I’ve never experienced what it’s like to fully esteem a man. To want to impress him. To want to please him.
There was a kind of pleasure in being conquered. Raylan is so handsome and rugged and capable, that I felt like he deserved to have me. He deserved to have me any way he wanted.
Then, on top of that, there was a deep and potent relief in letting go . . . in letting him take charge of the sexual experience. I didn’t have to think or plan or maintain my rigid hold on the situation like I usually would. Instead, I could set my brain free. There was no governor on my thoughts or on my physical response. I was free to simply experience what was happening, with no distractions.
Then, of course, there was a third element—how deeply filthy and taboo it all felt. He tied me down! He whipped me! He fucked me like an animal!
I should be furious and disgusted.
But instead . . . I loved it.
The perverse and rebellious part of me takes a deep pleasure in enjoying what I’m not supposed to like. In embracing what I’m supposed to reject.
It would only work with Raylan though, I know that. I would never respect another man enough to allow him to do that. Enough to WANT him to do it. And I would never trust anyone else like that.
That’s the core of why I was able to let go . . . because I do trust Raylan. However dominant and aggressive he might have seemed in the moment, deep down I knew that he would never actually hurt me. I allowed him to tie my hands because I knew that what followed would be pleasurable for both of us. I knew that even though he was pretending to use me for his own enjoyment, all the while he was watching my responses, gauging my arousal and my desire, so he could pull back from the edge of pain at just the right time, and soothe me with exactly the right kind of touch.
I trust him.
Just that thought alone hits me like a hammer.
I’ve never trusted anybody outside my own family (I include Dante in that, because he is my brother-in-law, after all).
But I trust Raylan. I really do.
If his heavy, warm arms weren’t currently wrapped around me, I think that realization might terrify me. But I’m too calm, too drained, and too comfortable to feel any negative feelings right now.
Instead, I slip off to sleep, simply marveling that something so unexpected has happened to me.
The next morning I wake up to Raylan’s tongue between my thighs.
He’s down under the blankets, gently licking and lapping at my clit.
I’m so flushed and warm with sleep that my pussy is incredibly sensitive. Each stroke of his tongue is utterly intoxicating.
My brain is still in that floating half-asleep state. My memories of the night before are both vivid and fantastical—real and dreamlike. With every touch of Raylan’s tongue, I feel like I’m experiencing the best parts of our sexual encounter all over again.
I remember the look of his body in the lantern-light—every muscle bulging with exertion. His skin glowing. His bright blue eyes intense and animalistic. The glint of his teeth when he growled at me, or when he threw his head back in pleasure.
I remember how he seemed to transform into the most commanding, most powerful version of himself. The more dominant he became, the more my arousal grew. I wanted to please him. And the more I pleased him, the more pleasure I felt myself, in an endless feedback loop.
He knew exactly what I needed. His attention was fixed on me a thousand percent. Those bright blue eyes were focused and intent, and his hands seemed to have a supernatural ability to wrench a reaction out of my body.
I’ve never known anyone as perceptive as Raylan. I know I can be difficult—stubborn, cold, contentious. Most people don’t understand me at all.
But Raylan sees through all that. Those blue eyes cut through the barriers I’ve built up. They cut through all my contradictory impulses. And he finds my real, true desires. The things I want that I would have sworn I didn’t want at all.
Like right now—he’s eating my pussy gently and carefully, so there’s no jolting awake. Instead I’m recovering consciousness gradually, extending that state of dream-like bliss for as long as possible.
By the time I’m fully awake, my pussy is throbbing with pleasure, the waves of elation radiating outward through my sleep-warmed body.
Right as I come fully awake, Raylan climbs on top of me, his cock raging hard. He slides into me easily, since I’m soaking wet. But it’s still a tight fit, with a delicious level of friction that I’ve only ever experienced with him. As if his cock and my pussy were made for each other. As if every other partner we’d been with was the wrong sized shoe on the wrong foot—uncomfortable, and always rubbing raw.
He fills me up perfectly, his cock stimulating every single pleasure zone. The head of his cock rubs against that sensitive place deep inside of me, his girth stimulates all around my opening. And my clit grinds against his hard, flat belly with exactly the right amount of pressure.
He braces himself with bent arms on either side of my head, and he looks directly down into my face.
I look up at him, thinking how unusual it is for a man to be so handsome up close. Most people are better viewed from a distance. That’s why we close our eyes when we kiss.
Not Raylan. With his face only a few inches from mine, I see the clarity and brilliance of his eyes. They’re a vivid and electric blue, crackling with energy. His irises are encircled by a ring of deep black, the same color as his hair. That ink-black hair looks enticingly thick and soft, so much that I have to reach up and run my fingers through it, marveling how it feels like ermine, vibrant and alive, like every other part of Raylan.
I can’t stop touching him. I trail my fingers down the side of his face, where his thick, prickly stubble is already growing back. I like the way it outlines his lips and jaw, giving him a roguish, wicked look.
Then I touch his shoulders and chest, straining with the effort of holding himself up on the soft bed, and the exertion of slowly thrusting in and out of me.
He has a large tattoo on his right shoulder, shaped like a shield. Inside the shield is a kneeling knight, holding a sword. The background of the shield is a night sky, speckled with stars and a crescent moon. I know it must be from his mercenary company, The Black Knights. I bet all his brothers-in-arms have the same mark.
I’ve seen mercenary tattoos before—skulls, daggers, snakes, and guns, usually.
It strikes me that the Black Knights chose something quite different as their sigil—a kneeling man, in a penitent pose. It’s not aggressive or violent. Instead it seems to indicate chivalry, and honor.
Raylan is a good man.
He’s been good to me.
He’s protected me. He brought me to his own home to keep me safe.
I look up into his face and I DO feel safe. I feel cared for.
These are not sensations that come easily to me. Sometimes I struggle to feel that way even with my own family.
But Raylan isn’t obligated to care about me, like family is. If he likes me, if he protects me . . . it’s simply because he wants to. It’s real and genuine.
I can feel my climax building—it’s been building steadily since he was eating me out, but now it’s at the very top of a very high peak. And I’m about to go plummeting down.
And for the first time in my life, I look right in a man’s eyes while I cum. It’s not awkward, or distracting. Instead, the eye contact amplifies the sensation a hundredfold. It takes sexual pleasure and pairs it with gratitude, admiration, and adoration. It stitches together sensation and emotion into one explosive climax. Instead of crying out, I make a sound almost like a sob.