Looping the tie around my wrists, he tied a knot and pulled my arms until they were lying flat on the bed above my head. Then he looped the remainder of the tie around the corner bedpost and positioned my body so that I was stretched diagonally across the mattress.
He stood back and examined his captive. “How many men have you been with like this, Sabrina?” he asked, as he began undoing his belt.
“I’ve been with five men besides you.” My number felt large, even when I was sure that Donovan had likely had plenty more lovers than I’d had. “But I’ve never been with anyone like this.”
His eyes flared. “Never been tied to the bed before?”
“No.” I’d never been so thrilled I nearly came without being touched before either.
And it was more than that. Except for that one time in a small office at Harvard, I’d never been with a man who made me feel so completely turned on, as though every single one of my arousal buttons had been hit and not just one or two.
And now his belt was off and his cock was out, hard and thick and purple in the moonlight. I tried to sit up, wanting it in my mouth. Wanting to taste him the same way he’d tasted me.
But Donovan put his hands on my thighs, and with the bindings on my wrists, I couldn’t move very far. I definitely couldn’t get to him. It felt like all the years of yearning for him were compounded in this one moment and the torment was nearly unbearable.
I wriggled and pled. “Please, Donovan!”
“What?” He knew exactly what. There was even a hint of a laugh, as though he found my misery amusing.
“You’re cruel.”
“So you’ve said.” With a smile, he flipped me over so I was on my stomach and propped me on my knees. Then he stroked his hand down my back, pressing my head down. I peered back at him through my legs and saw him put one knee on the bed next to me, the other foot he left on the floor.
I heard the tear of a condom wrapper and watched as the foil fell to the floor. Again he ran his hand along my spine. This time when he reached my ass, he gave it a firm slap that made me jump. When I relaxed again, he was waiting with his cock to slam inside me.
“Fuck!” I cried into the pillow. Or I meant to, but it came out as some strangled sound I didn’t recognize.
The feeling, though—now that, I recognized. Donovan filled me so uniquely. Like no one else ever had, completely and totally, but it was also how he filled me that made my pussy crave him, how he moved inside me, how he bucked and raged, how he managed to go wild and yet master me all at the same time.
It was some form of magic or manipulation or maybe he just made me insane. I couldn’t say which. All I knew was that with each thrust of his cock, I felt myself slip further under his spell.
My first orgasm hit almost immediately.
The second took longer, growing torturously as Donovan drove into me, hitting me at just the right spot, and with each thrust, my nipples rubbed against the ties of the quilt below me. It couldn’t have been more agonizing if he had planted the quilt there. The yarn tickled my breasts and no matter how much I tried to adjust my position, I couldn’t get the pressure to be enough. Every time I attempted to raise my torso even an inch off the mattress, he would push me back down. As if he knew the torment I was suffering. As if he wanted me to suffer more.
And I loved it.
When my second orgasm hit, my body fell into spasms, writhing with ecstasy.
I was still thrashing when Donovan put both of his legs on the floor. He shifted me so that my body was now perpendicular on the bed, and just my wrists were bent at the post. With his fingernails digging into my hips, he hammered into me, chasing his own orgasm, which he found quickly.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, I fell on my side.
Immediately, my head started working, like it always did, but I forced all thoughts and judgment and regret from my mind. Those would come later. I knew that well enough from experience.
Donovan collapsed on the bed behind me, his breath ragged.
I closed my eyes and listened as his breathing evened out. It was a peaceful sound, and I wondered how long I’d get to hear it. He wasn’t the type to spend the night. He’d leave soon.
But I didn’t think about that. I just listened and breathed.
I was only vaguely aware when he shifted a few minutes later, only vaguely aware of the loosening of the binding at my wrists before I slipped into the contented haze of unconsciousness.
Nineteen
I woke with a start, as if I’d been dreaming, but the only images in my mind were from real life. Images of Donovan over me, inside me. I could still feel him even though I knew immediately that the bed was empty.
It felt worse than I thought it would to wake up without him. I guess I hadn’t thought it would feel like anything, but it did. It felt hollow, like I’d forgotten to eat all day, yet my appetite was completely gone and the hollowness was both higher and lower than my stomach.
Other than the emptiness, though, I felt kind of amazing. Post-sex hormones lingered in my bloodstream, and my head spun in a weird euphoric haze. I stretched and my muscles screamed in protest, reminding me they’d been used in ways they hadn’t been used in quite some time. I rubbed my eyes and blinked. It was still dark, and I’d woken in the position I’d fallen asleep in, so I knew I hadn’t been out long. I rolled over to look at my alarm clock and nearly jumped out of my skin.
I wasn’t alone after all.
Donovan sat in the chair in the corner of my room, his elbow propped on the armrest, his chin in hand, watching me.
The clock said I’d been asleep for more than an hour. Had he sat there the whole time?
I shivered at the thought, but I didn’t pull a blanket over me. If he wanted to look, he could look. As far as I knew, it was the only thing keeping him here, and now that I had the choice, I wasn’t ready for him to go.
But he would go. I knew that. He’d told me before that he was the quick-to-escape kind of lover. If he were staying, he’d be naked in the bed with me. Instead, he was just as dressed as he’d been when he’d fucked me. His pants were still unfastened and now his tie was looped around his neck.
But maybe that’s why it thrilled me so much to find him still here, why it warmed me to think he’d been sitting there the whole time I’d slept—because he hadn’t left yet.
I sat up and tried to pat down the bird’s nest that had once been my hair.
“Were you even going to say goodbye?” I asked, pretending to balance accusation with acceptance when really I was hoping he’d say he’d changed his mind about going at all.
He smiled lazily. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m still here.”
“You’re just as much already gone.”
His face was in the shadows, but I could feel his expression sober even if I couldn’t see it. “I’m less gone than you’d imagine.”
My inner thighs clenched with desire, but the sincerity in his tone tugged at some emotion beyond lust. It made me brave. “Get in bed, then. Stay.”