives a little laugh. There’s a suggestion of merriment in his eyes. Much different than his previous hardness, that piercing hardness that had mesmerized her during the fuck. She likes this side of him, too.
“I don’t fuck like that all the time,” he says. “Sometimes I’m much softer.”
“That I’d like to see.”
“Then you can stay the week.”
An invitation that makes her want to jump up and hug him, but she restrains herself and stays sitting on the table. That burst of delight doesn’t match the mood. Instead, she says, “But I didn’t bring my toothbrush. Or a change in clothes.”
He nods. “I have extra toothbrushes. As for clothes, well, you won’t need them much of the time. You can wear a robe when I’m not fucking your brains out.”
“Is that a promise?”
“You just saw that I can deliver,” he says.
“True.” She doesn’t say it, but she loves that he can certainly live up to those words.
He adds, “And if you want clothes, I can easily buy you some from the town nearby.”
She smiles broadly, not being able to help it. “I think I’m going to like this week.”
His smile is nice and warm. The hardness has been put away. For now. “You certainly will. I know I will.”