Ch18.錫蘭街的初夜(R18)

“I remembered. That’s why I came.”

The words slipped from her lips against the shell of his ear—breathy and soft—yet in that instant, Jeffrey’s entire chest felt like a floodgate that had been held shut for three months, quietly beginning to open from the narrowest crack at its base.

He did not say another word.

His arm tightened around her waist, lifting her from the chair and drawing her fully into his embrace. His other hand cradled the back of her neck as he lowered his head and kissed her.

This was not the questioning, tentative kind of kiss meant only to seek gentle confirmation.

It was a kiss into which he pressed the whole of those three months, those three days, and every second she had spent crying in the corridor that night. Deep and heavy, carrying everything within him that had been suppressed for far too long, until at last he let it come down upon her lips.

He lifted her into his arms and rose, letting her feet leave the floor, letting the full weight of her body rest upon him.

He bore it willingly.

He carried her towards the sofa and paused at its edge.

For that single second, his gaze rested upon her face, upon the lips reddened by his kiss, and upon the burning light within her eyes.

Then he lowered her gently onto the sofa.

He moved so slowly that every inch of her back that met the cushions was supported by the palm of his hand.

He leaned over her, bracing both hands against the sofa on either side of her body, and kissed her again.

This time, his lips travelled from hers to the line of her jaw, then from her jaw to the side of her neck—a reflection of the place where she had kissed the shell of his ear moments before.

His lips stopped against the thin skin of her neck.

Gently, he touched it with the edge of his teeth and felt the faint tremor that passed through her skin beneath the contact.

When he heard the tiny sound escape her throat, his lower abdomen tightened again, heavy and hard, until his fingers curled forcefully against the sofa.

He remained at her neck for a while, allowing his breathing to settle there.

Then his hand left the arm of the sofa and moved to her waist, his palm fitting against the curve whose shape had already become familiar to him.

This time, he did not stop.

His thumb slowly traced upward along the narrow line of her waist. Even through the fabric, he could feel the softness beneath it and the way her breathing changed under his touch.

He raised his head and spoke beside her ear, his voice as rough as wood scorched by fire.

“You said you wanted me…” he murmured, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “I heard you.”

His hand moved an inch higher.

He continued kissing her, exactly as he had promised.

He would not stop.

He gave her no time to think or react, as though once this body had been offered to him, she no longer possessed it herself.

But she did not dislike it.

Every kiss drew another embarrassed moan from her, yet she truly did not dislike it.

“It’s unbearable…” Her cheeks were already flushed when she spoke, her gaze hazy. “Everywhere you touch feels so hot… I want more…”

Her voice was soft.

“Don’t stop again… not this time…”

The way those words escaped her lips made Jeffrey release the final restraint he had been holding.

It did not collapse.

He set it down.

Like a man who had guarded a door for a very long time and, after confirming everything he needed to know, finally removed his hand and allowed the door to open on its own.

He lifted his head and looked at her from that distance.

He looked at the haze in her eyes, the colour in her cheeks, and the rise and fall of her chest beneath her rapid breathing.

The sight drew a muffled sound from deep within his throat.

He did not suppress it.

Not this time.

“I know,” he said, his voice low and rough, as though it had burned its way up from beneath the earth. “This time, I won’t stop.”

His fingers began to undo the fastenings of her outer garment.

His movements were slow, not because he hesitated, but with the deliberate care of someone doing something he wanted to do properly.

One fastening at a time.

With each one he opened, his palm covered the newly exposed fabric, feeling the warmth beneath it rise to meet his hand and sensing every small reaction his touch drew from her body.

When the outer garment fell open, he eased it from her shoulders.

Then he bent down and pressed his lips to her collarbone, tracing softly along the line of bone.

His tongue touched the hollow beneath it, feeling the delicate skin there and hearing the soft moan that rose from her because of that contact.

His hand continued downward, curving around her waist as he slowly raised the hem of her undergarment.

For the first time, his palm came directly against the bare skin at her side.

The sensation made his fingertips tighten involuntarily.

Her skin was finer than he had imagined.

Softer.

Hotter.

It was as though, after touching only the clothing covering her for three months, he had finally reached the real thing beneath it.

The reality of it made the weight in his lower abdomen sink even more heavily.

“Hot…” he murmured beside her ear, his voice muffled beneath his own breathing. “You said everywhere I touched felt hot…”

His palm moved upward, passing the line of her waist and the curve of her ribs until it closed over the softness of her breast.

The sensation made his fingers press gently into its fullness, feeling its weight and resilience in his palm.

His thumb traced a slow circle around its most sensitive peak.

“So am I…”

He returned to her lips.

This kiss carried everything he had kept suppressed before, carrying the fire that had burned inside him for three months.

It was deep and heavy.

His tongue entered her mouth and entwined with hers.

Her delicate moans passed through the place where their mouths met, trembling against his lips and sinking into his blood.

His other hand travelled down from her waist and beneath the edge of her skirt, his palm coming to rest upon the skin of her inner thigh.

The heat there was greater than at her waist.

He felt it.

He felt the instinctive tremor that passed through her the moment he touched her.

He felt the damp, scorching heat between her legs, even through the thin layer of fabric.

A sound emerged from his throat.

Low and heavy—the sound of a man who had held something back for far too long and had finally allowed part of it to escape.

“Anna…”

He drew slightly away from her lips, allowing her a breath.

His forehead rested against hers, their breathing mingling.

At that distance, his eyes held hers.

“Look at me.”

He wanted her conscious.

He wanted her to remember all of it.

He wanted the person she saw before her now to be him.

Jeffrey.

The man who had travelled for seven years to find her.

Not a dream.

Not something fleeting.

It was everything he gave her after she had said, “I remembered. That’s why I came.”

Their foreheads remained pressed together, their breaths tangled in the narrow distance between them.

Anna’s panting was especially unrestrained, as though she had always known exactly what she wanted.

His hand covered the place where her thigh met her body, feeling the damp heat radiating from that sacred hidden place.

He had not even touched it yet, but he could already feel it.

He could imagine its slickness from the warmth alone.

Anna could feel that the space between her legs was different from anything she had ever known.

The heat.

The wetness.

The aching desire to be touched.

Her legs instinctively opened a little farther.

Look at him.

He had told her to look at him.

Her eyes were veiled in mist, but they remained fixed upon Jeffrey’s.

“I’ll look at you…” she whispered. “I’ll keep looking at you…”

Those words shattered the rhythm of Jeffrey’s breathing.

He looked into her eyes.

He saw the mist within them and the way she continued to stare at him through it.

The sight made something within his chest—some final defence he had not realised he was still guarding—quietly fall away.

His fingers moved slowly upward from the burning skin of her inner thigh.

The fabric slid across the back of his hand until his fingertips pressed against the thin covering between them.

He felt the moisture and heat seeping through it, hotter than his own palm.

When he pressed the pad of his finger gently against that place, her hips lifted towards him by the slightest degree.

He did not hurry.

Through the fabric, his fingertip moved slowly upward from the outermost edge of her intimacy, tracing the hidden cleft beneath it.

He felt the shape of her through the cloth.

He felt the wetness there becoming clearer beneath his touch.

And after every gentle pressure, he heard the sounds escaping her throat—sounds that made his blood rush downward the moment he heard them.

Then he moved the fabric aside.

The instant he touched her directly for the first time, his jaw tightened.

The sensation made it impossible for him to pretend at composure.

She was slick and burning hot.

So wet that his fingertip understood in that instant exactly how honest her body was being, how completely without reserve.

His middle finger slowly parted the delicate folds.

Gently, it entered the softest part of her, the first inch allowing her to feel the presence intruding inside her and giving her time to adjust.

He felt the scorching, slippery heat closing tightly around the tip of his finger.

“Anna…” he breathed beside her ear.

His voice was no longer the calm, steady voice she knew.

It was rough and hoarse, tangled with his breathing.

“Relax…”

His thumb drew a gentle circle over her most sensitive point as his middle finger slowly moved deeper.

He felt the faint contraction of her inner walls around his fingertip—a sensation that sent heat climbing along his spine.

His finger entered farther.

Then farther still.

Only when it had sunk to the knuckle did he stop and hold it there, allowing her to feel his presence, allowing her to understand the sensation of being filled by something inside her.

His eyes remained upon her face.

He watched every expression his movements drew across it.

Those expressions made something rise and burn within his chest.

The fabric of his trousers became painfully restrictive.

He could feel his desire, the hard swell of it, and the way it intensified with every moan she gave him.

“Look at me…” he reminded her. “Just as you promised.”

His finger began to move.

Slowly and rhythmically, sliding in and out of her.

With each movement, the pad of his finger felt the heat surrounding it.

He felt her wetness spreading little by little with the motion.

His thumb continued to touch the place that made her tremble delicately every time, giving her what he knew her body needed.

He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the flushed skin beside her eye.

His voice was barely more than a whisper against her hair.

“I won’t stop,” he said.

The words were a promise to her and to himself.

“Not this time.”

“Ah… ahh…”

The unbroken stimulation left Anna unable to think.

Her moans continued, and her body moved helplessly with the rhythm of his hand.

When his finger had first entered her, it had brought a pain she could not ignore.

It was a place that had never been entered before, forced to accept something that did not naturally belong there.

Yet the area grew wetter, gradually changing its shape around the presence inside it.

“Mmm… Jeff—Jeffrey…”

She could not stop herself from calling his name.

Her voice was sweet and broken.

To ease the pain rising from below, she buried her face in the curve of his neck and rubbed against his skin.

No.

She had promised to look at him.

So she lifted her face slightly and brushed her cheek against his.

She searched for his eyes.

But when another moan opened her mouth, the tips of her teeth caught lightly against his cheek.

The sensations travelling through her body were impossible to describe.

She felt as though she were floating in the air and yet on the verge of falling.

The way his name left her lips made Jeffrey slow the movement of his finger.

He did not stop.

He slowed.

It was the instinctive gentleness of someone who had felt the tension in her, who understood the shape of the pain inside her body and softened his rhythm in response.

He could feel it.

He felt the contraction of her inner walls around his fingertip, not yet purely welcoming but carrying the tightness of a first experience.

He felt her press her face into his neck.

That movement tightened his throat.

What rose within him then was not desire, but something else.

Tenderness.

Pain for her.

No one had ever touched her this way before.

He knew.

He had always known.

But now that knowledge had become real through the sensation beneath his fingertips.

Real enough that he slowed the hand inside her.

His thumb changed to the lightest circular caress over her most sensitive place.

It no longer pressed.

It merely stroked, softly and repeatedly, allowing the tension there to loosen little by little beneath the circular motion.

Then she bit him.

The instant her teeth touched his cheek, Jeffrey exhaled heavily through his nose.

The pain sent another heavy pulse of desire sinking into his lower abdomen.

It made his blood surge faster, so quickly that he lowered his head and rested his chin gently against the crown of hers.

He allowed her face to remain against his cheek.

He let her bite him.

He let her release the pain that way.

“Slowly…” he whispered beside her ear.

His voice was so hoarse that he barely recognised it himself, yet his tone remained gentle.

It was the gentleness of a man forcing his desire to wait behind her pain.

“There’s no hurry. Let yourself get used to it.”

His finger no longer moved in and out of her.

It simply remained there, feeling the shape of her and the moisture gradually spreading around it as he stayed still.

He felt her inner walls begin to change from their initial resistance, slowly accepting his presence beneath the continuous, delicate circles of his thumb.

His other hand moved from her waist to her back, his palm drawing her closer until her whole body rested against him.

His warmth surrounded her, giving the pain somewhere safe to lean.

He felt every moan within his arms.

He felt the sound pass through her chest and into his skin.

He felt her body gradually soften from its tension beneath his touch.

His thumb added the slightest pressure to the circle, allowing her to discover something beyond the pain.

“Look at me…” he said softly.

He lowered his head so that she could see his eyes.

Within those amber eyes were tenderness for her, restraint, and the fire he had never allowed to burn this way before anyone else.

All three were there clearly.

All three burned for her.

“Just like that. Look at me.”

In the space created as her body gradually adjusted, his finger moved very slowly, a fraction deeper.

She gasped for air.

Small, pleading sounds left her like the cries of a kitten.

She looked at him through tears of desire.

Her body gradually became accustomed to his finger.

The place that had been so tightly drawn that even breathing had hurt slowly became warm and tingling.

Her hips began to sway softly by instinct, as though attempting to adjust to his hand more quickly.

More of her slickness flowed out.

“Mmm… It feels…” She narrowed her eyes. “A little good…”

Her voice was soft.

She did not know how else to describe it.

It was a sensation both weightless and strangely profound.

When those four words left her lips, still tangled in her unsteady breathing and her own confusion over what she was feeling, something within Jeffrey’s chest sank quietly and deeply.

He felt the change in her before she did.

He felt her inner walls transform beneath his fingertip, easing from rigid tension into softness.

He felt her arousal grow more abundant with his movements, slick and warm.

Every small motion of his finger produced a faint, wet sound, clear in the silence of the room, making his breathing grow heavier.

He watched the motion of her hips.

He saw the instinctive way her body asked for more.

The fire within his eyes burned deeper.

“Mmm,” he answered in a low voice.

The sound came rough and deep from his throat, both confirming what she had said and telling her that this was only the beginning.

“I know…”

His finger began to move again.

Truly move.

No longer with the cautious slowness meant only to help her adjust, but with a slow, deep rhythm.

Every time he pressed deeper, he paused at the farthest point, allowing her to feel the fullness of his presence.

Then he withdrew gradually, nearly to the entrance, before sliding back inside.

Again and again.

Each movement drew out more wetness and made the instinctive rocking of her hips more pronounced.

His thumb did not stop.

It continued to trace the most sensitive place with a steady rhythm.

He matched the two motions together, giving her sensation from two directions at once and allowing that “little good” to become something irreversible.

He bent down and pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, where her tears of desire had gathered.

He gently kissed away the moisture, then lingered beside her temple.

“Relax…” he whispered, so softly that only she could hear. “Don’t hold it back…”

He felt her body gradually lose the rigid resistance it had held beneath his hand.

He felt her wetness close more tightly around his finger.

He felt the heat and slickness make his own desire swell almost unbearably beneath his trousers.

He allowed the feeling to burn inside him and held it back for now.

All his attention remained upon her.

Upon every tiny change in her expression.

Upon each small moan in her throat.

Upon the increasingly obvious trembling between her legs that told him she was approaching somewhere she had never been before.

His finger quickened slightly.

Only slightly.

The increased pace made Anna’s reactions intensify.

Not because it hurt, but because the sensation had become too powerful.

Those places were being touched this way for the first time, and with such strength.

Yet the strength was not forceful or cruel.

It was a kind of commanding tenderness that knew exactly where her reactions were strongest.

“Ah—ah… Jeffrey… ah…”

She could no longer keep looking at him.

One moment, her body arched upward.

The next, her chin lifted helplessly.

She heard another embarrassing sound echoing through the room, one even more humiliating than her own moans.

A wet sound.

The sound of liquid being stirred.

And it was coming from between her own legs.

Her face flushed deeply, and the colour spread across her body.

“Ah… haa… n-no… You can’t…”

For the first time, she shook her head and said no in a voice that nearly broke.

It did not mean that she truly wanted him to stop.

The feeling was simply becoming uncontrollable and irresistible.

The rough calluses on his fingers made the stimulation against her inner walls even stronger.

So strong that she lost control and began to cry.

She cried because it felt good.

Her broken voice did not make Jeffrey stop.

He understood what her “no” meant.

He could hear it.

He could hear the contradiction between the word and the way her body continued pressing itself against his hand.

He heard in her broken voice not rejection, but panic at being driven towards an edge she had never approached before.

He watched her.

He saw her arched spine, her lifted chin, and the two lines of tears falling from her eyes.

The sight of her crying drew another muffled sound from his throat.

There was tenderness in it.

There was also deeper desire.

The two burned together.

He did not slow his fingers.

Instead, he maintained the rhythm with greater steadiness and precision.

Every movement reached the place that made her react most strongly.

The wet sounds continued to echo clearly through the silent room.

Each time he heard them, the weight in his lower abdomen sank another degree.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice now so hoarse that it had nearly lost its shape. “Anna. Look at me.”

His other hand lifted her chin, turning her raised face back towards his.

He guided her mist-covered eyes until they found his again.

Even as she cried, he made her look at him.

He wanted her to remember.

To remember every detail of this moment.

To remember who was here.

To remember the promise she had made.

I’ll look at you. I’ll keep looking at you.

He felt the contractions of her inner walls becoming quicker and more frequent around his finger.

Her wetness had already spread across his fingers and into his palm.

The heat and slickness made his wrist tremble slightly beyond his control.

It was a fragment of his own desire escaping through a crack in his restraint.

He slowly joined a second finger with the first, allowing her to feel the greater stretch and fuller pressure.

At the same time, his thumb pressed more firmly against the most sensitive point.

Only a little firmer.

Precise.

It changed the circular touch into an angle from which he knew she could no longer escape.

“It’s all right to cry,” he said.

He bent down, pressing his lips to her wet cheek and gently kissing along the path of her tears.

“If it feels good, then cry.”

He felt her entire body tighten towards a place she had never reached.

The edge drew closer.

Her inner walls began to contract involuntarily in waves.

Her moans could no longer form complete words.

Only broken sounds remained—sounds that made his blood boil.

He did not allow her to catch her breath.

His fingers continued.

Steady.

Deep.

He guided her towards that place.

He brought her, for the first time and within his hand, across a boundary she had never crossed before.

Then he lowered his head and spoke beside her ear in a voice completely worn rough.

“Give it to me. Give me everything.”

Hearing the breathlessness in his voice—hearing how hard he was trying to restrain himself—acted like an aphrodisiac, drawing her deeper into the sensation.

Her hand moved down and found the hand working between her legs.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, not to reject him, but to feel him.

“Mmm… ah…”

She touched the warm liquid.

It was slick and hot.

All of it had come from her own body, and some of it had gathered in his palm.

The shame made her wish she could disappear.

She had always been stubborn and defiant.

Yet now, held within his arms, she could only cry out and tremble.

She could only plead for him to stop, even though she did not truly mean it.

No.

She felt something that made her body tremble beyond her control, as though something were about to spill out from within her.

“Ah… It feels like… ah—my body… it feels so strange…”

She began to twist helplessly beneath him.

A source of heat within her lower abdomen burned hotter and hotter.

It was an orgasm she had never experienced before.

It was almost there.

The instant her hand closed around his wrist, Jeffrey felt the strength of her grip.

She was not stopping him.

Her fingers merely held the place where his hand was moving, feeling every rhythm as he pressed into her and withdrew.

That grip made his blood surge more fiercely.

His wrist trembled faintly within her palm as he restrained the impulse threatening to break free.

It feels as though something is about to spill out.

He heard her words.

He knew what it was.

His fingers did not stop.

Instead, he tightened the rhythm.

Not violently.

It was the quickening of someone who knew she was at the edge and intended to carry her across it.

Deep and steady, every movement reached the place that produced her strongest reaction.

At the deepest point, his knuckles pressed firmly upward, making her hips lift from the sofa.

His thumb changed from stroking into gentle, rhythmic pressure upon that peak.

“It isn’t strange,” he murmured beside her ear.

His breath was rough and hot.

His own restraint had become as thin as paper.

His desire throbbed so painfully beneath his trousers that his hips nearly sank towards her.

He felt it.

He felt how close he was to losing control.

But he held himself back.

For now, everything belonged to her.

“That is your body telling you what it wants.”

He felt her inner walls begin to contract rapidly and uncontrollably.

He felt more of her slickness spreading with every contraction, flowing over his fingers and into his palm.

It was hot and slippery.

A sound he could no longer suppress emerged from his throat, low and heavy, carrying the strain of a man standing upon an edge of his own.

He pressed his face against the side of her neck, his lips resting over the pulse there.

He felt how quickly her heart was beating.

It raced so violently that it seemed to collide with his own.

“Give it to me,” he said.

The words came from the deepest part of him, rough and heavy.

“Anna… give it to me.”

At that moment, his fingers pressed to their deepest point and held there.

At the same time, his thumb pressed firmly and precisely against her most sensitive peak.

When she heard him say, “Give it to me,” her body seemed to receive it as an instruction.

It understood what it was meant to give him.

The deepest thrust of his fingers and the pressure upon that point finally released everything inside her.

“Ah!”

She cried out.

Her body convulsed violently as a rush of clear fluid spilled from between her legs.

The small fountain released everything that had been building inside her for so long.

Her entire body gave way.

That cry made Jeffrey’s breathing stop completely.

He felt it.

He felt all of it.

He felt her inner walls contract violently around his fingers, wave after wave, squeezing so tightly that they nearly forced his hand out.

He felt the warm fluid rush over the back of his hand and gather in his palm.

Clear and burning hot.

The heat made him hold his hand perfectly still, allowing her to give him everything.

He did not withdraw.

He kept his fingers inside her.

He felt each spasm pass into his fingertips.

He felt the contractions slowly descend from their most violent peak into smaller and smaller aftershocks.

He felt her entire body gradually loosen from head to toe after the release.

A sound remained trapped in his throat.

Low and heavy.

The kind of sound a man could not express after watching something he had protected with all his strength finally surrender before him.

He forced it down into his chest and allowed it to remain there beside the fire that had burned so fiercely he could barely contain it.

Slowly, he withdrew his fingers.

His movements were gentle, allowing her to feel every inch as it left her, allowing her body time to follow.

Then he moved his hand away, straightened her skirt, and covered the warm traces left beneath it.

Afterwards, he lifted her completely into his arms and held her against him.

Her head rested against his chest.

Her panting gradually softened into the fabric of his clothes.

His hand moved slowly and evenly along her back, from top to bottom.

It was like soothing her, but not entirely.

It was the gesture of someone quietly gathering up everything another person had just experienced and carefully putting it back into place for her.

His chin rested on the crown of her head.

His own breathing had not yet fully steadied.

His desire was still there.

Still restrained.

Still painfully swollen.

But he made it wait.

He let her catch her breath first.

“That was your first time,” he said softly.

His voice was far lower than before, carrying everything he had held back, yet these were the words he chose to give her.

“You made it through.”

He said nothing more.

He allowed the silence to remain among the sounds of her breathing.

The lamplight continued to fill the room.

The warmth that had not yet faded from the back of his hand rested against his leg, reminding him that this was real.

The night was still long.

He knew that.