As the head of the vibrator meets my nipple, Eric bites down on my lower lip, forcing me to suck in a sharp, shuddering breath. My hands fight for freedom, even though I don’t actually want them to have it; I love being tied up on Eric’s bed. Completely at his mercy and every second of my pleasure under his control. He can dole it out or take it away whenever and however he chooses, and that isthrilling.
I whimper when the wand makes contact with my other nipple, and let out a low moan when he finally lowers it between my legs, meeting my clit.
“Don’t move it,” I plead, trying to roll my hips against the pleasant buzzing, and his fingers sink inside of me in response.
The first orgasm hits like the Ecstasy that we’ve shared more times than I ever thought we would; like a blanket of warm euphoria that swallows me whole under the heated gaze of his icy eyes. I let myself drown in them while I come, crying out his name like it’s the lifeline that the man who owns it has become to me.
The next three are almost overwhelming; my arms fight for their freedom through the fourth, desperate to clingonto Eric, who just watches my hips buck against the wand and his hand with a proud smile on his face. The only things betraying the cool calm on his face are the nipples peaked hard under his shirt and his cock visibly straining against the fabric of his jeans. He’s in complete control, not only of me, but of himself. My mind races with memories of that day in his kitchen, when he told me thatI’dmade him ruin his jeans. ThatIwas why he’d lost control. The restraint he’s showing now is such a contrast to that day; he could have held out if he’d wanted to.
Hemadehimself come that day.
As soon as I get out of this rope, I am tearing his clothes off.
Or, so I thought.
Before I even have the chance to come down from orgasm number four, Eric trails the vibrator along my thighs before pressing it back into my clit, sending a vibration throughout my entire body, and orgasm number five pokes her vicious little head out at the corner of every nerve, begging to take over.
“Kiss me,” I plead with him through the almost-painful electricity stabbing into me.
His hand withdraws from me and wraps tightly around my throat while he pulls me in to claim my mouth with his, swallowing the moans that I feed him. My body writhes against its restraints until I break free from Eric’s mouth, crying out. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his shoulder while I shatter into pieces. As if he can tell that I’ve had enough, his free arm drapes around my body and holds onto me tightly, the hand controlling the magic wand only relinquishing its control when the climax comes to an end, sending me off into the clouds with it.
“Need to call red?” He asks, as if it’s the most casual conversation he’s ever had, and all that I can do is nod against his shoulder in response.
I expect him to laugh at me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he works to untie each of the knots, stopping to ask every couple of minutes if I need him to cut it, but I can’t talk yet, so I just shake my head. I almost feel like I’m drunk; like my head is floating somewhere away from my body and I’m looking down at myself, watching the world happen around me.
As soon as my arms are free, I throw them around Eric’s neck. I don’t care that there is still a ladder of rope covering my body. I don’t care that he’s still working to untie it. His lips meet the side of my head, and as soon as the rope is off of my body and thrown to the side, his arms wrap around me, pulling me close to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, resting my head against his chest with closed eyes.
“Come on,” he tells me, moving a hand to support my ass while he hoists me off of the bed.
He carries me into his kitchen, still wrapped around him, and I hear him open his refrigerator, followed by the sound of a few bottles clinking together – beer, one of the few things he actually keeps in his fridge. He orders most of his food to be delivered or goes out to eat. I think I saw a bag of barbecue flavored potato chips in one of his cabinets once, but that was it.
I keep myself tucked tightly against him while he carries me back to his bedroom; it’s like this is the most normal thing in the world to him, like I’m not physically glued to his body because I was so overwhelmed by pleasure that I’ve ceased to function. He lowers the two of us onto the bed and presses something cold against my arm.
“Hydrate.”
When I finally peel myself away from him, I take the Gatorade from his hand and crack open the lid, sucking down half of it in just a few gulps. The next hour is spent in quiet – Eric keeps itquiet. He doesn’t turn the TV on, he doesn’t blast music through the room. He just lays with me, letting me float on the cloud that he sent me to. I can feel the tension in hisbody, and I know that all he wants to do is fill the silence, but he tolerates it for me.
His fingers stroke my hair while I lay sprawled across his chest, and I close my eyes, letting myself drift off into a twilight kind of doze. Still awake, still listening to the hard beating of his heart, but close enough to sleep that he believes me to already be there. He waits – for minutes, he waits, until he seems certain that I’m asleep.
“Sug?” Nothing more than a soft whisper, like it is every night that we spend together anymore.
Like I do every night that we spend together, I pretend that I’m in a deep sleep and can’t hear him.
Like he does every night that we spend together, he whispers to me again. “I love you.”
The only thing different about it tonight is that I told him my secret; I know that he knows. But he doesn’t know that I know his. He doesn’t know that I dug and dug for it until I trudged up the truth about the worst day of his life.
And in this moment, I make a vow that he can never know.
THIRTY-FIVE
Davis
I drum my fingers on my desk, shaking my head at my bright-fucking-pink,glittery, fingernails. Sophia’s been so busy with her cosmo-whatever school that I hadn’t seen her in two weeks, so when she texted yesterday that she needed someone to practice on, I was at her place in minutes. I didn’t bother to look at what she was painting onto my damn hands, and now they’repink.
“Look at your pretty, pretty fingers,” Colt taunts, letting himself into the office.
“Hush up, old man,” I tell him. “Sophia didn’t have anyone to practice her shit on.”
