He moaned raggedly, reached forward and twisted the tips of each breast with his hand before giving them both a sucking kiss that arrowed heat straight to my clit.
“I could keep you here like this all day. My good little whore presenting herself. I’d eat you for breakfast, torture you for lunch and then, when you were starved for it, I’d fuck you all through dinner and gift you my cum for dessert,” he told me almost conversationally as his hand played with my pussy, his thumb rubbing hot, tight circles over my swollen clit, two of his fingers twisted and pumping inside.
I loved how he played with me, as if I was an object that existed only for his pleasure. It should have felt wrong, maybe even degrading, but it didn’t because Danner was playing me the way he played his guitar, masterfully, removed only because he needed the focus to strum every string just right.
“Are you on birth control?”
I nodded, desperate for the feel of him bare inside me. “Yeah, and, sucks to say, but I got tested after Cricket and I’m clean,” I told him.
His smile made the pain of the memory disappear like a phantom. “Never fuck without a condom, haven’t touched anyone in weeks. You trust me?”
I didn’t have to think. “Yes, always.”
I moaned when he moved away, but he only smiled a cruel little smile that touched me like his mouth to my pussy and moved away. I watched with low lidded eyes as he pulled open a drawer filled with plastic bags, rubber bands, clothes pins and other catch-all materials.
“What are you doing?” I questioned.
He quelled me with a single, displeased glare.
I chewed on my lip as he moved back to me, his hands behind his back until he fell into a crouch and revealed a zip tie in one hand. He watched my eyes widen, my chest heave as he slowly bound my left ankle to the drawer of one cabinet and then the right to another. I could see the intent in his eyes, the gleam of wickedness and satisfaction that I was open and secured for him.
He watched his fingers trail up my ankle, tingling over the skin of my calf, a lazy circle around my knee cap and up over the thin skin on the inside of my thigh. When he reached the bare lips of my sex, his fingers danced over them up to the small rectangle of hair over my clit and then he tugged it sharply between his knuckles. My hips jerked forward, my head tipped back, and I panted at the perverse pleasure to be had in that pain.
“This is a game of Dominance and submission, Rosie,” he told me, pinching my chin lightly with one hand as the other hand moved to cover my cunt. It was a possessive gesture, holding me there, his fingers gentle but firm as if it was his pussy to do what he wanted with. I tried to gyrate against him, get any kind of pressure on my aching clit but he stopped me by sinking two fingers into my sex and curling up, pining my pussy from the inside out in a move that made me melt in his hand.
“And it’s a game we’ve been playing with each other for a very long time. Only now, it’s sexual and I need you to understand the difference. This isn’t about pain,” he told me even as he plucked at my nipples and made me hiss. “It isn’t about you blindly obeying my every command because you feel you have to. It’s about you giving me your trust, knowing that I arouse you and abuse you with my body, with my words and with my toys not to hurt you, but to own you so I can banish everything from your head—all the bad, all the worry and dread—and bring you peace.”
Tears hurtled to my eyes and prickled in my nose. It was embarrassing to feel so emotional when he had his hand in me, when we were talking about something as simple as sex.
But it didn’t feel simple. It felt like he was offering me dreams I’d never been able to voice, offering to take me to a place I’d never even be able to picture in my head.
It felt like he was going to guide me to a place where I could learn to love myself.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked, and I focused back on his face to find it hard with resolve, his mouth soft with desire and his eyes, his greener than freshly watered grass eyes were filled with love.
“Yes, Lion,” I said.
His brows slammed down over his gaze, transforming his face with gorgeous intensity a second before he fisted the hand at my face in the back of my hair, tugged me back and crashed his demanding mouth to mine.
Instantly, my mind went blank.
There was nothing to me but my lips on his, the warm, wet slide of his tongue in my mouth and the way his stubble rasped over my cheek, his lean hips between my lewdly spread legs, his hand working between, in and out of my cunt, twisting, curling, turning until every inch of me sung with pleasure.
“So wet for me,” he groaned into my ear then traced his tongue around the shell it. I shuddered when he bit the lobe and scraped his teeth over it. “So willing to let me play with your gorgeous body.”
“God,” I groaned as he sunk his teeth into the strong cords of my neck, working his way with soft nips and firm bites to the junction of my neck and shoulder where he bit so hard and sucked so long it was pure exquisite agony. I knew he was marking me, that I’d wear his love and ownership inked in the bruise for days afterwards. It was a dangerous badge of possession I would wear with pride, that I fucking loved because he did it out of madness, not logical, not as he usually did.
In that way, it said he was as much mine as I was his.
His lips trailed down to my chest, where he kissed around my left nipple in smaller and smaller circles without hitting the target. I tangled my hands in his hair and forced his mouth to me.
I cried out when he grabbed my hand in one of his, the grip firm, his eyes their own reprimand as he said, “No. You do as I say or nothing at all. Hands behind your back or I’ll tie them there.”
I thought for one brief, giddy second of disobeying him and then did as I was told. The flash of admiration in his eyes as he took in my lifted breasts, my willing movement, was better than any act of willful disobedience.
“I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to show you mercy. You can beg, but I won’t be moved. I won’t slow or give you pause so you can catch your breath. As soon as I put my hands on your body, you are my instrument to play. And I’m tellin’ you right now, Harleigh Rose, I plan to play you all day long, until your strings are frayed and your tones are harsh as fuck coming outta that dirty mouth. Your pretty pink cunt is going to be swollen and weepin’ when I finally pull my fingers and cock out and even then, I’m warnin’ ya, I’ll be makin’ you sleep all night with one of my toys in your aching pussy so you feel me even in your dreams.”
God, that sounded like a dream.
“Fuck me,” I begged him.
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Instead, he slid his grey sweats down his thighs, revealing his long, curved cock.
“You want this?” he taunted, wrapping his fist around it so he could jerk himself off.
“Yes, give it to me.”
“You think you can handle it?” he taunted, his eyes dark, feral.
“Try me,” I challenged.
Then his cock was at my pussy driving forward in one brutal, delicious thrust.
“Fuck!” I cried out as he pulled out then slammed back in, setting a brutal pace that set my tits jiggling and my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “Fuck me.”
One hand wrapped around my lower back to bring me close while the other arrowed up my chest to my throat where he squeezed.