“Hi.” I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Christian is standing on the porch in his jeans and leather jacket.
“Hi,” he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile. I take a moment to admire the pretty. Oh my, he’s hot in leather.
“If I may,” he says amused. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”
“Interesting choice of words,” I comment dryly.
“Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.”
“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”
“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”
I head into the kitchen. Nervous, butterflies flooding my stomach, it’s like having a panther or mountain lion all unpredictable and predatory in my living room.
“Do you want saucers as well?”
“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” Christian calls distractedly from the living room.
When I return, he’s staring at the brown parcel of books. I place the cups on the table.
“That’s for you,” I murmur anxiously.
Crap… this is probably going to be a fight.
“Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote.” His long index finger absently traces the writing. “I thought I was D’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” He gives me a brief wolfish smile. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”
“It’s also a plea,” I whisper. Why am I so nervous? My mouth is dry.
“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”
“I bought these for you,” he says quietly his gaze impassive. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.”
I swallow convulsively.
“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”
“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”
“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.
“No… but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.” His eyes turn wary.
I sigh. I am not going to win this, so over to plan B.
“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”
He eyes me suspiciously, but concedes.
“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity, one working in Darfur since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”
“If that’s what you want to do.” His mouth sets into a hard line. He’s disappointed.
“I’ll think about it,” I murmur, I don’t want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. I want you to want to please me.
“Don’t think, Anastasia. Not about this.” His tone is quiet and serious.
How can I not think? You can pretend to be a car, like his other possessions, my subconscious makes an unwelcome vitriolic return. I ignore her. Oh, can’t we rewind? The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don’t know what to do. I stare down at my fingers. How do I retrieve this situation?
He puts the champagne bottle on the table and stands in front of me. Putting his hand under my chin, he tilts my head up. He gazes down at me, his expression grave.
“I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” He leans down and plants a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. “Please.” He releases me.
‘Ho’ my subconscious mouths at me.
“It makes me feel cheap,” I murmur.
Christian runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.
“It shouldn’t. You’re over-thinking it, Anastasia. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement, that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
I frown, trying to process his words.
“Hey, stop this,” he commands softly, cupping my chin again and pulling at it gently so I release my lower lip from my teeth. “There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just bought you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all. Have some champagne.” His eyes warm and soften, and I smile tentatively back up at him. “That’s better,” he murmurs. He picks up the champagne, takes off the foil top and cage, twists the bottle rather than the cork, and opens it with a small pop and a practiced flourish that doesn’t spill a drop. He half fills the cups.
“It’s pink,” I murmur, surprised.
“Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage,” he says with relish.
“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.” We clink cups, and he takes a drink, but I can’t help thinking this is really about my capitulation.
“Thank you,” I murmur and take a sip. Of course it’s delicious. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”
He smiles, and I blush.
“Always so eager.” Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch where he sits and tugs me down beside him.
“You’re stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”
Oh… not soft limits then. I just want to get this out of the way; the anxiety is gnawing at me.
“You managed to have him eating out of your hand.” I pout.
Christian laughs softly.
“Only because I know how to fish.”
“How do you know he liked fishing?”
“You told me. When we went for coffee.”
“Oh… did I?” I take another sip. Wow he has a memory for detail. Hmm… this champagne really is very good. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”
Christian makes a face.
“Yes. It was foul.”
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”
“I’m not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” His gray eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. “Some more?” he asks, referring to the champagne.
Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup. Is he getting me tipsy? I eye him suspiciously.
“This place looks pretty bare, are you ready for the move?”
“More or less.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s”
“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport.”
Oh… this is news.
“Mia arrives from Paris very early Saturday morning. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”
“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”
“Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” he murmurs, and for some reason, he doesn’t look pleased.
“So what are you doing about work in Seattle?”
When are we going to talk about the limits? What’s his game?
“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”
“You were going tell me this when?” He arches a brow.
“Err… I’m telling you now.”
He narrows his eyes.
For some reason, possibly because he might use his influence, I don’t want to tell him.
“A couple of publishing houses.”
“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?”
I nod warily.
“Well?” He looks at me patiently wanting more information.
“Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?” he scolds.
“Just small ones,” I murmur.
“Why don’t you want me to know?”
“Oh, now you’re being obtuse.”
“Obtuse? Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.” He fishes out another copy of my email and the list. Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there’s one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I’d better not forget that. I drain my cup.
He glances quickly at me.
He smiles that oh-so-smug-private smile of his, holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.
“Have you eaten anything?”
Oh no… not this old chestnut.
“Yes. I had a three course meal with Ray.” I roll my eyes at him. The champagne is making me bold.
He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.
“Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”
“Oh,” I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.
“Oh,” he responds, mirroring my tone. “So it begins, Anastasia.”
My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat. Why is that hot?
He fills my cup, and I drink practically all of it. Chastened, I stare up at him.
“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”
“Yes… you’ve got my attention.”
“Good,” he smiles a knowing smile. “So sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.”
I move closer to him on the couch and glance down at the list.
To be discussed and agreed between both parties:
Which of the following sexual acts are acceptable to the Submissive?
• Vaginal intercourse
• Vaginal fisting
• Anal intercourse
• Anal fisting
“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” he asks softly.
“Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”
“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into,” he smirks at me. “Your ass will need training.”
“Training?” I whisper.
“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. Anal intercourse can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” He grins down at me.
I blink up at him. He thinks I’ll enjoy it? How does he know it’s pleasurable?
“Have you done that?” I whisper.
Holy crap. I gasp.
“With a man?”
“No. I’ve never had sex with a man. Not my scene.”
Holy shit… how? I frown. He moves on down the list.
“Okay… swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.”
I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her lips together glowing with pride.
“So.” He looks down at me grinning. “Swallowing semen okay?”
I nod, not able to look him in the eye, and drain my cup again.
“More?” he asks.
“More.” And I’m suddenly reminded of our conversation earlier today as he refills my cup. Is he referring to that or just the champagne? Is this whole champagne thing more?
“Sex toys?” he asks.
I shrug, glancing down the list.
Is the use of sex toys acceptable to the Submissive?
• Butt Plugs
“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the tin?” I scrunch my nose up in distaste.
“Yes,” he smiles. “And I refer to anal intercourse above. Training.”
“Oh… what’s in other?”
“Beads, eggs… that sort of stuff.”
“Eggs?” I’m alarmed.
“Not real eggs,” he laughs loudly, shaking his head.
I purse my lips at him.
“I’m glad you find me funny.” I can’t keep my injured feelings out of my voice.
He stops laughing.
“I apologize. Miss Steele, I’m sorry,” he says, trying to look contrite, but his eyes are still dancing with humor. “Any problem with toys?”
“No,” I snap.
“Anastasia,” he cajoles. “I am sorry. Believe me. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m sorry.” His eyes are big and gray and sincere.
I thaw a little and take another sip of champagne.
“Right – bondage,” he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and my inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream.
Is Bondage acceptable to the Submissive?
• Hands in front • Hands behind back
• Ankles • Knees
• Wrists to ankles
• Spreader bars
• Tied to furniture
• Bondage with Rope
• Bondage with Tape
• Bondage with leather cuffs
• Bondage with handcuffs/metal restraints
“We’ve talked about suspension. And it’s fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods of time anyway. Anything else?”
“Don’t laugh at me, but what’s a spreader bar?”
“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologized twice.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warns. And I think I visibly shrink... oh, he’s so bossy. “A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”
“Okay… Well gagging me. I’d be worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe”
“I’d be worried if you couldn’t breathe. I don’t want to suffocate you.”
“And how will I use safe words if I’m gagged?”
“First of all, I hope you never have to use them. But if you’re gagged, we’ll use hand signals,” he says simply.
I blink up at him. But if I’m trussed up, how’s that going to work? My brain is beginning to fog… hmm alcohol.
“I’m nervous about the gagging.”
“Okay. I’ll take note.”
I stare up at him, realization dawning.
“Do you like tying your submissives up so they can’t touch you?”
He gazes at me, his eyes widening.
“That’s one of the reasons,” he says quietly.
“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”
“You don’t like talking about that,” I murmur.
“No, I don’t. Would you like another drink? It’s making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about pain.”
Holy crap… this is the tricky part. He refills my teacup, and I sip.
“So, what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?” Christian looks expectantly at me. “You’re biting your lip,” he says darkly.
I stop immediately, but I don’t know what to say. I flush and stare down at my hands.
“Were you physically punished as a child?”
“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”
“It’s not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this,” he whispers.
“Do you have to do it?”
“Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It’s what I do. I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”
He shows me the list. My subconscious runs, screaming, and hides behind the couch.
• Nipple clamps
• Genital clamps
• Hot wax
• Other types/methods of pain
“Well, you said no to genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”
“We can work up to that.”
“Or not do it at all,” I whisper.
“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won’t push you too far.”
“This punishment thing, it worries me the most.” My voice is very small.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me. We’ll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with this stuff, we’ll increase intensity. We’ll take it slow.”
I swallow, and he leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?”
I shrug, my heart in mouth again.
“Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I’m taking you to bed.”
“Bed?” I blink rapidly, and my blood pounds round my body, warming places I didn’t know existed until very recently.
“Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you too.”
I squirm. My inner goddess is panting.
“See? Beside, there’s something I want to try.”
“No – stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”
“Well then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more,” he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.
Oh my… where’s this going?
He clasps my hand.
“Outside of the time you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”
Holy cow… my mouth drops open, my subconscious is in shock, Christian Grey is up for more! He’s willing to try! My subconscious peeks out from behind the couch, still registering shock on her harpy face.
“I have one condition.” He looks warily at my stunned expression.
“What?” I breathe. Anything. I’ll give you anything.
“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”
“Oh.” And deep down I know what it is. Dread spawns in my belly.
He’s staring down at me, gauging my reaction.
“Come,” he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.
Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.
“It’s for you. Happy graduation,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.
He’s bought me a damned car, brand new by the looks of it. Jeez… I’ve had enough trouble with the books. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this. I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he’s actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I’m angry, especially after everything I told him about the books… but then he’d already bought this. Taking my hand, he leads me down the path toward this new acquisition.
“Anastasia, that Beetle of yours is old and frankly dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it’s so easy for me to make it right,” he trails off.
His eyes are on me, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to look at him. I stand silently staring at its awesome bright red newness.
“I mentioned it to your stepfather. He was all for it,” he murmurs.
Turning, I glare at him, my mouth open in horror.
“You mentioned this to Ray. How could you?” I can barely spit the words out. How dare he? Poor Ray. I feel sick, mortified for my dad.
“It’s a gift, Anastasia. Can’t you just say thank you?”
“But you know it’s too much.”
“Not to me it isn’t, not for my peace of mind.”
I frown at him, at a loss what to say. He just doesn’t get it! He’s had money all his life. Okay, not all his life – not as a small child – and my world-view shifts. The thought is very sobering, and I soften towards the car, feeling guilty about my fit of pique. His intentions are good, misguided, but not from a bad place.
“I’m happy for you to loan this to me, like the laptop.”
He sighs heavily.
“Okay. On loan. Indefinitely.” He looks warily at me.
“No, not indefinitely, but for now. Thank you.”
He frowns. I reach up and kiss him briefly on his cheek.
“Thank you for the car, sir.” I say as sweetly as I can manage.
He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand at my back holding me to him and the other fisting in my hair.
“You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele.” He kisses me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.
My blood heats immediately, and I’m returning his kiss with my own passion. I want him badly – in spite of the car, the books, the soft limits… the caning… I want him.
“It’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car,” he growls. “Now let’s get you inside and naked.” He plants a swift rough kiss on me.
Boy, he’s angry. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment and straight into my bedroom… no passing go. My subconscious is behind the sofa again, head hidden under her hands. He switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
His gaze is impassive; his gray eyes cold shards of smoky glass.
“I’m sorry about the car and the books,” I trail off. He remains silent and brooding. “You scare me when you’re angry,” I breathe, staring at him.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, his expression has softened fractionally. He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Turn round,” he whispers. “I want to get you out of that dress.”
Another mercurial mood swing, it’s so hard to keep up. Obediently, I turn and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yearning low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine. His well-manicured fingernail gently grazes down my back.
“I like this dress,” he murmurs. “I like to see your flawless skin.”
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and hooking his finger beneath the top, he pulls me closer so that I step back against him. I feel him flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
“You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet.” His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, feather light kisses along my shoulder.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, full of expectation. His fingers are at my zipper. Achingly slow, once more he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm languidly beneath his touch.
“You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still,” he whispers, kissing me around my nape between each word.
He tugs at the fastening at the halter neck, and the dress drops and pools at my feet.
“No bra, Miss Steele. I like that.”
His hands reach round and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.
“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” he murmurs against my neck.
I obey immediately, and my breasts rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, sexy hair. I roll my head to one side to give him easier access to my neck.
“Mmm… ” he murmurs into that space behind my ear, as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.
I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.
“Shall I make you come this way?” he whispers.
I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands.
“You like this, don’t you, Miss Steele?”
“Tell me.” He continues the slow sensuous torture, pulling gently.
“Good girl.” He pinches me hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.
I gasp at the exquisite, acute, pleasure/pain. I feel him against me. I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.
“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet,” he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. “Besides, you have displeased me.”
Oh… no, what will this mean? My brain registers through the fog of needy desire as I groan.
“So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.” He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against him… moving side to side.
I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see… holy shit. His hands move down to my sex… and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.
“Oh, yes. My sweet girl is all ready,” he breathes as he whirls me round so I’m facing him. His breathing has quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth. “You taste so fine, Miss Steele.” He sighs. “Undress me,” he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.
All I’m wearing is my shoes, well, Kate’s high-heeled pumps. I’m taken aback. I’ve never undressed a man.
“You can do it,” he cajoles softly.
Oh my. I blink rapidly. Where to start? I reach for his t-shirt, and he grabs my hands and shakes his head, smiling slyly at me.
“Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the t-shirt, you may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement.
Oh… this is news… I can touch with clothes. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.
“This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele.”
I gasp and flex my fingers around his girth, and he grins.
“I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”
Holy fuck… me in charge. My mouth drops open.
“What are you going to do with me?” he teases.
Oh the possibilities… my inner goddess roars, and from somewhere born of frustration, need, and sheer Steele bravery, I push him on to the bed. He laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him feeling victorious. My inner goddess is going to explode. I yank off his shoes, quickly, clumsily, and his socks. He’s staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks… glorious… mine. I crawl up the bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair in his oh so happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips.
“You’ll have to learn to keep still,” I scold, and I tug at the hair under his waistband.
His breath hitches, and he grins at me.
“Yes, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, eyes burning bright. “In my pocket, condom,” he breathes.
I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. Two! My over-eager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little. I am beyond excited.
“So eager, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, his voice laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and now I’m faced with the problem of removing his pants… hmm. I shuffle down and pull. They hardly move. I frown. How can this be so difficult?
“I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I’m able to tug down his trousers and his boxers at the same time, whoa… freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor.
Holy Moses, he’s all mine to play with, and suddenly it’s Christmas.
“Now what are you going to do?” he breathes, all trace of humor gone. I reach up and touch him, watching his expression as I do. His mouth shapes like a letter O as he takes a sharp breath. His skin is so smooth and soft… and hard… hmm, what a delicious combination. I lean forward, my hair falling around me, and he’s in my mouth. I suck, hard. He closes his eyes, his hips jerking beneath me.
“Jeez, Ana, steady,” he groans.
I feel so powerful, it’s such a heady feeling, teasing and testing him with my mouth and tongue. He tenses underneath me as I run my mouth up and down him, pushing him to the back of my throat, my lips tight… again and again.
“Stop, Ana, stop. I don’t want to come.”
I sit up, blinking at him, and I’m panting like him, but confused. I thought I was in charge? My inner goddess looks like someone snatched her ice cream.
“You’re innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming,” he gasps. “You, on top… that’s what we need to do.”
“Here, put this on.” He hands me a foil packet.
Holy Crap. How? I rip the packet open, and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers.
“Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don’t want any air in the end of that sucker,” he pants.
And very slowly, concentrating hard, I do as I’m told.
“Christ, you’re killing me here, Anastasia,” he groans.
I admire my handiwork and him. He really is a fine specimen of a man, looking at him is very, very arousing.
“Now. I want to be buried inside you,” he murmurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we’re nose to nose.
“Like this,” he breathes, and he snakes one hand round my hips, lifting me slightly, and with the other he positions himself beneath me, and very slowly, eases me on to him.
I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, sublime, agonizing, over-full feeling. Oh… please.
“That’s right, baby, feel me, all of me,” he growls and briefly closes his eyes.
And he’s inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds… minutes… I have no idea,, staring intently into my eyes.
“It’s deep this way,” he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan… oh my – the sensation radiates throughout my belly… everywhere. Fuck!
“Again,” I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges.
Moaning, I throw my head back, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly, he sinks back down on to the bed.
“You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and low and oh so sexy.
I clasp his hands, holding on for life. Gently I push off him and back down, oh my. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation. His breathing is ragged, matching mine, and he lifts his pelvis as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm… up, down, up, down… over and over… and it feels so… good. Between my panting breaths, the deep down, brimming fullness… the vehement sensation pulsing through me that’s building quickly, I watch him, our eyes locked… and I see wonder there, wonder at me.
I am fucking him. I am in charge. He’s mine, and I’m his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge, and I climax around him… shouting incoherently. He grabs my hips, and closing his eyes, tipping his head back, his jaw strained, he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.