I take her to a room I do not enter often. The door lives behind a panel disguised as a wall mirror. The key is not a key. The lock reads body heat and fingerprints coded to it. Mine are coded to every lock in Rope.
Inside, the air is cooler. The light is clean, but low. The equipment is not for amateurs. This is a place for negotiated play. The walls are lined with specialty equipment I commissioned for a few high-roller members, and they visit Rope rarely, so I knew the room would be open tonight. It’s a good thing too, because we didn’t negotiate anything. Not yet.
My wife and I need to have chat.
She looks around like she has been starving and just found a buffet table. The door clicks behind us. I slide the bolt and throw a look to the ceiling plate. The two men I trust most in this building will guard the outside. No one will open this door for anything short of a fire. No one will see her cry if she needs to.
I turn to ask again what is wrong. She comes at me before I get the words out. She is heat and urgency and a hunger that feels like a deadline.
She pushes me back until the backs of my legs meet a padded bench and then onto it, straddling my lap with the single-mindedness of a person who wants to tear a clock off the wall. It is reckless for her. It is reckless for me. It is also us.
My hands find her hips because they always do. My mouth finds hers because it must. But something is wrong. “Wait.”
“No,” she says into my mouth, and she makes the word an oath.
She moves like she has to keep something from catching up to her. I have known impatience and exhibition and the kind of show a woman puts on for an audience and for herself. This is not that. This is need, sharp and strong, wrapped in control that could fray if I tug too hard.
I do not tug. I go with it. I am a man with limited tools to soothe a terror when a woman will not name it. I will use the tools I have.
Her kiss shreds my will to persist with questions. Fiery, ardent. She kisses a line down my throat as she unbuttons my shirt to expose more skin. A naughty hand dips lower than her mouth, cupping me over my trousers, where she finds me hard and ready.
But something troubles my queen, and I cannot let her distract me from that. I take her hands from me, kissing the inside of her wrists before I speak. “Tell me what troubles you, my love.”
The fear in her eyes is back for only a flash. “What’s wrong is my husband won’t let me work off some of my nervous energy on his cock.”
I don’t buy it for a second. Her pupils flare when she lies, or when she pretends she’s okay when she’s not, and they’re flaring now. But she doesn’t want to talk about it at the moment, and I’m too far gone to deny her anything.
“Promise we talk about it after.”
She swallows. “Promise.”
With that, I unleash her, and I am delighted by the results. She yanks open my trousers, tumbles to her knees, and takes medeeply into her throat. The sight of this exquisite woman on her knees would make a lesser man come in two strokes.
I cup the back of her head in my hand and take her throat. Now that we’ve grown accustomed to one another, I’m less worried about hurting her. My wife is strong enough to take whatever I dish out.
She groans around my cock, and that’s all it takes for me to pull out and lift her to her feet. Her brows furrow in confusion. “What?—”
I turn, bending her over the padded table behind me. That dress is in the way, so I lift the back of it. Black lace panties. Such a good girl. I pull them down and press on the small of her back so her ass sticks out for me as she bends forward.
Fuck, the sight of her like this is killing me. Her sex is wet and shining between her thighs, and it’s all I can do not to slam myself into her right the fuck now. But I will take my time.
I notch there, enjoying the slick, tight feel of her entrance and the way she whines for more, arching herself back to meet me. “Tell me what you want, wife.”
“Now! Fuck me n—oh, yes!”
I give her half my length to work on for a moment. She is primed and ready for more, but why not take my time with this? Why not enjoy it? This may be our last time together.
Perhaps I should make it sweet for her. Slow and romantic and meaningful. That’s where my heart is right now. I long for more time with this woman, and I may not have it. Such is the life of a pakhan.
The truth is, my end is nigh. So, I will not waste a single moment on whatshouldbe.
I slam deep, fitting into her soul where I belong. There, I pause, letting her body adjust to my presence. I feel it all—the way her pussy quivers around my cock. That deep sigh that relaxes her bones. The way she shakes with anticipation for my next move.
“That right there? That’s where you truly live, isn’t it?”
Her voice is a ghost. “Yes.”
I drag my thumbs up the sides of her spine before hooking my hands over her shoulders. Once I am anchored inside of her, I begin. I don’t retract completely—wouldn’t want to give her too much length to work herself on yet. No, I give her only a few inches. Not enough to work her G-spot into a frenzy just yet.
