And then he’s flipping me over once more, fitting himself between my thighs, pressing himself inside of me. He’s huge and hot and hard, so hard, that it feels like an invasion as he buries himself balls deep inside of me.
I start to tremble the second he sinks home, my body so primed for his that the slightest movement will send me over. My eyes flutter closed, but then his hand is there around my throat, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin on the underside of my jaw.
“Look at me,” he says and I do. Of course I do. Right here, right now, it feels like I’d do anything—everything—that he asks of me. That’s how far gone I am. That’s how much I need what only he can give me.
The thought should terrify me, and maybe somewhere deep down, it does. But before I can focus on it—before I can let it in my head—he’s moving. And though his eyes are gentle, his touch tender, the way he moves against me is anything but.
He fucks into me like he means it, like he’s dying for it. His hips pistoning against me, harder, faster, deeper than he’s ever been before. It hurts a little but it feels so good that all I can do is gasp and arch against him. All I can do is take it as he slams his cock inside of me again and again and again.
In seconds I’m overwhelmed, drowning in sensation. Completely surrounded and taken over by him. And still he surges inside of me. Still he fucks me desperately, furiously, each stroke a branding that tells me exactly who my body belongs to.
I moan at the thought, tangle my legs around his hips in an effort to hold him the only way I can. He’s shaking now, too, his body pushed to the limits. I’ve never felt anything like this before, not even the first time we had sex. It’s intense, powerful, all-consuming.
I am completely in his thrall, lost in the fire of his possession. Taken. Overwhelmed. Dominated.
It’s the last thought that has my body flying over the edge, ecstasy ripping through me like a wildfire. Heat pours through me—through my sex, my stomach, my breasts. Down my legs, into my arms and fingers, up my throat. It’s radiant, incandescent, uncontrollable, so I don’t even try. Instead, I give myself over to it, throwing myself into the belly of the flames as I call his name over and over again.
“I’ve got you,” he grinds out again, his voice low and hoarse, his body jerking rhythmically against mine as he empties himself inside of me. His shudders set off yet another explosion and I’m coming again—coming still. I cry out his name, bury my face against the lean, hard muscles of his chest as my body spins further and further away from me, to a place where the pleasure goes on and on and on. A place where everything is a long way away except Ian and the ecstasy that burns, burns, burns inside of me.
When it’s over he collapses on top of me. I can hear his ragged breathing, feel the wild pounding of his heart against my own, and I want to touch him. To soothe him. But my hands are still bound and it takes several long seconds before he reaches up and releases the belt. And then I’m free and he’s rolling to the side, pulling me with him. I wrap my arms around him, rest my head on his chest and breathe, just breathe.
It takes a long time for me to come down, for the fuzziness in my head to clear and my body to finally stop shaking. Ian is there through it all, lifting a glass of water up to my lips for me to sip, stroking my back, cuddling me against him. I cling to him, twining my arms and legs and body around him like some impossible to get rid of vine. I’m not normally the clinging type, so this is strange to me. New.
I’m not quite sure how I feel about it.
I should get up, get dressed, leave. I don’t cuddle with the men I fuck and I sure as hell don’t spend the night with them. But I’m drained, emptied out, blown wide open by everything he did and everything he made me feel. Enthralled by him and everything he’s made me feel when I’ve spent years wondering if I could feel anything at all. Which is why, when he whispers, “Stay,” I do.
Chapter 15
I wake to a dazzling early morning sunrise, the sky outside my bedroom window streaked with a carnival of reds and oranges and purples. I’m disoriented for a second, wondering why I’m seeing the sky and the buildings silhouetted against it when I always close the blackout drapes before going to sleep. But then Veronica moves closer to me, snuggling her long, sexy body into mine, and it all comes back to me in a flood.
Every whimper she made.
Every orgasm I pulled out of her.
Every single depraved and debauched thing I did to her.
Every second from the night before etched indelibly into my brain. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
She whimpers, scooting even closer to me. I pull her in, run a gentle hand over her side. And try to pretend the evidence of what I did isn’t written all over her skin.
I fail.
Fuck.