“Are you really complaining about my abilities, Miss Kensington?”
I don’t answer, pushing against his torso instead, my pale hand a stark contrast with the dark design inked there—a flaming heart with two hands that seem to cup it among an intricate nest of thorns and roses spread across the width of his pecs. He follows my silent order and slips out of me to take a couple of steps back. Before he can worry that I consider this done, I slide down the counter on wobbly legs and spin around.
Our eyes meet in the mirror I’m now facing, and when I bend over, I notice how his pupils dilate. “Not finding it so degrading now, are we?” he asks with unmasked cockiness.
Never breaking the link of our gazes, I pull my dress higher on my waist, arching my back in a manner I hope is seductive. It seems to be because he comes back against me, his index and middle finger fishing out my thong from my behind to stretch it all the way to the side.
When he fists himself and drags the round head of his erection on my dampened folds, my eyelids flutter. “How many items are on your list?” he asks.
“Fifty. But I’m not doing some of them because they are too much.”
My eyes widen when his shaft slides right over the taut hole too far back. This is an item, but if Jake’s the one I’m doing everything with, it will likely go in the “nope” pile. I’m not letting his enormous penis ruin that part of me.
All my doubts fall into nothingness when he aligns himself with my drenched opening and slides in with ease. In this position, the sensation of the ladder is incredible.
“Aah, yes,” I moan, bracing myself with a hand on the mirror.
He wastes no time mounting me, and I watch him doing it, reveling in the sight. He looks mighty and dangerous, especially with that rough expression. It seems I’m as enjoyable as he is, and it’s a great compliment.
He rams into me with maddening intensity, his hips slapping against my ass and the back of my thighs every time he does, the metallic sound of his belt echoing in rhythm.
When his heavy breaths slowly turn into groans, I know he’s nearing his climax. But he doesn’t want to come alone because he straightens me up, one of his inked hands wrapping around my throat while the other palms my heaving breasts.
“Can you come for me again, red?”
“I don’t know,” I whimper.
“Do you need help?”
His shaft is still hammering into me with precision, my insides aching for one more release. I look at us in the mirror, barely recognizing myself. My face is flushed, my eyes glassy, and my lips parted with never-ending moans and pants. His big bad hand on my throat is like a looming threat, like a glorious promise. I’ve thought of this these past two weeks, of him choking me, of trying out that item from the quiz with him. But it’s such a taboo act that I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to ask for it.
“Choke me,” I impulsively beg. I don’t give my brain time to think about this. I don’t question whether I should allow a near-stranger to perform such a violent act on me in the back room of a shady bar. I just ask for it, hoping he’ll comply because I might never have the absence of mind to do it again.
“Fuck, Gen,” he curses, his hips bucking hard. “We didn’t sign on this.”
“I don’t care. Please, Jake…”
Maybe it’s something in the look I give him, maybe my plea works, but he releases another curse and adjusts his hand around my neck. “I will go slow. If you need me to stop, tap on my arm,” he instructs. Just like that, I understand he’s the right man for this. Despite being lost in the throes of passion, he knows what he’s doing and makes it safe.
The slapping of his hips on my ass never stops as the pressure of his palm and fingers increases on that delicate part of me. He doesn’t push against the front of my throat but on the sides, which I guess is to restrict the arteries’ oxygen flow.
There’s something about the gesture that hits some kink deeply hidden within me. The dominating aspect of it is overwhelming, even more than the sense of helplessness that slowly seeps into me as survival instinct kicks in. I’m at his mercy, my entire life literally in his hand. He could kill me or leave me unconscious. I’m in more danger than I’ve ever been, but I somehow feel safe.
I’ve also never felt so alive. It’s exhilarating.
The hand teasing my nipple, pinching and twisting it over my dress and bra, travels south. I watch in the mirror as his tattooed fingers reach between my legs, past the triangle of red curls, and begin to roll around my clit in tight circles. I can’t believe how greedy he makes me, but I press harder onto him with each thrust to take everything and more. My hand covers his between my legs, so pale and delicate against his tattoos.
I mewl his name, the sound coming out as a strangled mess, and his eyes darken in the reflection. His grip tightens until I can’t breathe anymore, not even shallow gasps. Adrenaline bursts through me, triggered by the heightened sense of danger, and that sets off my orgasm. The instant I tilt, the moment my insides clench around him, he releases my throat and wraps a solid arm around my middle instead.
Suddenly, I can breathe. And it all becomes overwhelming. Between the orgasm that ravages me and the oxygen that returns to my brain, I’m feeling everything at once. My mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure, and shivers, and jolts of pure, untamable bliss. As far gone as I am, I still hear the groan that rumbles out of his throat as his hammering shaft stops to pull out of me, leaving nothing but pulsing and empty soreness behind.
I hear the snap of the latex when he tugs at the condom, and then I see his reflection grab himself to jack off. In seconds, he roars as the first splash of his orgasm lands on my bare behind. More of it comes, hot and thick against my skin, and it somehow triggers more quivers and jolts within me.
When Jake lets out one last whimper and drags the head of his shaft on me as if to wipe off the last drop of his cum, I know he’s done. His forehead comes to rest against my shoulder, and I feel the warmth of his breath fanning on the flimsy fabric of my dress. The moment stretches until I’m done shivering, satiated beyond words, with nothing but our hectic breaths to fill the void.Jesus. That was amazing.
“That’s one more off your list,” he says, his voice low and raspy.
“There was more than one.”
