I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He did not just ask me that!
“Heaven help us, you have a dirty mind, Miss Bellamy,” he said, slipping into his old name for me like it had become a kinky afterthought. He pressed closer to me, his cock nudging against my intimate folds. “I mean, you want me, body, mind, soul. Correct?”
“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “I think you know that already.”
“I do,” he said. “And that’s why you should understand that I want you in the same way. I want you to belong to me.”
The head of his cock pressed into me, but he did not push any farther. He trailed a finger down my spine, stopping just below the small of my back to trace small circles as he throbbed inside of me. Some part of me was telling me I had to argue with his choice of words—“belong to me”—but the other part of me just wanted him to fuck me and tell me I’m pretty.
My arousal was making it hard to think, and my body squirmed. I pressed my hips back, wanting to take more of him, overwhelmed by how impossibly hard her was, but he firmed his grip to hold me still.
“Not yet, Charisse.” He paused, and the heat radiating off of him alone was enough to set me on fire.
I took a slow, deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he was doing this to drive me crazy or to control his own impulses, but I think he was accomplishing both either way.
“You’re your own woman,” he said, sliding in a smidge deeper, stretching me and making me feel empty all at once. “So you do realize it would still be your decision, even if your choice was to be my woman? To surrender every now and then? It may be more empowering than you think.”
I could fight it all I wanted, but there could be only one authority in this relationship, and Abram claimed that role long ago, despite any resistance on my end. And deep down, I liked it that way.
“You already have me, Abram,” I whispered.
With that, he leaned over me, pressing his lips against my ear. “I know.”
I gasped at the feeling of fullness as his erection pushed the rest of the way inside of me. Abram was larger than life, in more ways than one. And in that moment, I felt more full than I ever had before. My heart, my body. My undeniable love for him. The lusting ache that begged for release. This new freedom to stop worrying about being a Modern Day Woman and just let this man ravish me. He was right. It was much more empowering than being the boss of our relationship.
That is, until I was about to climax, and Abram pulled away.
I turned around. “Why did you stop?”
He pulled me to him and cradled body against his chest.
“Your lesson,” he said, kissing my temple.
He released me to gather my clothes from the floor and toss them to the other side of the room, then dressed himself.
“My lesson?” I asked, stumbling over the words. “What are you talking about?”
Why was he pulling on his clothes? I’d met men who didn’t care if a woman got off or not, but Abram wasn’t one of them … and he hadn’t even taken care of his own needs yet.
Abram dressed himself and then scooped me up in his arms and laid me out on chaise lounge. “Your lesson, Charisse. To respect me in my home—and everywhere else. That is how you will get what you want from me.”
“Don’t you want the same thing I do?”
He nodded, kneeling between my legs and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. My body shuddered, every nerve cell alight with need
“Of course,” he said. “But I also want to see you beg for forgiveness.”
“For slapping your ass, Abram? Really?”
My sentiment was cut off by a gasp as his leaned over and flicked his tongue against my nipple. He stopped and let me finish.
“You’re can’t be serious,” I breathed.
“You saw me grovel to Satina today,” he said, his hand slipping between my legs. “You’re so wet,” he added, sliding a finger inside of me, and then another. “When you can convince me you are sorry as well as I convinced Satina that I was, I’m going to give you the biggest orgasm of your life.”
I didn’t doubt for a second he could, but I wasn’t sure how to convince him I was sorry, though the way his fingers were so skillfully pumping into me was a great motivator.
“I am sorry,” I tried.
Abram chuckled. “No, you’re not.”
His fingers worked inside of me, and my body writhed against the crushed velvet of his chaise lounge. His thumb grazed at my clit with each movement of his hand, sending me into the depths of erotic insanity. My fingers splayed through his hair, and my back arched as a moan escaped my lips. Again he stopped. By the third time he put me through this unique brand of torture, bringing me to that brink only to withdraw his attention again, I was equally infuriated and desperately sorry.
This must have been how he felt apologizing to Satina, sans the arousal.