Bart Stevens

She lit the last candle and stood back to take a look at the room.
The bedroom was covered with lit candles: On the window sills, on the
dresser, on the nightstands. Over forty, in fact.
Lee wouldn't know what to do when he got home, she mused with a smile. On
second thought, maybe he would. Her smile widened at the naughty thoughts
going through her mind.
She examined herself in the mirror. Something about the candlelight
accentuated her every curve, making you think you could see more through the
negligee than you really could. Eyeliner to the side of her brown eyes,
heavy lipstick to make her lips even fuller than they were.
People told her the way she put on her makeup made her look exotic, but she
knew Lee liked it that way. Being Japanese, people thought she looked exotic
as it was. And most of the men she had been with had expected her to be the
shy, demure oriental woman of Shogun.
Not Lee, though. He was different. He had always judged her by what she was.
Never by her looks. He was the most honest man she had ever met, even
telling the truth when it hurt, and it was one of the many reasons she loved
him.
She tried to pull her mind back to the task at hand. Silly woman, she chided
herself. Acting like it's our honeymoon.
She sprayed a little CK1 on her neck, her hands.
The stairs creaked and she turned. She hadn't even heard him come in the
front door.
Turning toward the bedroom door, she waited for him to walk through so she
could give him his surprise.
The surprise was hers.
The door opened slowly. A man stood in the hallway, ski mask over his head,
dressed all in black. Candlelight glinted off the knife in his hand.
Her mind locked on it, focused, couldn't get away from it.
"Don't scream," he growled, his voice deep and masculine.
He entered the room confidently, as if he didn't really expect her to
scream. His head turned as he looked around, taking everything in.
"Expecting company?" he asked, and she still could tell very little about
him. He was big, taller than Lee by a couple of inches.
He took a step toward her and she involuntarily stepped back.
"Please don't hurt me," she might have whispered.
"Your jewelry," he said. "Where is it?"
She pointed with a trembling hand to her dresser. He moved like a cat, with
grace and without hurry. She could tell this wasn't the first time he had
robbed someone.
She clenched her shaking hands together to try to stop them, but it did
nothing except make her arms hurt.
He rooted through her jewelry box, pulling handfuls of necklaces and rings
out and stuffing them into a small black bag that was almost invisible on
him.
Leave, please leave, she thought desperately. Just take it and go.
He finished looting the box, turned toward her.
"Any money here?" he asked.
"No."
His eyes narrowed as he seemed to take in her appearance for the first time.
Through the hole in his ski mask, she could see him lick his lips. God no,
she thought. Just go.
He approached her, but there was nowhere to go; the back of her knees were
flush against the bed.
Right up against her, his eyes searched hers. "I won't hurt you," he said.
Strangely, his breath smelled of mint. Peppermint or spearmint, she thought
while half her brain told her how stupid she was being.
He tossed his knife backward, but she could feel the muscles in his chest
against hers. He could overpower her in a moment.
The jewelry bag fell to the floor.
"You're very beautiful," he said, his voice breathless, throaty.
Suddenly he seized her negligee by the shoulders and tore downward. It
ripped easily under his strength, hanging from her hips, exposing her
breasts to his hungry stare.
His rough hands gently cupped a breast. His thumb massaged a nipple,
hardening it. He squeezed tenderly and she could hear his breath grow heavy.

She cursed herself as she began to feel aroused.
He pushed her back onto the bed roughly, but it was soft beneath her. He
straddled her, pinning her underneath. She could feel his hardness through
his pants, tried to stop her growing excitement.
He kissed her nipples, licked them. Took one gently between his teeth and
bit lightly. She stifled a moan, feeling the wetness between her legs as
guilt flooded her.
She heard the unsnap of his pants as he fumbled to unbutton them with one
hand. He stopped licking her to push them down past his thighs. Then he
climbed higher so his knees pinned her arms, pushed himself in her face.
He smelled of soap, of vanilla. She opened her mouth, took him in--she had
to, what would he do if she didn't? He was big, but he didn't push so far
that she choked. She worked her tongue on him.
Part of her hoped to make him come--get it over with, while the part of her
she tried to shut out prayed he wouldn't, that he would satisfy her first.
He pulled out suddenly.
He seemed to be trembling above her. She could see his eyes clenched
tightly, shadows from the candlelight dancing over him. He blinked, trying
to regain control of himself. Looked back down at her.
He slid down. She felt his hand pull what was left of her negligee apart and
she was naked under him. His fingers touched her softly, moving delicately
through her hair, over her mound.
A wave of ecstasy poured through her as his finger entered her, touching her
in all the right places. She couldn't keep the moan from escaping through
her clenched teeth. Her body shook, over, over again.
When it subsided, she opened eyes she didn't even know were shut.
He was looking at her, a teasing smile on his face. Relishing the power he
had over her. Loving the fact that he could make her come.
And she couldn't help a part of her that loved it too.
He shifted, positioned himself, slid in slowly, carefully, as if afraid to
hurt her.
Oh God it felt so good as the waves came again, her body tensing, exploding,
pleasure pushing every thought out of her mind as he pushed deeper, faster,
her hands pulling him into her as if on their own.
He grunted, clenched, and she felt his heat wash through her as his
thrusting stopped. Inside her, she could feel him pulse and throb. She
shivered as mild tremors moved up her spine.
After a moment, he pulled out of her, stood up. She lay there while he
pulled his pants up and buckled them. He grabbed the bag and his knife,
moved to the bedroom door.
"Hey," she said softly, and he turned to her. Candle light wavered as he
opened the door behind him. Their eyes locked.
"I love you, Lee," she said.
An expression crossed his face--a smile? a question?--and then he was out
the door, closing it behind him.
She stretched, rubbing her toes into the cool satin sheets. Peaceful,
fulfilled.
The candles burned most of the night. Then one by one, the tiny flames
flickered and died.