I’ve never been so desperate. So exposed. So raw.
“Hold on,” he whispers, lifting to his feet with ease, guiding my legs around his waist. He carries me like I’m nothing up the stairs, not looking where he’s going, our eyes glued, the pressure multiplying. “Want me to help you escape?” he asks as we reach the top. I nod, not questioning him. It would be foolish. He’s figured me out, and part of me is glad of that. “You’re about to disappear, Beau. Feel only what I make you feel. Hear only what I say.”
Disappear. It sounds amazing.
He pushes a door open, and I close my eyes, bracing myself, knowing exactly which room he’s taken me to. He sets me down before the wall. The wall with the wooden frame secured to it. What’s remaining of my shirt is pulled off, and I close my eyes, escaping his probing eyes as he takes in my scar in all its glory. He leans into me to unhook my bra, breathing in my ear. My eyes fly open. “Give me your hands,” he orders, dropping my bra to the floor before reaching for some rope that’s hanging nearby. I present my wrists, and he starts to meticulously bind them, his concentration acute, as I look past him to the wall of glass, seeing tops of buildings as far as the eye can see. And in the very distance, the ocean. It’s a mesmerizing view. But it has nothing on the man before me.
He tugs at the binds, testing his work, and looks at me. “Nervous?” he asks, and I shake my head. Strangely, no, I’m not in the least bit nervous. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. The promise of disappearing is too enticing. Of feeling only what he will allow me to feel. To hear only what he will allow me to hear. The tormenting voices in my head will fuck off. The persistent visions of my past will be gone. I can’t pass that up.
“Are you?” I ask, as he guides my hands to the rail above my head, securing the ropes to it with a D-ring, forcing me onto my tippy-toes.
“A little,” he says, and it surprises me. He’s a man who knows what he’s doing. I’ve witnessed it myself. “Ask me why.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He kisses me forcefully on my lips. “And that’s making me more nervous.” Taking his thumb, he drags it roughly across my bottom lip, his eyes becoming drowsy. “If you want me to stop, say my name.” He starts kissing his way down to my stomach, and my chest pushes out as a result.
“What?” I gasp, throwing my head back. “I’ll be saying your name nonsto—fuck.” I moan as he trails up to my nipple, sucking hard. “James,” I cry. And there’s the first. It won’t be the last. I don’t want him to stop.
And he doesn’t stop, yanking my jeans down my legs. “My other name,” he says, so casually, and I shoot my eyes to where he’s crouched at my feet, his fingers resting in the top of my panties.
“I don’t know your other name.” He has another name?
“Exactly.” My panties are drawn down my legs, a kiss planted on the edge of my pubic bone, and he rises, pushing his front into mine.
“What’s your other name?” I breathe into his face, making him smile darkly. “Tell me.”
“And run the risk of you stopping this?”
“I won’t stop this.”
“So you’re just curious, yes?” He rests his forehead on mine.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I thrash and buck, frustrated, and James withdraws, tilting his head.
“Tell me your other name!” I don’t know if it’s my curiosity or the fact that the pressure is building to unbearable levels. I’m throbbing painfully between my legs, dripping with need.
“I think you’re talking too much.” A gag appears from nowhere, and I inhale, fighting against the ropes. They burn the flesh of my wrists, but nowhere near as much as I’m burning everywhere else.
“No,” I beg. It’s pointless, I know that. He pushes the material between my teeth, and I immediately bite down on it, my jaw tense. He secures it, and then steps back, beginning to strip, starting with what’s left of his T-shirt. Every inch of his skin he reveals sends me more delirious. Until he’s naked, and I can hardly breathe.
He’s . . . devastating.
“And finally,” he whispers, holding up a blindfold. I can only moan my desolation, shaking my head. Why would he do that? Deprive me to that extent? My hungry eyes drop down to his groin getting one last look at his prime, rock-solid erection. It’s weeping. And then . . .
Darkness.
I can barely move, can’t speak, can’t see. But I can smell, and I get a waft of his signature creamy, manly scent. “Your skin’s tingling, isn’t it?”
I moan in response, and let my body go lax.
“Your hearing’s hypersensitive.” He blows a warm stream of air across my ear, and a wicked shiver glides down my spine. “Anything that touches you”—he pinches a nipple as he bites down on my earlobe, and a muffled cry escapes—“feels like fire.” I buck, screaming in my head for him to stop. To give me more. “And when I ram my cock inside you, Beau, it’ll feel like it could break you in the best possible way.”
Do it!
His voice alone could bring me to climax. Add touch, add smell, add the taste of his tongue still lingering on mine, I’m a slave to his kink. I’m trapped. But the freest I’ve felt in too long. There’s no pressure to pretend. Nothing is strained. I’m not being forced to lie about how I feel. I don’t see pity. I don’t see worry. I’m invisible because I can’t see how he sees me. In this moment, this illicit, erotic, overwhelming moment, I can be whoever I want to be, and I want to be his slave. I want to submit. I want to hand over every ounce of power and feel no pressure to be strong. This is everything I have been waiting for. Not him, but what he’s doing. How he’s making me feel. It’s freedom within a cage. Safety in darkness, something I haven’t known for too long.
I exhale and let my arms take my weight, hanging there lifelessly, zoning out more, walking the lightest path of darkness. I feel him grab me under my thighs and lift, and the undeniable scratch of his scruff brushes the inside of my thighs. Oh God. The nerves in my clitoris start to spasm in anticipation. My heart vibrates. My skin burns. “So fucking juicy,” he rumbles, and then his mouth encases me, and I’m sent into orbit, screaming around my gag. I’m given no time to adjust. No time to settle. No time to get hold of my violently bending body. He goes at me like a famished animal, thrusting his tongue deep, lapping greedily, biting at my flesh. The pound of my climax building is fast, far faster than I want it to be, but not at all surprising given the gift of his mouth. “Make it last, Beau,” he growls, plunging his fingers deep and high. “Make it fucking last.”
Another muffled scream, my orgasm not listening, steaming forward relentlessly.
James!
I’m screaming his name over and over in my head, not for him to stop, but because I wish I could see him. See his eyes, his face, his mouth coated in me. My body temperature shoots up, the burn of my skin bordering unsafe. The pressure in my head is becoming too much, my body rigid.
And his mouth is suddenly gone, my feet are on the floor, and I moan my ruin. “Too fast, Beau.”