SPY X FAMILY
CHAPTER XXVIII: Roaring 20s
The elevator doors opened directly on the floor that had been rented by Becky. Music resonated loudly, along with the laughter and vivid discussions of all her guests. Balloons and ribbons of all colours were flying. Lights in various shades were dancing to the rhythm of the music, played by a group on an elevated stage. The crowd of white and shimmering figures dancing in the middle of the vast ball room stood out. There were several tables and waiters, carrying trays of food, drinks, and appetizers.
“How did we underestimate her, yet again?” Damian asked, his voice barely audible above the loud music reminiscent of the 1920s, with a modern take that made every young people here rejoice.
They turned towards the host and main celebration of the evening. Becky ran to them, hugging Anya so suddenly and tightly the two girls almost fell over. Damian just stared, already tired of the exuberant show.
“I’m so glad you’re here! Finally!!”
“Happy birthday, Becky! You’re stunning!” Anya exclaimed, looking at her friend’s outfit.
Becky chuckled, posing for her friends, ignoring Damian’s blatant roll of his eyes. She wore a flapper-dress, red with glittering black sequins and fringes. She wore pearls, no glove, but she had a stunning headdress with a red feather and black details of what was reminiscent of a black dahlia. Her makeup made her eyes and lips pop with a bright red that made her look older than her sixteen years.
“Wait– your hair!” Anya exclaimed, touching the tip of her new haircut.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s amazing! You look so cute!”
Anya admired the short hair. Becky had cut it far shorter than she had ever had with a fringe and gentle curls to frame her face. Becky laughed, delighted by the rain of compliments.
“Oh! I must introduce you to Antonio!”
“Who?” Damian asked, confused.
But Becky grabbed Anya’s hand and pulled her in the crowd, so quickly that Damian was just left in front of the elevator, confused and lost.
“Wonderful, not even two minutes and I’ve already lost her…” he grumbled.
He was about to start exploring the crowd and enjoying the party, with or without Anya, when the elevator doors opened again with a loud ‘ting’. He looked over his shoulder and his expression darkened even more.
“…Greetings, Watkins,” he said.
“Ah. You. Greetings.”
They glanced at each other warily, appreciating little to be stuck on the edge of the dancing crowd together.
“If you’re here, it means that Anya is there too. Is she well?” Watkins asked.
“I’m sure you can ask her yourself. I’m not her babysitter.” He answered vaguely, shrugging.
He gave his gift for Blackbell to a servant, Watkins did the same, and the waiter brought it to a pile that was near collapsing on the side of the room.
“…I’ll go give my best wishes to Becky. Have you seen her?” Watkins asked.
Damian made a vague gesture towards the dancing, bouncing crowd.
“Good luck finding her.”
Watkins didn’t answer, probably strategizing the best way to find a target in such a wild environment.
Damian decided to get away from him and started exploring the place, finding Emile dancing in the crowd. He found Ewen near the drinks. There was a pyramid of champagne glasses, further away there was a chocolate fountain with an array of fruits to pick and a long table of more savoury delicacies to eat.
“Boss-man! I saw Anya earlier, with Becky, she was very pretty!”
“Pretty? She’s radiant,” Damian corrected with a frown.
“Ah? Uh, yeah, sure. Are you gonna dance?”
“…Not my style.”
“Shame! But hey, there are other stuff to do over there!”
Ewen dragged him to another side of the massive ballroom, finding more activities. Some couple, that he recognized from Eden, were making out in front of a black and white, silent movie that no one really looked at. There were some billiards, and some tables for card games, including what he thought was poker. There had been a few evenings at Eden where the dorms’ students had participated in such contests.
He glanced over his shoulder, at the incredible music, his feet unconsciously tapping to the rhythm. Anya wasn’t in sight, still, so he shrugged and joined a couple of card games and billiards, not minding trying out these various drinks and cocktails the waiters were distributing. Martinis, mojitos, gin & tonic – all 1920s popular drinks that he had never gotten to try in his brother’s fancy parties.
Anya, on her side, was enjoying the various drinks as thoroughly. Becky enthusiastically introduced her to Antonio and his friends – a group of Italian, rich, young men Becky had met the previous summer. Antonio and her had had a bit of a romance, and they had kept in touch. Anya hadn’t realised it had been a serious enough fling that he’d be invited, along with his friends, to come all the way to Berlint to spend New Year with Becky.
He was charming enough, if not a bit older, Anya was glad to speak Italian and understand his thoughts. He definitely had a strong crush to Becky, but he probably wasn’t quite as taken into her and she, him.
“Come on, let’s dance!”
Becky dragged Anya on the dancefloor. It didn’t take long for the crazy atmosphere and the alcohol to get to her head and follow the frantic rhythm.
It was impossible to not be taken into the crazy atmosphere of this 1920s party. More than a theme, Becky had invented a time machine to take all these young, rich, pressured kids, suddenly unsupervised, into the time of colourful, prosperous, duty-free Roaring 20s! They were loud, happy, booze was flowing, and they didn’t have a worry in the world. It was a gleeful carnival of sensations and experiences. The glittering outfits and jewellery inspired everyone to follow the frenzied dance steps of the professional dancers on the central, round stage, elevated in the very centre of the ballroom.
For a very long time, Anya lost herself in the dancing, following the enthusiastic steps of the Charleston. It didn’t take long for Becky, the star of the evening, to climb on the central scene, joining the dancers, pulling Anya with her. At some point, spinning and dizzy from the frenetic dance that the dancer she had been paired with was doing, Anya caught sight of Damian, staring at her from the other side of the ballroom, on a slightly elevated part. He lifted his drink, grinning to her. She smiled back, just as Becky grabbed her hands. They danced, swinging their hips wildly, heels clicking at every Charleston back-and-forth step. Becky threw her leg up, almost dropping off the stage, if not for Anya and a couple of dancers who caught her.
Still laughing, so hard their abs hurt, sweaty and quite certain their makeup was smudged, the two young ladies finally made their way towards some couches where the Italian group of young men was lounging. Two were openly making out with two young girls, friends of Becky, but the latter didn’t seem to mind. She settled herself against Antonio who lit up when seeing her. He gave her a red coloured cocktail, with a cherry floating in it. She drank it all in one-go, as thirsty as Anya was.
“Chi sei, bellissima donna?” one of the gentlemen who wasn’t currently busy with another asked Anya.
He smiled charmingly, she could have almost been flattered, if he hadn’t had the balls of putting his arm around her shoulders. She forced a smile, grabbing his wrist in what she hoped was a warning gesture.
“Sono un’amica di Becky…” she answered.
It had the opposite effect as the young man’s eyes sparkled to hear her speak his language, with an accent he found sexy to that – or so, she heard in his mind. She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, glancing at Becky who was too lost talking with Antonio to notice a thing.
“Ma! È perfetto! Mi chiamo Carlo, sono un’amico di Antonio! I tuoi occhi sono merovigliosi–”
Anya looked up, secretly glad to see Damian stand there, a threatening grin on his face. He looked down at the Italian man, like a ferocious gangster, protecting his lady, in his white suit. Anya’s stomach did a flip and she straightened up, smiling to her boyfriend.
Without waiting for an answer, or for the stunned drunk man to get over his apparition. Damian, still smiling sweetly, took his hand, pushed it off Anya’s shoulders, and he settled himself between the two. It forced Carlo to shuffle away, annoyance clear on his face. Damian put his hand on Anya’s shoulders, dragging her into him and settling down in the couch like he owned it.
“Are you anyone important?” he asked Carlo.
The poor man knew a defeat when he saw one. He stood up, following one of his friends who had been kissing a young woman. He glared at Damian, while putting his arm over both his friend and the girl’s shoulders.
“Ugh, Italians…” Damian grumbled, rolling his eyes, “Are you okay?” he asked Anya.
“I’m fine, I was just about to break his wrist when you showed up.”
“Ah, then next time I should be a little more patient.”
She laughed at that, which made him smile.
“Who are these guys, anyway?”
“Becky’s friends from her trip in Italy. She really, really likes Antonio,” Anya continued, talking directly in his ear to not be overheard despite the music.
She pointed discreetly at the young man who was vividly talking with a chuckling and blushing Becky.
“How old even is this guy?”
“Only seventeen, but he looks way older.”
“Probably lied about his age.”
“Nah, he didn’t. She’s making progress, getting a crush on a reasonably aged man.”
“Ah, yes, the last one had been twenty-nine. Or was it fourty-three?” he teased.
She elbowed him, making him laugh. He made a sign to a waiter who brought them drinks. He took two, handing one to Anya. Her head turned and spun, but it was a delightful feeling. Perhaps it was the atmosphere that encouraged her to get as tipsy as possible. It made dancing and laughing so much easier. She could tell from the way he thought and how easy his smile was that Damian was also quite tipsy.
“The least this– what was his name?”
“The least this Carlo could have done was offer you a drink. What a ruffian.”
“Said the man dressed like a gangster–”
“You love it.” he said, quickly nipping at her ear.
She startled and blushed, the rush of blood through her body making her feel sweaty again. Damian grinned, as if he knew exactly the effect he had had on her.
She stared at him, at his lips. His smile widened as they leaned towards each other. Lost in their very own bubble, she put her hand on his leg, squeezing just above his knee. He took her wrist in his fingers, intent on making her touch him further–
“Ah! Damian!” Becky exclaimed, finally noticing him, “Meet Antonio! Antonio, this is Desmond!”
“AH, nice, nice to meet you! Enchanted! Piacere di conoscerti! Ah, che donna meravigliosa, vero?” he continued, pointing at Anya.
“Uh, yeah, si, si,” Damian agreed, although he wasn’t quite sure at what.
Antonio must have guessed it, because he laughed.
“Lucky, lucky man, you!”
“Y-yeah, I am!”
The music was too loud to converse easily. Becky said something into Antonio’s ear and they stood up to go dancing.
“Come on, get moving, you two!” she told them, moving to the dancefloor with Antonio.
Damian stood up, showing his hand to Anya. She flushed, taking it. But before he’d pull her towards the crowd of dancing people, she noticed several people’s thoughts aimed at her and Damian.
Is this Forger? Are they together?
There’s no way, he must be drunk–
Damn it, I had wanted to seduce him tonight!
Glancing over her shoulder, she stopped Damian, noticing several young women from Eden who had been following Damian like vultures.
“Do you prefer to go watch the movies?” he asked, leaning towards her ear to cover the loud melodies.
“What movies– no! But… people are watching, they’ll know about us! Your brother hasn’t given his blessing…”
She glanced, not as discreetly as she had hoped to be, towards the group of young women who were pretending to not be interested in Damian. He followed her gaze and understood her worries. The vultures started getting closer, thinking they had Damian’s attention.
We should probably be more discreet until Demetrius gives his blessing but…
The music changed, to something even catchier.
Too tipsy to care, determined to show to everyone that Anya was his and he was hers, he put his arm around her waist. He pulled her to him swiftly and kissed her. His lips and tongue tasted of martini, a distinct difference with the cherry cocktail she had been enjoying most of the evening.
Several people gasped, not just the little vultures, but even among the dancing crowd. Despite a few other guests, the great majority were Eden students – students who knew very well who Damian Desmond and Anya Forger were… and what their relationship now was.
He pulled away with a big grin.
“Let them see!” he exclaimed.
Before Anya, still flabbergasted by his drunken kiss, could react, he took her hand and took her on the dancefloor. Laughing to herself, she vaguely heard a few shocked and jealous thoughts, but she shut it out, focusing only on the music and Damian’s smile. He took her by the waist and, surprisingly, he had no trouble following the rhythm of what was on the opposite of his usual gala dances. The alcohol might have had a bit of a hand in it.
Anya lost herself in the dancing and in Damian’s arms. A few minutes, or a few hours later, legs achy and sweat accumulated in all the worst places, the music slowed down until it turned into a new take on “Happy Birthday”. Everyone started singing, carrying entire bottles of champagne over their heads as Becky was brought on the main central stage. It was only then that it hit Anya how ingenious Becky’s colour-coded instructions had been: every man was in various shades of white and cream, all the women in metallic colours like gold or silver – but Becky was the only one who could pull off a red and black dress. She stood out like the cherry on top of a cake, the wildest, most cheerful spot of colour in these waves of white and sparkling students.
Four waiters came in, carrying an enormous birthday cake. The whole crowd parted ways, still singing, for them. They put it in front of Becky who swung and danced, sending kisses to the crowd still singing Happy Birthday. Just as they cheered on the final notes, she blew the candles. More cheering ensued, echoed by a brilliant trumpet solo by one of the musicians.
While the waiters started cutting the cake, big enough to feed an army, Becky took the first bites, in front of everyone, publicly sharing her plate with Antonio. Just as Damian somehow managed to get his hands over two plates of the cake, black and red like she was, a delicious forêt noir that Anya was already reaching for.
The wide glass doors opened. Breezes of cold air blew in, refreshing everyone that has been close to melting.
Most people rushed out on the balcony, like every other party of the Ritz-Charlton Hotel. Becky hadn’t been the only one to book an entire floor. Drunken chanting and partying echoed from below and above them. Becky had climbed on a table, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a long and dangerously sharp knife in the other.
“Is it New Year already?” Anya asked, eagerly hopping to the balcony.
“It appears so, I didn’t notice how many hours had gone by!” he said following her, realising that she had somehow managed to snitch one of the cake plates for herself without his noticing.
Some people started counting, a little chaotically, then everyone in the hotel, the air carrying the voices of the different floors and balconies, everyone in Becky 1920s party, people in nearby buildings, people in the streets, down, down, started chanting the few seconds before the New Year:
“Ten! Nine! Eight!!”
Damian grabbed Anya’s waist, kissing her quickly:
“Last kiss of the year–”
She grinned at him as everyone around them, kept screaming quite literally from the rooftops:
“Four! Three! Two! ONE!!”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”
Anya jumped, ecstatically, shouting as energetically as everyone else.
They were cheering just as the first fireworks started, not far from the hotel, giving them a magnificent and perfect view.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!”
Becky used the long knife to break open the bottle of champagne, the fuzzy alcohol raining on them. More bottles were opened the same way, making Anya break in laughter.
Wind rose, making the entire crowd shiver but they kept screaming at every blooming light in the sky. Figures and effects were drawn in explosive paintings above their heads, colouring everyone’s faces and glimmering outfits.
Damian gave his half-eaten cake to Anya and took off his jacket to put it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, thankful, his cake already in her mouth.
“Hey– I just handed it to you so I could put my jacket on you!”
She should have felt guilty, but she laughed. She gathered the very last bits of the slice on the spoon, on dangerous balance (she had eaten her entire slice already?!) and forced it into his mouth. He almost chocked, quickly munching on the sweet chocolate and cherry cake. Once swallowed, she left the plates to a nearby waiter.
People were sharing kisses, embracing each other and wishing more New Year’s congratulations. The fireworks were still ongoing, the music was still resonating behind them. It was chaos.
Damian saw the massive figure of Watkins giving quick kisses to Becky and other ladies or vigorous handshakes to some friends, including Ewen and Emile who almost fell off the balcony by the force of the shoulder pat they received. Suddenly possessive at the very idea that the giant man would dare look at Anya and think he could kiss her, even for the New Year, Damian grabbed her waist. He pulled her against him, suddenly, and dived headfirst into paradise.
Anya moaned against him, putting her hands against his cheeks, kissing him back. The sweetness of the forêt noir and the tanginess of the alcohol exploded on their tongues and yet, what drunken them the most, was the taste of their love. She melted against him, her body meeting his eagerly. He dived his fingers against her cheeks, her neck, along the length of her back, ignoring the way his fingers got tangled in the fringes of her dress.
The fireworks finale exploded in the sky, causing the entire city to erupt in further cheering.
Anya and Damian’s bodies were the ones to light up, not noticing anything that was happening outside of their bubble of dizzy embrace.
Watkins was completely forgotten, they were so lost in their long, passionate kiss that they didn’t notice it when the young man passed them, eyes wide at their obvious display of affection. In truth, no matter how many gazes glanced their way, they didn’t care.
After a few minutes, they finally pulled away, breathing hard. In the winter night, their breathes caused some fog, but most of the crowd had gone back inside. The fireworks still echoed in their minds and bodies, but it was over. The party continued, the music echoing more wildly than before if possible.
“We should go back inside…” Anya murmured, feeling him shivering in the winter breeze.
“Mmm, uh, yeah…”
He pecked her lips, they deepened the kiss, just as Becky stomped outside.
“Oi! Stop kissing! I need Anya!” she exclaimed, grabbing her best friend’s arm even though they were in the middle of kissing.
“Don’t you have your Italian guy for that?!” Damian whined.
Anya grabbed his hand, heels clicking as Becky furiously brought her back inside. He was dragged as well and without quite knowing why, they were back at dancing, and dancing, until their feet and legs ached, and they kept dancing even after that.
They lost complete and absolute notion of time. Damian was just vaguely aware of sitting in a couch and noticing that firstly, his mind was clearing up from alcohol, secondly, most guests were leaving, and thirdly, the music was (finally) quieting down. His head was pounding.
Anya came back so suddenly he jumped when she sat down, loudly.
“I found your jacket, it was near the pyramid of gifts,” she said, handing it to him.
She carried a big plate with another pyramid, of sweets she apparently craved, following the evening (night?) of dancing.
“Here, keep it, you’ll catch a cold now that you’re not dancing like a mad woman,” he said, putting it back on her shoulders.
She smiled, and handed him a miraculous slice of birthday cake that had survived all these hours of partying.
“Thank you,” he said, realising he was quite hungry.
They spent a while, quietly eating everything Anya had brought on that plate.
From the other side of the ballroom, Bill Watkins stared at them. He sensed an enemy approaching and he glanced down at Becky. She looked exhausted, her feathers and headdress were gone, her hair was sticking all around, but a giant smile was plastered on her face.
“Your lipstick is all over your face,” he noticed, frowning.
“Not as much as on Antonio’s face,” she answered, laughing loudly at her blatant display of drunken affection to the young Italian man who was somewhere, “Are you going to provoke Damian in a dramatic duel?”
“…No. I genuinely thought that Anya was perfect for me but… I’m not so sure anymore.” He admitted regretfully, alcohol untying his tongue.
Becky, looking surprisingly sober, glanced up at him.
“If it can be of any comfort to you… I really thought that you could have made Anya content.”
“But content is not happy, right? And only Desmond could give her that…”
“He’s an impossible competition, and once he sets his mind on something, there’s no slowing him down.” Becky continued with a smile.
“…They look happy. I’m glad.”
Becky turned her attention towards her friend. Anya was laughing while Damian grimaced for all the chocolate she had accidentally put on his face. She wiped it away and their gazes met. For a moment, there was nothing but simple solace shining between them. It quickly turned into a cheerful banter as he grabbed her hands and applied melted chocolate on her nose. Laughing, Anya fell into his chest. He kissed her forehead, uncaring of who would witness them, half-sprawled on the couch, kissing and teasing.
“They’re adorable!” Becky exclaimed, a hand to her cheek.
“…I guess they are. And… you too.”
Blinking, she looked up at Bill Watkins who gritted his teeth.
“You think I’m adorable?”
He looked down at her, as astonished as her.
“I meant, you and your Italian boyfriend.”
“Oh, of course.”
They stared at each other, suddenly awkward.
“I should go. Enjoy your birthday and New Year, Becky!” Watkins suddenly exclaimed.
“What was that?” she wondered, staring at him go, raising a curious eyebrow.
“Miss Blackbell, most of the guests have left, except for the ones for whom you have extended their invitations to a bedroom on the floor. Should we distribute them their rooms’ keys?” a waiter came to ask her.
“Oh, yes, please! I’ll withdraw soon. Do you have everything handled?”
The waiter started distributing the keys to the few guests and very close friends she had wanted to keep for the night and spend all of the first of January with. Anya and Damian received their respective keys and it didn’t take long for the two of them to stand up and go to the back of the ballroom, which had been hidden this entire time, to access the few rented rooms.
Becky smirked to herself, watching them go.
“Why such a smile?” Antonio asked, coming back to her, and pinching her cheek teasingly.
“All according to plan…” she answered mysteriously.
He leaned down, telling her a few words that sent shivers down her spine. She laughed and he picked her up, bridal-style, carrying her to her rented room.
Anya and Damian followed the hall of numbers. Some rooms were obviously already used and closed. They stopped, in front of Room 927.
“That’s my room, let me walk you to yours,” he said.
“Uh? No, that’s my room,” she corrected.
They glanced at each other’s cards.
“There’s no way…” he mumbled, opening the door.
Without as much surprise as they should have, they found both their bags on the luxurious bed.
“Of course, I should have guessed Blackbell would get us only one room… Damn this conniving woman–” Damian cursed, throwing his jacket on a nearby chair.
“Does it matter? It’s not like we haven’t spent a night in each other’s bed previously…” Anya answered, quickly removing her shoes and throwing them on the side in the decided manner that a woman who didn’t intend to walk around any longer did.
“I-I guess not…” he answered, flushing.
She hurried in the bathroom, probably the main reason why she didn’t want to waste looking for another room or debate with Becky. Or so he thought, because when she came back, she looked refreshed. Her smudged make-up had been arranged, the sweat was gone from her brow, she even smelled better than he did.
Suspicious, Damian walked around her as she took off her earrings.
“W-what?” she asked, glancing up at him from under her eyelashes.
“…You cleaned up.”
“Well, yes, I don’t want to stink in bed!” she exclaimed, pouting a little.
“You can take a shower, if you want,” he said, shrugging, certain there’d be a collection of soft towels.
He sat down on a couch, putting one ankle on his knee, looking at her up and down.
“Go on, then, I’ll wait here for my turn.” He said, shrugging.
She slammed her jewellery down on the table, glaring at him for some reason.
What is it? I’m being a gentleman, letting her go first, no?
Then he noticed the way she was looking at him, her eyes travelling over his black shirt, down to the white trousers. He raised an eyebrow, temptation and pride suddenly flaring up in him.
“Unless… you want me to be the one taking off your clothes, doll…” he continued, standing up in a swift, elegant movement.
She stammered as he made his way to her. He didn’t waste a minute to smoothly cup her cheek, kissing her longingly. She arched against him, like she had done on the balcony, a couple of hours ago. He was suddenly reminded of the way she had been staring at him all evening. He pulled away, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. He loved beyond reason the way she kept staring at his lips, as if hypnotised.
“But you might prefer taking off my clothes?” he teased, sensually.
A slight whine escaped her. They locked gazes, silently pondering if they should do such a thing. They had kissed a lot, wanted a lot, and their last experience had been short and intense. They had been sober, which had helped guiding their actions instead of blurring the limits of what they were ready to do.
“Are you tipsy right now?” he asked seriously.
He kissed her again, hard enough that she stumbled against the table. She immediately kissed him back. Any trace of alcohol burnt away, replaced by the fizzy and building excitation of youthful lust.
The build-up was fast and intense, they had spent the entire evening eying one another, warmed by alcohol and bodies pressed close.
Damian put his hands on her hips, bringing her up on the table, kissing her jaw and neck. She tilted her head backwards, her fingers tangling in his hair. She grabbed the damn fedora that had haunted her all evening, throwing it away. His hands were already rubbing the sides of her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. They kissed again, excitedly, sloppily. Impatiently, roughly, she started pulling at his tie and the buttons of his black shirt. Once open, he quickly took it off his shoulders. Anya held back a growl as she leaned down, kissing his neck, hands tracing his sides and muscles. He sighed, smiling to himself as she explored his body. He took off the headdress from her hair and started pulling at the long pearl necklaces still clinging against her dress.
Sensing the pull of the necklaces against her throat, she looked up, helping him pull them off. When only one was left, Damian used it to force her head backwards. Careful not to pull too tightly, he kissed and bit her neck, not caring if anyone saw the love bites all over her body the next day.
Anya groaned, dragging her leg against his side. The sound that vibrated against his tongue, the salty taste of her sweaty skin taking over his lips, and her slight movement, sparked a fiery desire. Moving away, he took off her necklace, admiring her for a short moment. Sitting on the table, bending backwards, her legs keeping him close. Her emerald eyes met his, darkened by lust.
He had never seen her like that before.
He started pulling at her dress. She jumped off the table, helping him out by pulling and wriggling her body until the sparkly clothe clicked on the floor. He immediately dug his fingers in her sides, drawing him to him. She kissed him back, pushing him and pulling him towards the bed, no doubt feeling his hardening desire for her. The moment her hands were around his shoulders, he bent down and lifted her up once more. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He dropped her on the edge of the bed, pushing without a care their bags that were still there. They fell loudly on the floor. She unclasped her bra in one swift movement.
He fell on his knees. Reverence shone in his gaze as he devoured the sight of her delicious body.
The slightest gasp escaped her, revealing her surprise as he pulled her towards him. He kissed her tummy, making her giggle. He traced the lean muscles until he reached her breasts. Their previous and short experience proved to be promising because he didn’t hesitate when he put his mouth around the erect nipple, using his hand to tease the other. It didn’t take long for Anya to arch into his mouth, sighing and moaning. Bolder, he started using his teeth, making her gasp and shake under him. The mix of teeth, tongue, sucking, and tweaking proved marvellous. She pulled at his hair, her voice and gasps more erratic and less and less subtle. He loved those sounds, every single sound that came out of her made him harder and braver.
“Anya, I’m going to make you scream now,” he said in a voice dark with promises.
She glanced at him, curious and turned-on by those words. She imperceptibly tried to close her legs, but he grabbed her thighs, not letting her do such a foolish thing. Not when he was hot and rampant like that.
“D-Damian…” she sighed.
Holding onto her knees, keeping her legs open for him, he leaned down. He quickly smelled the musty scent of her desire. That urged him on.
He had that effect on her. She became wet because of him. She wriggled and moaned for him.
Of course, she made him feel a thousand times hotter than normal, and she wasn’t even touching him.
Some savage, animalistic urge took over him as he breathed in deep. All he wanted was to bury his face in her most intimate flower, to discover her petals and glistening bud, one after another. With his tongue, obviously.
He reigned in his feral instinct and gently kissed the side of her knee, slowly, dangerously slowly making his way up her thigh, leaving soft pecks, delighting in the soft skin.
“A… a kiss for a kiss…” Anya let out, breathing heavily, “You expect the same in return… right?”
He hadn’t expected anything, but his cock throbbed eagerly at that idea.
“Dangerous thing to say, you sheba,” he answered.
The animal took over. He grabbed the sides of her underwear, pulling abruptly. She gasped, almost jumping off the bed. Without wasting a second, he grabbed her hips and pulled her to him. He buried his face against her core. Her gasp was not quite finished when she screamed, in shock.
He should have probably been more tender for his first taste of her, a faraway part of his brain thought.
He moaned. His mind blanked. It was all he lived for now.
Anya’s lips trembled as he slowly, excruciatingly slowly, started exploring her in a way she never had. Her fists tightened in the sheets. All she could see was his mess of black hair and his bare shoulders, moving to the rhythm of his head.
His tongue touched her clitoris. Electrified, she let out a scream. He startled, as surprised as she was by her sudden reaction. She grabbed his hair, not knowing if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. As he did another sweep of his tongue against her pearl, she just tightened her fist.
She closed her lips, throwing her head backwards. He tightened his grip on her, which somehow made it worse– no, better, so much better. It didn’t take long for Damian to figure out what she liked, what made her jump and gasp.
He pulled away, glancing up. He licked his lips, which made her core heat so quickly that it was a miracle she didn’t burst into flames.
“I said I wanted to hear you scream…” he said darkly.
He passed his fingers against her core. She honestly saw white and black, lost in some other place for a short moment.
“M-make me–” she replied in a gasp.
He growled, gladly accepting the challenge. He used his fingers, diving them into her vagina. She cried out, this time in pain. He must have understood that he had been too rough, too quick, because he pulled them out, biting his lower lip.
“J-just… go slowly… please…” she answered.
He nodded, deciding against using his fingers. He just traced her clitoris and her entrance with his tongue, quickly making her sigh and moan once more.
She felt his fingers probe gently. She felt his need for encouragement, all his courage gone after accidentally hurting that sensitive area. She opened her legs wider, softly pulling at his hair. That was all he needed to slowly use one finger to enter her. He moaned against her, his tongue making the sound vibrate into her entire body. She almost fell backwards, overwhelmed by sensation. White and black dots danced in front of her eyes. She had to breathe to focus on what he was doing, which immediately sent another tingling wave from her core to her entire body, leaving sparkling heat.
He seemed encouraged by it, using his fingers and his tongue to make her moan more, louder. She tightened her hold on his hair. He used his teeth, making her gasp and arch her body.
His other hand caressed her inner thigh. She shivered. Violently.
His fingers reached a part of her that made her go blind.
Her abs burnt from holding herself up. She fell backwards, on the bed. But it wasn’t done yet. He pressed his hand against her tummy to keep her down, intensifying the rhythm of his tongue against her.
“A-ah! D-Damian!” she cried out, rolling her hips to meet his mouth.
He growled against her, starting to move back and forth his finger. It was too much and not enough. She bucked her hips, a moan building, building in the back of her throat.
“P-please! J-just– Damian!” she continued, voice rising as he passed his free hand against her tummy, up her ribs that stood out from her frenetic movements, until he grasped her breast.
The accumulation of sensation only encouraged her further to roll her hips, against his mouth, his delightful tongue, desperate to reach the absolute culmination that only he could offer her.
Realising he was getting clumsy with her erratic wriggling, he took out his fingers. She gasped. Both hands dug into the tender flesh of her hips. He pressed his mouth impossibly deeper, growling, moaning, as her taste invaded his mouth.
His tongue went faster, harder. Her orgasm hit them both.
“AAAH!” she cried out, arching off the bed.
Body electrified. Skin covered in pearls of sweat. Nothing but white took over her mind. Frozen over the bed, fingers tight around his hair, Anya barely realised what had happened until she completely collapsed on the bed.
She had never had a peak like that. Breathing hard, she opened her eyes, white and black dots dancing happily. That orgasm had hit her like a sudden summer rain, accompanied by thunderous lightning.
Breathing hard, she didn’t even realise, eyes getting surprisingly sleepy after such a high, that her fingers had let go of Damian’s hair until he moved, away from her. She suddenly felt too cold, shivering from the accumulated sweat on her too hot skin. Her entire body shook, and she realised that it wasn’t just the air that made her shiver – it was the aftermath of her peak, like the echoes of an earthquake. All her muscles tensed, rolling against her, like a cat curling his back, asking for more pettings.
Damian made his way next to her, leaning on one elbow, grinning so widely he couldn’t even properly lick his lips. He was so proud of himself, he was glowing like a star. She looked up at him, taking in his dishevelled state, the glistening love juice on his chin. And his eyes. His burning, intense, green-golden eyes that she wanted to drown in.
“So? Am I amazing or amazing?” he asked cockily.
She didn’t bother answering. She put her hands against his cheeks, rolling him on his back and kissing him deeply. He moaned, hand going against the back of her head to intensify their kiss. Her leg brushed against his trousers, and she was suddenly aware that she was entirely naked, and he had yet to drop the rest of his clothes.
She didn’t waste time, making her way down his chin, his throat, leaving kisses and biting marks that made him shiver and growl. It was an amazingly empowering sensation to stand over a man of his calibre, his power, his size, and make him sigh. Biting her lower lip, her hands reached his belt, unbuckling it quickly. It was much easier, standing over him like that. He looked up, swiftly raising his hips when she pulled down his white trousers. Getting impatient and reckless from the lack of touching, he sat up when she took off his shoes and socks. She kissed him back, his hands embracing her tight waist as she fell over him, back on the bed. Their noses and teeth clacked, a little uncomfortably but they didn’t care. She sat over his hips, feeling his burning erection against her core, even through his underwear, the last layer of clothe between their bodies.
She opened and closed her lips, wondering if she should ask him what he wanted, but his thoughts were loud and clear. All he wanted, craved, needed was any sort of relief. She observed him, sliding her hands down his beautiful body, settling between the two of them. Against him. His long, hard erection.
He sighed, a deep, heavy sound, as he let his head fall back.
Heart beating furiously, nearly as much as his when he had been between her legs, she tentatively slid her hand up and down his length. He was tall and lean, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the sheer size of him, but she hadn’t expected him to be so large. As imposing as his ego. She almost got annoyed at how fitting that was – for the first time, his arrogant, cocky behaviour was justified. But a part of her, her constantly growing desire for him and the embers of her previous orgasm were enraptured to know that this… all this… this handsome, prideful, majestic man was hers, all hers, only hers.
Eager to please him and bring him as much pleasure as he had for her, she leaned down. She pulled off his underwear, heart beating fast when he didn’t react as vividly as for his trousers. Instead, he grabbed her wrist.
“A-are you sure? Y-you don’t have to…” he hesitated, cheeks crimson, but his gaze visibly thrilled at the possibility.
“A kiss for a kiss,” she answered, pecking his lips quickly.
That shut up him. Obedient as a well-raised child, he raised his hips and that last piece of clothing slid off his body with surprising ease. Or maybe she pulled too fast, too impatiently, she couldn’t quite tell.
He remained sitting, biting on his lower lip hard to smother any sound he might make, watching Anya observing him, then glancing down at his erection. She held her breathe. A new wave of heat rushed down.
They were entirely, utterly, naked. Nothing protected them from whatever place their desire would take them.
Heavens, this is insane, we’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and she’s already– I’m already– I’m ready to do anything she’d ask of me… A slave to my Queen.
Anya was about to touch him, but she hesitated. She looked back up at him and he smiled, trying with much difficulty to hide his disappointment.
“Should we… figure out how far we’ll go?” she asked in a hushed, timid voice.
“Uuuh… I can put my clothes back on, i-if you don’t trust me…”
“No, no, no, I do! I do trust you… I just… how far do we want to go?” she hesitated, glancing away.
He swallowed hard, trying to control his desire. He wanted to do a million things that unexperienced virgins should definitely not consider for a first time.
“Let’s wait,” he decided, “I-I don’t think we’re ready… I-I mean…”
He pointed at his crotch, blushing even more.
“I-I want you, don’t take me wrong…”
“I can see that,” she replied, smiling a little, amusement coming back in her eyes.
“But we’re too quick, too eager… let’s… uh… try to wait before doing it… at least, until my brother gives his blessing. After that… we’ll figure it out as we go…”
She nodded, silently agreeing. Then, to his great surprise, she lifted a hand, moving her pinkie finger. She smirked, obviously happy to have confounded him.
“You moron– we’re naked as worms and you want to pinkie promise– fine!!” he exclaimed, hooking his finger against hers.
She chuckled adorably. He rolled his eyes, acting annoyed, but dying on the inside because she was the cutest, greatest, funniest person he had ever met.
She pushed him down suddenly, grinning wickedly.
“Now, down, baby, my turn to make you scream,” she murmured, green eyes shining in the night like a panther.
“…You sheba,” he mumbled, mind going numb at how sexy she was.
She chuckled against his throat, quickly going back down his body, hands constantly caressing his thighs, edging far, far closer than any woman’s hands had ever gotten to his crotch. Her nails traced the lines of his hips, following the V and the line of dark hair going down to his erection.
She was so close, her hair kept tickling his body. He tried to remain serious and focus on her touch but frankly, her hair was in the way and bothering him–
As if sensing his growing annoyance, she pushed all her hair away, on one side, to his great relief because he had been really, really close to just laugh from the tickling sensation (and the nerves). Before he’d think about it any further, her lips kissed his length. He gasped, instinctively sitting up.
Anya grinned against the sensitive skin. She took in the sweaty smell that, she bet, was full of pheromones to drive her mad. She slowly kissed her way to the top of his erection, glistening with white pre-cum – she hadn’t known about that, which made her hesitate.
They had learned a lot about preventing any pregnancy – Eden was adamant on doing regular session of sex-ed every three months, to the students’ great embarrassment and distress – but they never mentioned anything about what sex was like, what to expect, or heavens forbid how great it was (as far as her very little experience had revealed).
Damian didn’t seem particularly panicked about it, so she shrugged her shoulders, considering that it probably was normal. She went back to building her courage to take him in her mouth. She had seen a few movies, with Becky, that involved what she wanted to try – but it never showed any detail on how to do any of it!
“Damn it! I’m at a loss! How did you do it so expertly?!” she cried out, glaring at him.
“I’m just going for it!” she decided stubbornly.
Impatient and reckless as she was, she barely heard him. She wrapped her lips around the head of his erection, sucking in a way she thought might be good. He cried out, immediately grabbing her hair. She let go, suddenly terrified she had hurt him.
Gasping, he watched her with wide eyes.
“Again,” he ordered, breathless, “Do it again– please…”
She didn’t stop watching him, wanting to see his expression. She lowered her face down, taking him back in her mouth. His reaction was instantaneous. He let his head back, moaning with a wide smile forming on his lips. His fingers tightened in her hair, sparking something deep in her. She clenched her legs unconsciously, slowly adjusting her mouth to his sizeable member.
It took a little bit of time, and a lot of embarrassing slurping sounds (the movies didn’t have any of that, they usually had sensual songs in the background!) but his moans were worth all her bashfulness. She eventually found out what he liked when she added her hands to the mess – she was drooling, to her great shame! But there was no way she’d stop when he was groaning so eagerly.
His hips started bucking up, making her gag a little. He tried to control himself when he noticed her growing difficulty, but the sensations were too great, too overwhelming, to care. They were tipsy again, on each other’s lust, blood sparkling from fervour rather than champagne.
“Faster…” he muttered.
She did her best, going up and down with greater speed, her hand following the rhythm on the rest of his shaft.
Her name, on his lips, in such a heavy voice, thick with lust, dripping with greed, stroke the fire in her body.
“Anya… Anya, Anya…”
He couldn’t stop, her name a prayer on his lips. A prayer for release. A prayer to reach the heavens. The sweetest death was promised to him.
His throat let out long, ardent moans that rose, louder and louder, turning into a sound closer to a lascivious growl than any of the soft sounds she had let out.
“Anya, Anya, I’m close, I’m–”
His grip on her hair got tighter. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back, to fight the urge to just shout. She went faster, impossibly, inconceivably faster, better, greater.
“Anya, I’m– FUCK!”
He held her down tightly. His mind went impossibly blank. White and pure as the angels’ song in blissful heavens.
Anya gagged and coughed, his erection still in her mouth. She startled, moving around even though he kept growling, and growling, and growling, coming long and hard into her mouth. She tried to swallow but she somehow, mind-reading ability an all, hadn’t expected it to come so fast. The moment his fingers lessened, she pulled back, coughing loudly. She swallowed whatever was left in her mouth. She would have probably appreciated the salty semen, had he not chocked her on it by accident.
Damian fell backwards, eyes closed, body so relaxed she could have bet he was nothing but jelly. He breathed heavily, handsome body glistening with sweat, like pearls of mercury. A peaceful, euphoric, orgasmic smile pulled on his lips.
Anya observed him, heart beating like a drum to see him so blissful. She brushed her fingers against her chin and around her lips, where the rest of his cum had dripped. This time, she could appreciate the taste, finding herself a little gross to like it so much…
Never thought I’d grow fond of something new so quickly… she thought to herself, sucking discreetly on her fingers.
His mind was still mostly blank, empty of nothing but her. Thought of her, of her lips, of her taste, of how much he loved her. It exploded like fireworks.
Then, he started laughing. So suddenly, so authentically, it took her by surprise. Her heart missed a beat, then she started chuckling, taken into his elated joy.
“D-did you like it…?” she asked timidly.
He opened his eyes again. They shone with specks of golden stars, a whole constellation. He grabbed her hand, pulling her down to him quickly. He didn’t answer, kissing her deeply instead. He moaned into her mouth to taste himself, the remnants of her on his lips.
She pulled away, laughing, and leaned her cheek against her palm.
“So. Am I amazing or amazing?” she teased, echoing his earlier words.
He took her chin between his fingers, kissing her again. And again. And again. Never tiring of the way she felt. She pressed herself against his side, every soft part of her body perfectly moulding the hard lines of his.
“Amazing,” he finally answered, kissing her cheek, she laughed at the tickling sensation, “Incredible,” he added, kissing her jaw, “Stunning, marvellous…”
He added a kiss for every word he found.
“Dreamy, unbelievable, beautiful, gorgeous, delightful…”
As sensual as his kisses were, she laughed, dazzled by his attentions. He chuckled, coming back to kiss her lips.
“You know… I never heard you say ‘fuck’ before,” she teased, smirking, profusely amused by his suddenly flushed cheeks.
“…You’re the only one who would have the power of making me swear…”
She laughed, falling against the comfortable pillows, and stretching.
“At least, out loud!” she added, still chuckling.
He paused, blinking at her.
“Out loud? How else would you hear me swear otherwise?” he questioned, raising a curious eyebrow.
She froze, blinking.
Damn, I relax far too much around him, I need to watch my mouth–
“I-I mean… I bet you swear all the time in your head!”
“…I don’t know, I don’t really listen to my own thoughts,” he admitted with a shrug, suddenly pondering universal and philosophical questions about one’s own mind and consciousness.
“Which probably explains why you’re so bad at understanding things about yourself… Like your feelings for me, which took you, uh, a whole decade to admit and act on?”
“H-hey!” he exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed.
She laughed, snorting, and rolling around. He sighed, smiling to herself. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
A sweet soreness took over their cooling bodies, they faced each other for a moment. He kept brushing his thumb against her cheek, admiring the way she fought sleep. Her eyes kept closing, her eyelashes trembling against her cheeks. Her swollen lips, dried lipstick on it, were moving softly, to the rhythm of her breathing. Her hand was caressing his arm, drawing him closer. When her movements became more languid, slower, sleepier, he reached for the sheets, tucking her into it. The only sign that she wasn’t completely asleep, body heavy with slumber, was that, when he hugged her tightly, she moved so his chest rested against her back. He closed his eyes, breathing in her strawberry and vanilla shampoo, the scent covered by sweat, make-up, and remnants of the evening’s champagne. And him. To his great delight, his ego stroked even more than with the way her eyes had darkened with desire for him, she smelled of him.
His lips trembled, against the back of her neck.
I love you, Anya Forger, I love you, I love you, I love you… he thought.
She shivered and sighed in his arms, as if, even in her sleep, she could sense what he wanted to tell her…
But when he’ll say it for the first time, he wanted her to be awake. He wanted her to hear him, to listen, to understand how much he loved her.
He’d roar it from the rooftops.
I love you, Anya Forger…
That was a promise he made to himself, as he fell asleep.