His hands go to the tie around my wrists, and I expect him to free me, but instead, he tightens them, then grabs close to my wrists, pulling me off the ground, teetering forward, terror and excitement competing in me as I worry he’ll drop me.
When he pulls back, I go with him, a strange arch to my spine, my core desperately trying to regain equilibrium.
But I don’t get it.
He slams back into me, then pulls back out, my body entirely at his mercy, bent and twisted to his whims. The torture continues, balanced on the precipice, unable to come, unable to move, unable to do anything but take what he’s giving me, the slick sound of us coming together and our panted breaths the only mark of time or reality. “Please,” I beg, every muscle in my body trembling from the strain, from the need that screams through me.
“Oh Sugar, this isn’t about you. It’s my birthday after all,” he says, pausing his assault to run one hand down my front, tweaking a nipple, a squeak escaping me. I hold my breath, hopeful he’ll move lower, but instead he adjusts his hold on my arms, one forearm wrapping around my waist, and doubles his efforts. The force of him has my breath puffing out every time he bottoms out, and my hips chase him every time he withdraws.
“Please,” I beg again, so damn close, but he doesn’t even answer this time, instead using my body, taking from me everything I’m more than willing to give. He pounds into me, over and over, until muttered curses stream from his mouth, the feeling of him twitching inside me, the heat of him pooling inside me, tells me he’s come without me.
He falls forward against my spine, my arms pinned, my face back against the ground. “Goddamn it, Sugar. You’re exquisite.” His lips press against the bare skin at the top of my spine, my shorter hair barely disturbed by the act.
I’m still trembling with the need to come as he carefully unties my wrists, rubbing each down before placing them by my head, letting me move them to cradle my face, protecting it from the concrete floor. He stays seated in me though, as he runs long, smooth strokes down my back, rubbing my shoulders, easing the ache from being tied up.
And as soothing as it is, calming and careful, it’s not what I want.
Tears are dripping onto the back of my hands when he finally pulls out, the hot wet slide of cum on my thigh nearly burning with my need. “Please,” I whisper one last time, shaking, but too tired, too overwhelmed to do anything but beg.
One of his hands slides up my inner thigh, catching the cum and slowly, oh so slowly, pushing it back inside me.
One single finger, not moving, and I’m crying for real, shaking, sobbing, desperate.
“Oh sweetness, you really think I’m that mean?” he asks, his other hand running a soothing line down my back.
“RJ—”
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry,” he whispers.
Then he adds a second finger, then a third, plunging in and out of me, as I cry against the floor. Finally, his other hand circles my waist to coax my clit into what has to be the strongest orgasm I’ve had in memory, my body spasming, my cries closer to sobs, everything in me buzzing then lax.
Losing any capacity I have to move, to speak, I lay there on the floor, RJ gathering me to him, draping me across his still fully clothed chest, rubbing my arms and whispering about how amazing I am, how strong, how capable, how beautiful my trust is, and how much he loves me.
And pressed against the steady beat of his heart, I come down from what has to be the most intense game I’ve ever played. One I know we’re going to play again. All of us.
When I’ve recovered enough, RJ helps me to my feet, locks Trips’ belt around my waist, tucks the tie into his pocket, then offers me a piggyback ride to the car.
I take him up on it.
Because I don’t always have to be strong. Not anymore. Not with them.
With them, I get to be me. Just me.
Chapter 79
RJ
Clara’s mostly asleep by the time we get to the car, her lax weight tough to carry. That she trusts me enough to let me carry her, let alone that she’s almost asleep, makes me feel like I’m a mile tall. Add in one hell of an orgasm, and this has to be the best birthday I’ve ever had.
Trips sees us coming and rushes to scoop her off my back, settling her in the backseat next to an equally out of it Jansen. Sliding in on the other side, I tuck her against me. Walker watches us in the rearview mirror for a moment, a content smile creasing his face, before he drives the half mile home, flurries landing on the windshield and melting almost instantly, the car uncomfortably warm.
Heavier flurries hit the windshield as we get closer, but they don’t melt. A strange orange glow flickers on the horizon, and I interrupt Walker and Trips’ soft bickering aboutthe game. “Don’t go to the back. I want to see what’s going on up there.”
Walker and Trips lean forward, intent on the orange haze, and as we get closer, more and more flurries collect on the windshield, gray instead of white. My stomach drops.
“That’s our house,” Jansen whispers, his voice a shock, as I was sure he was as out of it as Clara.
“No,” Trips says, but it’s a denial, not a truth.
