"Liar." He thrusts into me in one hard stroke, and I cry out, my back arching off the counter. "You've been pushing me away all day. Avoiding me."
"I wasn't—oh god?—"
He pulls out and slams back in, and whatever protest I was forming dissolves into a moan.
"You were." Another thrust, hitting something deep inside me. "But you're not running now."
I can't run. Can't move, can't think. I can barely breathe. My hands strain against the belt, wanting to touch him, but the restraint only heightens everything. Every sensation is amplified, every nerve ending on fire.
He sets a punishing pace, fucking me hard and deep, his grip on my hips is the only thing keeping me grounded. The sounds filling the kitchen are obscene—skin against skin, my moans, his grunts, the wet slide of our bodies joining.
"You feel so good," he growls against my neck. "So tight. So fucking perfect."
"Harder," I gasp. "Please, harder?—"
He gives me what I ask for. His thrusts become brutal, relentless, each one driving the air from my lungs. The counter digs into me, my shoulders strain against the belt, and I don't care about any of it. All I care about is him, about this, about the pleasure building inside me like a wave about to crest.
"Come for me," he demands. "Right now. Come on my cock."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me. I scream his name, my whole body convulsing, my inner walls clenching around him so hard it's almost painful. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, just fucks me through it until I'm sobbing and shaking and begging him to let me breathe.
"One more," he says, and it's not a request. "Give me one more."
"I can't?—"
"You can." His hand slides between us, finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles. "You will."
The second orgasm builds impossibly fast, layered on top of the aftershocks of the first. My body doesn't feel like my own anymore. I'm just sensation, just pleasure, just a trembling mess in his hands.
When I come again, it's with a silent scream, my mouth open but no sound emerging. He follows me over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep and groaning my name as he spills inside me.
We stay like that for a long time. Him still inside me. My head on his shoulder. Both of us panting, wrecked.
Finally, he pulls out and reaches behind me, carefully unwinding the belt from my wrists. He brings my hands around to the front and examines the faint red marks on my skin.
"Did I hurt you?" His voice is soft now, all the dominance gone, replaced by something tender.
"No." I flex my fingers experimentally. “I'm fine."
He lifts my wrists to his mouth and presses a kiss to each one. The gesture is so gentle, so at odds with what we just did, that tears prick at my eyes.
"I've never..." I start, then stop.
"Never what?"
“My ex never..." I shake my head. "He never wanted anything like that. It was always so... vanilla. So careful."
Phoenix pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "I'm not him. I'm never going to be him."
"I know." I press my face into his neck. "That's what scares me."
He holds me for a long moment, his hand stroking up and down my back. Then he pulls away just enough to look at my face.
"Shower," he says. "Come on."
He carries me to the bathroom, and I don't even protest. My legs wouldn't hold me anyway. He turns on the water and waits until it's warm, then guides me under the spray.
