Later, Magda will learn how long it has been since anyone has touched him; for now, all she knows is that the merest brush of her fingertips against his arm is enough to make him hiss in pleasure.
She knows better than to lead a stranger into an alley; knows she is out of her mind to do so when the stranger has said little but that he is Erik Lehnsherr, who she saw on television last summer, who is wanted in every country.
Still: she leads him there, and they embrace in the shadows until a part of him has which has grown harder and larger is pressing against her.
"Do you have anything?" she asks, because she did not plan to meet a tall dark stranger on her way home from work, and so did not bring any condoms.
"No," he says, and he draws back.
She touches his arm again, to keep him with her; when he stills she reaches for his belt, opens his trousers. She pulls his underwear down, takes him out. He is circumcized, which is strange. He is even bigger than he felt when he rubbed against her.
Through all this, he doesn't move, barely seems to breathe.
She goes to her knees and takes him in her mouth - not all, but the first few inches.
She has done this before. With boyfriends she has been seeing for months, always. Never a stranger she met an hour ago on the street. It should feel dirty. She should feel debased. He remains still, his thighs rock hard against her hands as he holds himself that way, and all she feels is worshipped.
When he is close, he says, "I'm going to," and she swallows him down, concerned that otherwise she will end up with a stain on her face, in her hair, something that would be obvious to everyone who sees her.
She feels no less worshipped when she stands up again, dirt and gravel on her knees, the taste of him in her mouth. He reaches for her, and she takes his hand and leads him back home to her apartment.
When they have snuck past the landlady and are safely behind her door, he presses her back against it. They embrace for a long time, his knee between her thighs, rubbing and rubbing. And now he's the one who goes to his knees, and pulls her panties down, and pleasures her with his mouth. Some of her past boyfriends have done this for her; he is more awkward than some, but more eager than most, and he does not think he has done enough the first time she comes.
Afterward, she goes into the kitchen on trembling legs, and heats up dinner for the two of them. It is leftovers, but he does not complain. He eats mechanically until his plate is empty.
When he makes to lie down on the couch, she stops him, brings him to bed with her instead. He says very little about this, as he's said little about the rest, other than his secret; later, she'll learn how to poke and prod him into conversation, an art he hasn't indulged in in many years.
Sometime in the middle of the night, she wakes up to find she is entwined with him, that they have begun to move upon each other in their sleep. This has happened before, with other men, and she did not like it then. She has always been afraid for a moment, momentarily unsure who it is in her bed with her. This time, though, she knows him at once, this stranger in the dark, as well and as immediately as she would have if they'd known each other for years.
She is more awake than he is, but she soon changes that, kissing and touching him until his kisses and touches are more focused.
All she is wearing is a nightshirt, because she had been thinking it might be better not to have panties on in the morning. All he is wearing is his underwear, because he left the rest of his belongings at the last place he ran from. Soon, he is on top of her, the bulge in his underwear rubbing against where she has none. All it would take is one thing, and he would be inside her...
"Do you have anything?" Erik asks, his voice so rough in her ear.
Later, she'll remember that she does, a half-empty pack of condoms under the bathroom sink. For now, she wants him more than she's ever wanted anything, she thinks she'll die if they have to stop, and so she says, "No, no, but it's fine, fuck me," and he says, "Are you sure?" and she says, "Please, please," though she's never begged anyone, never wanted to, it's always been her boyfriends who whined and pleaded until -
They push his underwear down, and now he's the only thing rubbing against her, back and forth over her entrance until the tip of him pushes inside her and the rest of him follows. He's huge, just as much as he was in her mouth, but there's no pain, just a welcoming, and she cries out loudly at the feel of him.
He begins to fuck her, too fast and too hard.
"Slower, slower," she gasps. "Wait for me, let me catch up."
He does as she asks, slowing down until he's sliding in and out of her at a deliciously slow pace. Still, she's worried he might come early, before she can...but her climax builds higher and higher, until she's coming around him, her fingers digging into his back, her thighs trying to pull him in even closer.
"Faster now, as fast as you want," she says.
Now that she's come the first time, she can follow at any place he sets - and he sets it roughly, with an eagerness and an abandon that cannot last. Later, she'll realize that her bedsprings aren't squealing because he's not letting them; for now, she comes twice more before he groans, such a loud surprise in the dark.
"Shhh," she says, and he groans again, and that is when she claps her hand over his mouth.
Later, she will find that it is not a coincidence that he comes at that moment, groaning against her fingers; later than that, she'll learn how much more he likes it when it's her damp panties gagging him, instead of her hand. For now, he collapses slowly on top of her, face pressed between her neck and shoulder, and she runs her fingers through his hair, feeling the stretch of him still inside of her until he is not.
In the morning, she wakes, and for a moment she believes he has gone. Part of her knows she should be relieved, for this stranger is a trouble she does not need for more than a night. A greater part of her remembers knowing him so well in the dark, and is bereft.
Then she recognizes the patter of the shower, and a moment later decides he is either very bad at whistling, or has not had much practice.
Now that she knows he is still here, she takes a moment to consider if she is happy after all. When she is, she pulls off her nightshirt and goes to join him.
She knows better, of course. She knew better from the moment they met. Still, a few weeks on, when she is late, it is not the terror of her last scare, when the father would have been the heir to a bakery, a man who had already proposed to her twice. The terror does not come weeks after that, either, when it is clear that this is no scare.
Though Erik goes out while she is at work, and sometimes does not come back for days, though she will not come close to knowing everything about him until they've been married for years...still, he is no stranger to her by then. And if she is a fool to not only become pregnant by him, but to invite him to marry her, and to stay to help her raise the child...well, that is her business, and his, and no one else needs to know the rest.