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softest bruises on her lips, her neck, her shoulders, lifting himself up so that he could dip his head down to her breasts. The pale skin of her bosom looked so tender, so fragile in his strong, black fingers. When he kissed her nipples, taking first one and then the other in his mouth, gently holding them between his teeth and flicking his tongue across them, she felt herself flowering in desperation, unable to stop herself striking him across his back with her small fists.
    “Fuck me,” she moaned. “Please... fuck me.”
    His face tilted up toward her and his smile flashed silver, his eyes wide and white as glowing pearl set with blackest jet. He said nothing, however, but simply lifted his body up, almost making her scream in despair.
    “Didn’t you hear me?” she said, kicking out at him as he pulled backwards, lashing out with her legs. “Fuck me!”
    As she tried to strike him, careless now as to whether she hurt him, he easily caught her delicate ankles. For a moment she felt a pressure that was almost painful as his hands wrapped around bone and skin, then he yanked her legs apart and, more gently now, placed her feet across his shoulders.
    He moved those shoulders down so that her legs folded back upon themselves, her thighs tensing like pistons and the toes of her feet stretching in anticipation. Reaching forward with both her hands, she took hold of his short, thick locks between her fingers, digging her nails into his scalp, forcing him down toward the luscious prize that awaited him—though never was Orfeo more willingly forced toward his desire.
    As his lips came into contact with her, she began to moan and once more convulsions bucked through her hips. His own hands gripped her waist as tightly as she held onto him, and if he had kissed her so softly on her mouth above he was less merciful this time with that down below. Instead he pushed his tongue deeply into her, licking up her wetness, savoring her salty sweetness, burying his face into her and entering her so deeply that she almost screamed, her bellow at last becoming a deep and desperate groan.
    Now that he had demonstrated how easily he could command her, how helpless she was beneath him, he moved more softly on her, taking the bud of her clitoris into his mouth and suckling it so that tingles rippled through her mons veneris and the pit of her stomach. Her cries became staccato gasps, a syncopation more erotic than any drum beat that had slid across the harmonies of his songs earlier that night. In response to this music, she closed her thighs even more tightly about his head, almost suffocating him as she lifted her buttocks from the sheets, allowing him once more to finger and lick her more deeply.
    His lips were slick with her and she flooded him, releasing all her desires with an energy she had never known before. Only one hand gripped him now, the other flailing along the bed, clawing at the sheets as she ground herself into his face, gasping while he took her. At last her climax subsided and, as her thighs softened and parted, he pulled away. She could see her own juices glistening on his mouth and chin as he pulled himself up, and his smile was wild, his eyes flashing as he looked down at her.
    And when his hands moved down to his trousers and began to unbuckle them, when she saw what was contained behind the fabric, she began to tremble uncontrollably.
    “Oh god,” she whispered. “Oh, please, dear god... have mercy.”
    Letting the fabric slide across his muscular buttocks and lowering himself forward so that he was arched between her open legs, the heavy weight of his length levitating softly across her mound, he brought his mouth close to her face and said in a low, deep voice: “No. No mercy.”
    She lifted her hand at this, threw it around his neck and dragged his mouth onto hers. She could smell her own perfume, primal and redolent, on his lips, tasted herself on his tongue as she sucked him into her. With her other hand she