Especially if he planned to give himself on his terms. That air of danger and dominance exuding from his every pore was not a detriment but, rather, a bonus.
Instead of responding with words, I simply finished turning around and leaned my palms down on the desk, readying myself for whatever he wanted to give, be it pain or pleasure or some cruel combination of the two.
“Good girl,” he said, stroking from the collar of my dress down my spine, like he was petting a beloved animal.
I arched into it, seeking more as he continued over my ass, squeezing one cheek before gathering my skirt up at my waist. With one hand, he wriggled my panties down until they were stretched taut across my thighs then stepped back to admire the view.
He emitted a throaty, “Mm,” a sound I echoed when he touched me, a single finger tracing my cunt. I was embarrassingly wet, dripping without any more stimulation than that. Eager, too, my hips pushing back, urging his finger inside me.
He granted me the smallest dip only to bring it back out almost immediately, trailing my wetness up to the hole above it, the rim that had never been breached, not in this direction anyway.
He worked himself in with his thumb, if I had to guess from the shape and curve of the rest of his hand on the flesh nearby. The tracing of this hole elicited a different reaction from me. It wasn’t exactly unpleasurable. In fact, it felt kind of nice, though, also foreign, and while my body knew what it wanted from a finger at my cunt, it didn’t quite know what to do with one in my ass. Should I lean in? Should I pull away?
Currently, I was frozen in place, and that wasn’t doing much for me.
But then his hand was gone from my ass, and he was slanting over my body, his mouth at my neck. “Who do you belong to?” he asked.
And even though I’d heard him and knew exactly what he wanted to hear in return, I said, “What?”
His hand came up to collar my throat, firmly, but not threateningly. More possessive. “Who. Do you. Belong to?”
It was a thinly veiled request of consent, maybe because, while I hadn’t told him to stop, I also hadn’t told him to go on. I hadn’t given him an outright “okay.” It was admirable that he needed that from me, I supposed, though I didn’t believe he would ever actually force himself on a woman, despite his tendency to dominate and control.
I also didn’t suspect that was all this was about now.
He knew it would be easier for me to “let” it happen and maintain the right to resent him for it later. It gave me both my cake and the eating of it, and that was way too much for Edward to ever let me have.
If I wanted the cake, I had to own the cake.
And that meant answering his question with yielding honesty. “You.”
I could feel the whoosh of hot air as he sighed into my nape. “Say it again.”
“I belong to you, Edward.”
I didn’t have to say any more for us both to understand my meaning. I was his to do with as he pleased. Because I wanted to be his. Because I trusted what he’d give me. Because I needed it, too.
With my consent given, he went into action, moving his hand from my throat and standing straight up. I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was doing.
“Eyes forward,” he ordered.
I lingered, watching as he undid his pants, pushing down his boxer briefs just far enough to bare his steel column of flesh. It was hot, as always, his cock impressive to look at as well as be fucked by, but knowing where it was going this time, it was also a bit intimidating.
Maybe that was why he’d wanted my eyes forward.
I shivered and turned back to the desk, leaning down on my forearms. I had a feeling I was going to need the support.
He reached for the lube next. I watched from the corner of my eye as he flipped open the lid with one hand and pulled it out of my view. A tickle of wet down my crack told me he’d poured some there. His thumb returned to push some liquid inside before his touch disappeared again.
Then I could hear the slick sound of moisture and skin as he applied it to himself. I remembered watching him the other day, staring at his hand gliding along his cock, and imagining it now behind me made a fresh pool between my legs.
Cold pressure against my tight rim snapped my thoughts back to the present, to the foreign sensation at my backend and the visitor who wanted in. My muscles stiffened, my breath caught in my lungs, as I waited for the part that came next. The shove forward, the pain that would undoubtedly accompany it.
But it didn’t come.
His tip stayed poised at the entrance—the exit?—while, once again, his palm traced down my spine, soothing me. Settling me.
“Touch yourself,” he said sharply.
“I can’t.”
“I’m not asking.”
I shook my head and bit my lip. “I don’t want it to feel good.”
It wasn’t as though I thought I deserved to be punished. I’d done what I’d done for good reason, and however it had turned out in the end, I had no regrets.
But I also knew that Edward wanted me punished, and I wanted to be us again, and if giving him this could pay for what he perceived I’d taken away, then I would give it absolutely, with complete capitulation and trust.
From the low groan he gave at my words, he not only understood but appreciated it.
“I’m not sure right now if I want it to feel good for you either, but the fact remains that I will tear you apart if you don’t relax, and I certainly don’t want that.” This time he moved my hand down for me, using my fingers to caress the blazing bud of nerves, held them there until he felt confident about my finger strokes.
Then his fingers were inside me, in my cunt, pushing in from behind. He crooked them to massage against my G-spot in exactly the right way, the way only he’d ever discovered, and within several seconds, I relaxed into him, pushing my hips back, begging for more.
He took advantage of my ease, and slipped the tip of his cock inside me, stopping when he got to the tighter rim inside.
“Keep rubbing,” he commanded.
I hadn’t even noticed I’d stopped. I’d been too focused on the new sensation at my ass. His cock, it turned out, felt definitely bigger than his thumb. Like I-do-not-know-how-this-will-ever-fit big, and panic tensed my shoulders. Rubbing myself didn’t seem to help. I was too busy concentrating, too distracted to feel anything good.
Edward’s hand disappeared from my cunt, more liquid trickled in around the head stuffed in my ass, then his hand returned to mine, shoving it out of the way so he could swirl firm circles over my sensitive bud.
Yes. Just like that. Yes.
I’d forgotten how good he was at working my clit. Bodies couldn’t remember sensation like that. Like pain. I could remember that I liked it, that it was really, really good, but I couldn’t remember the exact feeling.
And the feeling was fucking fantastic. My back arched, and I moaned.
He leaned over me again, and sprinkled kisses at my neck while pushing his cock back and forth against the tight ring inside me. Wanting blatantly to be in.
Rather metaphorical, I thought abstractly.
“You spoke to him,” he said, low and urging. This wasn’t a question, but the next part was. “In person or on the phone?”
That’s what this would be then? An interrogation? I was glad, at least, that he didn’t say his name. It didn’t belong in this act, though even keeping his name out of it, he was still here, between us. As he had been for so long.