She looks at me. Her eyes are clear despite the post-orgasm haze. She smiles, genuine and warm. "I'm more than okay."
Relief and satisfaction flood through me in equal measure.
I loop the belt around her neck. Not tight. Just resting there. A collar without pressure. A promise of what comes next.
"Good," I say, my voice dropping lower. "Because we're not done yet,dashuri. Not even close."
27
LILY
Erion leads me by the belt still looped around my neck, the leather a gentle pressure against my skin, not tight enough to restrict but present enough that I feel it with every step.
I should feel trapped. Controlled. Diminished.
But I don't.
I've never felt so free in my entire life.
When Erion takes control, something in me releases. I don't have to think. Don't have to worry or plan or anticipate every possible outcome and prepare for disaster. I can just feel. Just be. Just exist in this moment without the weight of responsibility crushing down on my shoulders.
My mind goes quiet in a way it never does. The constant spiral of anxiety and overthinking, the voice that tells me I need to fixthings and manage situations and make sure everyone else is okay, stops completely.
I just trust.
Trust him to know what I need. Trust him to pay attention. Trust him to care whether I'm okay.
The freedom in that is staggering.
We reach his bedroom. He pulls me close by the belt, the leather sliding through his fingers until there's barely any distance between us. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, intense in a way that makes my pulse kick up.
"Take my clothes off," he says. A command, not a request. No question in his voice.
I do.
My hands shake slightly as I reach for his shirt, fingers fumbling with buttons that suddenly feel too small, too complicated. I work it free slowly, exposing his chest inch by inch. The tattoos that cover his skin are revealed in pieces. Dark lines and shapes, some beautiful and intricate, some brutal and sharp-edged. Scars underneath, pale against his tanned skin. Stories written in violence and survival.
I trace one with my fingertip, a raised line that cuts across his ribs.
He watches me. Doesn't stop me.
I push his jeans down his hips. His underwear follows. Everything stripped away until he's completely naked in front of me.
His cock is hard, jutting out from his body. Big. Thick. The head flushed dark and glistening with pre-cum that catches the light.
A moan escapes me before I can stop it, raw and wanting.
"You want a taste?" His voice is rough, scraped raw. "You going to be a good dirty girl and take my cock in that pretty mouth?"
Heat floods through me, settling low and insistent between my thighs.
I breathe out one word. "Yes."
He pulls on the belt gently, the pressure against my throat guiding me down. My knees hit the floor, the hardwood cool against my skin.
"Take me," he says.
I do my best. I don't have much experience with this, haven't done it more than a handful of times and never with someone like him, someone so confident and demanding and present. But I try.
