Chapter 4: The Spiral Staircase

He took my face in his hands and kissed me, and there was no more "just once."

He did it with both thumbs on my cheeks, his tongue in my mouth, with an unbridled hunger.

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

He lifted me off the floor with both hands, and my legs locked around his waist.

He came out of the kitchen with me in his arms, never breaking the kiss, and went upstairs.

The spiral staircase stood in a corner of the living room, made of black iron, with wooden steps worn down by a hundred years of footsteps.

Halfway up, he stopped.

He pressed my back against the railing.

"I can't wait," he panted. "Forgive me."

"Don't wait."

"Here."

He lowered me onto a step, standing.

I took off my skirt myself. He unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers.

The living-room light reached us from below, yellowish.

The iron bars chilled my back.

His pants fell, and his cock sprang free, thick, long, hard as a rock, curving slightly upward.

I stared at it, mouth open.

"The Doctor wore gloves," I said. "And had a lot to hide."

He let out a husky laugh.

He lifted one of my legs with his hand and rested it on his hip.

He guided himself with his other hand.

And slowly, inch by inch, he entered me, looking into my eyes.

We both moaned, our foreheads pressed together.

He was enormous and filled me completely.

I clung to his shoulders, my nails digging in.

"Move," I begged.

"Mayte."

"Move, Teodoro."

He thrust slowly, deep, keeping a measured rhythm.

Every time he pulled out and slid back in, the staircase creaked a little.

His hands held me by the ass, and my breasts rose and fell against his shirt.

"More," I begged.

"More what?"

"Harder. Like at the clinic."

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