The Aviator by Morgan Karpiel

everything you touch.”
    “Nathan—”
    “Shameless and cruel, especially to those who may care, those who may…” He stood above her, his hands flexing and clenching at his sides.
    Gilda stared at him, realizing her mistake too late. He was lost now, not to pride, not to the destruction of prototypes or business ventures, but to jealousy, deeper and darker than she had ever imagined. She struggled against the weight of her skirt, satin shimmering around her like a bright pool of fire. “He isn’t here for me. That is the truth.”
    “Don’t,” he warned.
    He was beyond reason now, his body strained and trembling in the candlelight, his eyes flashing with hate.
    “I didn’t go to him. He doesn’t—”
    “No more!’ he bellowed, sweeping the corner of the table clean with his arm. Dishes crashed to the floor, silverware clanging and tumbling in the half-light, vases of watery pastel flowers flinging loose over the carpet. Chaos rang in the air, a hard cacophony of destruction that was surely heard throughout the mansion.
    “Nate!” she cried.
    He grabbed her by the shoulders, hissing through clenched teeth. “My fault, for not giving you what you wanted. So, where were we? Ah—”
    Twisting her to face the table, he bent her roughly down over its surface, one big hand securing her back, her stomach pressed tightly to the white linen. She stilled in panic, feeling him lift the satin skirt behind her, throwing the fabric over her hips. He found the thin cotton of her petticoat and yanked it down, followed by the embroidered lace of her drawers.
    His hand then stroked over the bare skin of her buttocks, his fingers large and warm. “Here. We were here, weren’t we?”
    She wet her lips. His touch was light, teasing over the tender skin as he rubbed his hand in larger circles, covering the rounded curves of her bottom before slipping lower to trace the contour of her inner thigh.
    Nathan . She closed her eyes, imagining the firelight on his shoulders as he knelt behind her.
    “You like it when we beg, don’t you?” he whispered, slipping two of his fingers along the sensitive skin of her quim, then deep into her tight pink sheath. She felt them push into her and spread, scissoring open to stretch and caress.
    Gilda struggled for breath, heat flushing in her cheeks, her body shuddering with the silken feel of it. Nathan held her down with one hand, rolling his fingers inside her, pumping and circling her opening until her hips writhed against his hand, her folds swollen and wet.
    “Just once, I would like to hear you beg,” he insisted. “Say my name. Plead with me.”
    “Nathan,” she blurted out, her body humming with need. “Please.”
    “Not yet. Not before I take what I want.”
    “Take?”
    He pulled his fingers out of her, sliding them up the crease of her buttocks, spreading the cheeks to wipe her juices over the tight knot of her anus. She caught her breath, feeling the fingers stroke the puckered skin, then push relentlessly inside.
    A raw noise escaped her lips, her body tensing as his fingers stroked beyond the clenched opening, exploring yet another sheath. Not disagreeable, just unfamiliar, a pleasing itch that grew stronger as it was stroked. His fingers parted, stretching.
    She hissed in pain.
    “Good,” he murmured darkly, lowering his mouth to the tender skin of her quim. She felt his breath hot in the folds, then his tongue, licking and sucking as his fingers teased the ring of her anus.
    The sensations together were too much, a flood of heat and pleasure that left her gasping. She bit her lip, her hands knotting the table linen in her fists, sweat breaking on her brow. His mouth found a point of sweetness in her skin and she cried out as he rolled his tongue over it. His fingers stretched her in response, mixing pleasure and pain.
    “Nate,” she begged. “Please, please…You have me. All of me. Surely, you know that. Please.”
    “I will not be gentle with you…not with