I could hear the buttons of my shirt falling; little, tinkling sounds like freezing rain on a glass window, they spread on the floor. I followed them with my eyes, too shocked to realize what had just happened. But a tug on the remainders of my blouse grounded me back. I looked up into Jack's eyes, searching, trying to understand his intentions. Was he serious? Was he being playful? We weren't playing, I was bawling at him for some stupid thing or another.
He was watching me with as much curiosity. I didn't mean to, but I forgot to breathe. I couldn't read his eyes, but his mouth curved into a small smile. Not a happy one.
"What are you doing?" I finally managed, the air forced back into me.
Jack was still holding me by the ends of my shirt, the one he had just ripped open. His eyes moved from mine downward, to my exposed breasts. It was just a house shirt, I wasn't wearing a bra.
"Jack," I tried to break the spell we both seemed to be in, but my voice came out small. It suddenly hit me; I was scared. "What ...?" I couldn't even finish the sentence.
Jack didn't answer; he didn't blink. His gaze kept moving up into my eyes and down to my breasts. Finally he said, "This is priceless."
I looked at him with questioning eyes and he pulled me to him just as he sat on the bed. I was in his lap and he embraced me. I tried to get away, but he kept me tight, his hold on me strong as a vice. I started shaking and he started caressing my hair.
"You're scaring me," I somehow found my voice.
Jack put a hand on my cheek. "Shhhh," was all he said while he bore into my eyes with his.
I couldn't understand what he was going through. I wasn't sure I knew what I was going through. I couldn't stop shaking. I buried my face in his chest and started crying. He just caressed me until my sobs became whimpers. "Jack, please stop it."
"Stop what?" he faked innocence.
"Stop it, stop it," I suddenly screamed and punched his chest with my two feasts like a stupid girl.
He held my hands in his, hurting my wrists. I cried out. "Stop."
He waited until I was calm again before he let go of my hands, embracing me again, the whole time watching me. I felt like a mouse in a trap. "I can't," he said. "I can't stop." He removed some of my hair from my face. "You're amazing."
"Amazing?"
"You look so scared," he said while his hand moved down to my neck, then to my breasts that he feathered over forward down to my crotch. Other than the shirt, I just had my panties on. They were soaking wet.
He inserted a finger, then another and then suddenly, like he had awoken from some dream, he took them out, put me on the bed and got up. "I'd better go," he said and walked to the door.
I don't know to this day why -- I should have just let him leave -- I got off the bed and ran after him. I stood before him, with the torn house-shirt open, my breasts exposed, my panties all crumpled. We looked at each other for a second before we jumped one another. We kissed like we wanted to devour each other. We didn't even bother going the five or ten steps to the bed. He leaned me against the wall and without even taking his pants off, he entered me so fast I thought I would rip. I came within two or three thrusts; so did he.
It was the event that changed our whole relationship. And not for the better. We became destructive ... but we had fun too.
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