Phantom

August 14, 1944

My heart is beating in my throat as I climb onto his lap, facing him. I bite my lip, feeling his hard length pressing into my core. He feels so much bigger than I’m used to. Yet he doesn’t seem interested in satisfying his own needs.

Another thing I’m not used to.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks, his hands sliding up my thighs, eliciting a full-body shiver. Breathing heavily, I shake my head.

His hands pause at the junction between my thigh and pelvis.

“Baby, tell me you’ve at least had an orgasm before,” he says, his tone nearly a plea.

“I—I don’t know. How would I know if I have?”

His blue eye darkens to a color similar to the Sound at the bottom of the cliff. A dark, stormy color that exhibits clear displeasure.

“You would know, my love,” he answers, a mischievous curl to his lips.

Now, I wish I had thought to touch myself. My mother never taught me anything about intimacy, and I never learned much from John, either, other than how to fall pregnant.

Sex has always felt . . . nice. But there wasn’t anything about it that made me feel inclined to seek that pleasure on my own.

The glimmer in Ronaldo’s eye suggests he’s almost anticipating the absolute devastation coming my way, and I wonder if I have been robbing myself of something far greater than what John has always made me feel.

His hands glide closer to my core, and a buzz forms beneath my skin as if a million little bees have found their way inside me.

I gasp as soon as I feel the pressure of his finger press against me, a little zing igniting from where he touches.

A single touch, and he’s already surpassed John.

My lip finds itself between my teeth again, and I’m embarrassed to admit how wet I’ve become. I’m not accustomed to these reactions he brings out of me.

“Your cunt is soaked,” he rasps, swiping his thumb over me. Even with a thin barrier between his flesh on mine, it has a visceral effect on my body. I’m two seconds away from grinding against him just to see how much better this could get. “Is that normal for you?”

“No,” I say, the word shaky and breathless. “Should it be?”

“Only for me,” he responds darkly.

He moves my underwear aside, and I’m unprepared for the jolt that rockets through me or how utterly satisfying his touch is. A shudder works through me as he explores, swiping down my center until the tip of his finger prods at my opening.

The sounds that arise should be shameful, yet sitting atop him with my legs spread open and his hand hidden beneath my dress makes me feel powerful. Instead of hiding from him, I want to display myself for only his viewing pleasure.

And rather than have him wielding my body to his every whim, I’m keen to turn it against him. Have him simpering while he pleasures me.

A sharp moan releases from my throat when he drives a digit inside of me. He groans, watching me carefully as I shudder around him.

Holding his gaze, I reach up and slide one sleeve of my dress down my arm, then the other. I’m thankful I went with a light, breezy outfit today, making it easy for the top half to droop down my waist.

Ronaldo pauses, his stare sharpening and bursting into flames.

The reaction gives me all the confidence I need to reach behind me and unclip my bra, freeing my breasts.

I roll my hips against his hand and peer at him through half-lidded eyes, injecting every bit of sensuality into my demeanor as I ask, “Why’d you stop?”

His mouth parts as I glide my hands over my breasts, moaning as I grind against him again.

A deep growl unleashes from his throat, and he’s surging forward, capturing one of the hardened peaks between his teeth. I throw my head back as his hand resumes and adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of me with vigor.

I was right.

I completely robbed myself of pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever known. And I certainly won’t be making that mistake twice.

Ronaldo sucks harshly on my nipple, eliciting pinpricks of pain followed by steep bliss. Then his thumb presses against a sensitive part of me, and I’m unable to refrain from moaning loudly.

He pulls away, popping my nipple from his mouth. “This is your clit, baby,” he explains, taking a moment to nip at my breast. “And if you rub it just like this, you’ll make yourself come easily.”

I couldn’t answer him if I tried.

One of my hands dives into his hair, gripping the strands tightly while the other clutches onto his shoulder. I whimper, my hips moving by their own volition. I wouldn’t care if he were to stop moving, I’d do the rest myself. At this moment, he’s a tool, and I will use him as such.

However, he only works me harder, his fingers moving over and in me expertly and with a skill that I don’t know I could replicate.

My stomach tightens, a knot forming as the euphoria rises with each passing second. It grows, and grows, and grows until I cannot fathom how this isn’t an orgasm—how it could possibly feel any better than this.

“Do you like the way I make your cunt feel, mia rosa?” he asks, his voice as rough as gravel and deeper than the Sound beyond the cliff. Another sharp nip to my breast, and I’m moaning again.

“Uh-huh,” I moan, my eyes fluttering and my chest heaving.

“Let me hear you say it,” he demands. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“G-god, Ronaldo,” I whine. How could he possibly expect me to utter another word, let alone a full sentence? His teeth sink into my sensitive nipple, causing me to jolt against him, the pain flaring brighter this time. It was a warning bite, yet it backfired and only heightened my pleasure.

I thought I didn’t need him to make me come, yet I want him to. I want him to lose his mind as I say dirty things to him—words I’ve never spoken in my life. I want him to be so overtaken with need for me, he can think of nothing else.

I want this man to bow at my feet and serve me.

His pale-blue eye locks with mine, causing my core to clench around him from the pure animalistic lust swirling in his gaze. His left eye may be lacking in eyesight, but it does not lack in showing how greatly he desires me.

“You make my cunt feel so good, Ronaldo,” I purr, cupping the underside of my breasts and lifting them closer to his wet mouth. “And it’s all yours to do whatever you want with.”

The pupil in his right eye dilates, consuming the blue of his iris until it’s nearly entirely black. They remind me of yin and yang, and it’s a riveting sight to behold. Even more so knowing that I drew that reaction out of him.

“You think I need your permission to play with this pretty pussy whenever I please?” he asks, binding his free arm around my back, entrapping me in his embrace. “I would dare to do so with your husband right next to us, forced to watch while I lick you and fuck you. And neither of you could do a damn thing about it.”

I had thought he sounded like the devil before. But that was nothing compared to now. His voice is unrecognizable—his eyes, too. He stares at me as if I’m a measly mouse caught beneath his paw and he hasn’t eaten in ages.

“You think so? What if I fought you, pleaded for you to stop?” I challenge breathlessly, struggling to keep my eyes from crossing.

He groans, nearly crowing at the thought of me fighting him. “It would only be a shame if you didn’t cry, too,” he responds wickedly. “Those tears would be as delectable as your pussy.”

His words are awful, and at first, I wonder if he’s trying to scare me, especially given what John did to me. But despite the pleasure turning my brain to mush, I soon understand what he’s doing. He’s testing me, presenting me with a fantasy in which I’d enjoy my power being stripped away. A fantasy that will still keep me up at night, but only because I’m aroused by the thought of it.

My skin flushes hotter, and my core pulses around him, driving me closer to the edge. An image sparks in my mind of John and me both tied to our bed. Except I’m completely nude with my legs spread wide, and Ronaldo is between them while his cock pumps in and out of me. My husband is forced to watch, and I’m undeniably enjoying everything my phantom is doing to me.

I can’t breathe, and blackness is beginning to lick at the edges of my vision, threatening to consume me as entirely as the man beneath me.

I’ll let it, too, just as I’m helpless to stop Ronaldo from doing the same.

“Ronaldo, I think I—” I’m lost for what to say and how to describe this foreign feeling. There’s pressure on my bladder, and it almost feels as if I’m going to soil myself. “I don’t know what’s happening,” I whimper, my thighs trembling violently as the ecstasy climbs to a sharp point.

“Relax, mia rosa,” he soothes. “Your body knows what to do, so just let it happen.”

I cry helplessly, overwhelmed with the pleasure, and a little nervous about how my body is going to react.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing such a good job. Let me see how pretty you look when you come all over my fingers.”

“Oh my— Ronaldo, I—”

“Be a good girl and fucking come for me, Genevieve. Don’t make me ask you again,” he snarls, his tone dropping wickedly.

My head kicks back, and I’m careening over the edge with a violent scream. Though it’s no less devastating than the explosion that rocks through me. And I lose my ever-loving mind to it.

Faintly, I feel my body seizing above him, shamelessly grinding into his hand as my fingers claw at his skull and tear at his hair. Unintelligible sounds pour from my lips because I’m either unable to form words or hear a damn thing.

My body is completely possessed, and I no longer control any part of it. Not the way it moves or the noises it makes. I’m a slave to the euphoria, and all I can do is succumb to it.

His fingers continue to work me, only prolonging my climax until I quite literally am unable to breathe.

I think I’m okay with dying in his arms.

My God, is it a good way to go.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I’m finally given a reprieve. The orgasm wanes, and all awareness comes rushing back in. I’m cradling his head and draped over him, and his face is tucked into the crook of my neck while I mindlessly ride his fingers.

“You’re so goddamn pretty when you come. Fuck, Genevieve. Keep fucking my fingers. Your pussy is squeezing them so tight.” He bites out the words, his voice impossibly deep and scarcely penetrating the cloud engulfing my mind.

Moans and cries spill from my throat, slowly tapering into breathless whimpers as it becomes impossible to suck in a breath of air.

Even as I come down, the aftershocks take over, causing me to quiver and jolt against him. My head swims, and my lungs burn from being deprived of oxygen for so long.

All the while, Ronaldo continues to croon encouragements in my ear. “Such a good girl. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.”

Butterflies writhe and thrash senselessly in my stomach from his words, and if my brain wasn’t so fried, I’d give more of a reaction other than a twitch and a blubbering sound.

Eventually, I deflate, utterly spent. Gently, Ronaldo removes his hand and readjusts my underwear. It’s only then I realize that wetness is quite literally dripping down my thighs. I lean back slowly, almost afraid to look down.

I do, anyway, and my mouth drops from the sight. Not only are my thighs and underwear soaked but Ronaldo’s entire lap and stomach are . . . he’s drenched! His hand is— Oh my God, there’s a small pool of my arousal in his palm.

Flabbergasted, I’m rendered speechless as he lifts his cupped palm to his open mouth and tips it, the liquid dripping into his mouth. His eyes roll as if he’s found a pond in the middle of a desert and has only his hands to drink it down.

“Ronaldo!” I screech, finally finding my voice.

He grins, his lips and chin glistening. It’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever been privy to, and I’m confounded as to how to react.

So I gape at him as he slowly and thoroughly licks his fingers clean.

“You’ve lost your mind,” I whisper.

That only widens the satisfied smirk crawling up his face, and I’m tempted to smack it. The man has every right to feel good about himself, but that doesn’t mean he has to gloat about it.

“Since the moment I saw you, mia rosa.”

August 14, 1944

Shame is what I’m supposed to feel. I feel none of that.

Maybe except for allowing my husband to go years without making me feel what Ronaldo did today. My God, I didn’t know the human body was capable of feeling something so glorious.

And I am a little miffed that it took thirty-five years for me to feel it just once. Especially because John has experienced it all this time. The bastard.

But how will I ever stop now?

After dinner, Sera went off to do her schoolwork and John sat in the living room, drinking a beer and listening to the radio. So I sneaked off to the bedroom and touched myself for the first time. I wanted to experience that feeling again, and I couldn’t contain myself.

It wasn’t as intense as when Ronaldo touched me, but the euphoria was still very much present. Admittedly, it took me a few minutes to figure out what I liked. My mind slipped away, and all I could think about was my phantom. The raw hunger on his face as he touched me today, the filthy words that spilled from his mouth. My fingers took over after that and moved on instinct.

It was incredible. And oddly enough, all I want to do is tell Ronaldo about it. See the flames in his gaze as I recant every moment of what I did to myself. Already I want to do it again, but worse yet, I want Ronaldo to do it again.

I fear he has created an insatiable monster, and now he must live with the consequences.

A mad woman, he has made me.

But if this is madness, I don’t ever want to be sane.