The addendum made me clench again, because there was promise in it. Promise of the kind of hurt that transmuted into pleasure, the kind that left marks you treasured, the kind that made you feel claimed down to your bones.
He settled between my spread thighs, his weight on his forearms bracketing my body. The position put us face to face, close enough that I could see the striations in his gray eyes, the way his pupils had blown wide with want. Close enough to share breath.
The head of him pressed against my entrance, and we both stopped breathing.
"Look at me," he commanded, though I was already looking, couldn't look away. "Keep your eyes on mine."
I nodded, beyond words. The silk restraints held me open, vulnerable, unable to adjust the angle or control the pace. I wascompletely at his mercy, and the trust required for that made my chest tight with something that wasn't quite fear but wasn't quite not fear either.
"This is mine now," he said, and began to push inside.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. Even with how wet I was from my orgasm, even with his fingers having prepared me, he was almost too much. My body had to yield, had to adjust, had to learn to accommodate him.
He went slowly, watching my face for any sign of real distress. An inch, then pause. Another inch, then pause. Letting me adjust to each increment, even though I could see the strain in his jaw, the way his arms trembled with the effort of holding back.
"Breathe," he reminded me when he was halfway in, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. I exhaled shakily, and the release of tension let him slide deeper.
The fullness was overwhelming. Not just physical but psychological. The weight of him over me, the stretch of him inside me, the silk holding me open for his use—it all combined into something that made my brain go quiet in a way it never did.
No anxiety spinning. No mental calculations. No probability matrices. Just sensation and him and the present moment.
When he was finally fully seated, hips flush against mine, we both groaned. The sound came from somewhere deep, primal, like our bodies were having a conversation our mouths couldn't manage.
"Fuck," he breathed against my lips. "You feel—fuck, Maya."
My name in his wrecked voice made me clench around him, and he groaned again, forehead dropping to mine.
"If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts," he warned.
"Move," I begged. "Please. I need you to move."
He pulled back slowly, just a few inches, then pushed back in. Testing. The drag of him against my oversensitive walls made sparks shoot through my nervous system. Made my bound hands flex uselessly, wanting to touch him, to pull him closer, to rake my nails down his back.
"Perfect," he murmured, finding a rhythm. Slow at first, controlled, watching my face to gauge what worked. When he adjusted his angle and hit that spot inside me, my whole body jerked against the restraints.
"There," he said with dark satisfaction. "Right there."
He targeted that spot with devastating precision, each thrust deliberate, designed to make me lose my mind. And I was. The orgasm I'd just had had only taken the edge off. Now, with him inside me, filling me completely, hitting that perfect spot—I was climbing again.
But this time was different. This time I could feel his control fracturing too. Could see it in the way his rhythm occasionally stuttered. The way sweat beaded on his forehead. The way his breathing had gone harsh and uneven.
"So tight," he ground out, his pace increasing despite himself. "So perfect. Mine. All mine."
The possession in his voice, the claim in it, made me clench harder around him. I wanted to be his. Wanted to belong to this man who'd fed me when I forgot to eat, who'd given me structure when I was drowning, who'd bought cat supplies to give me something normal in all the chaos.
"Yours," I gasped, the word torn from me by a particularly deep thrust. "All yours, Daddy."
The title broke something in him. His rhythm faltered, became less controlled, more desperate. He was fucking me now, not just taking me but claiming me, and the silk restraints were the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
I could feel my second orgasm building, different from the first. Deeper, starting in my core where he was hitting that spot over and over. My bound legs trembled, toes curling, every muscle starting to tense.
"I'm close," I gasped. "Daddy, I'm—can I—please—"
He lifted his head to look at me, and his face was wrecked. Hair damp with sweat, eyes wild, jaw clenched with the effort of holding back his own release.
"Wait," he ground out. "Wait for me. We come together."
The command should have been impossible to follow. My body was screaming for release, everything coiled tight and ready to snap. But somehow I held on, kept myself balanced on that knife's edge while he drove into me with increasing desperation.
