My gaze drops to his lips. I want him to kiss me. I want him to do something to make the ache between my legs go away. I'll do anything to make the ache go away.
But I can't make myself say the words. It's too much.
He chuckles again, the sound a low, dark purr of satisfaction. "Looks like we're not quite ready yet."
He moves his mouth back down my body. His lips and tongue continue their slow, torturous exploration, tasting me, teasing me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge, only to pull back at the last second.
I don't know how many times he does it. Time loses all meaning. My world narrows to this bed, to this man, and the things he's making me feel.
I'm a mess of need and frustration, my body a taut bowstring of pleasure poised on the edge of release. I'm sobbing, tears of desperation streaming down my face as my hips buck, seeking more of the pleasure he's giving me.
He's turned me into a creature of pure, unadulterated need.
"Please," I beg, raw and broken. "Please, sir."
"Please what?" he murmurs against my skin.
"Please, take my virginity!" The words tumble out in a desperate sob.
His head lifts, and his smile is slow and predatory. "With pleasure." He leans forward, and his lips crash down on mine, claiming, possessing, marking me as his.
I taste myself on his lips, a musky, salty tang that is both horrifying and intoxicating. I kiss him back, a desperate, hungry kiss, my bound body arching into him helplessly.
He pulls back, and I chase him, a needy, desperate movement.
"Stay still," he commands, and the authority in his voice stills me.
I lie there, panting, my body trembling with a need so strong it's a physical ache. I watch as he positions himself over me, the thick head of him nudging against my slick entrance.
He braces himself on one arm, his other hand wrapping around his cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly. He’s not rushing this. He’s savoring every second of my surrender.
My gaze is locked on him, on the impressive length and thickness of him. A sliver of fear cuts through the haze of lust. He’s going to put that inside me.
He’s going to ruin me for anyone else.
And God help me; I want him to.
"My arms, sir. Please," I whisper, the plea small and something I don't expect him to answer.
His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see something other than raw lust there. Something softer. He reaches up and touches the belt. "If I take it off, are you going to be obedient?"
"I will," I breathe. "I'll be good. I promise."
The belt loosens, then falls away. The cool air rushes over my skin, a strange, unwelcome sensation. I’m free, but I don't feel free. I feel more trapped than ever.
He leans down, braced on his forearms, his body covering mine. His skin is hot against mine, a hard, heavy weight that pins me to the bed. He's a blanket of muscle and power, and I'm completely and utterly at his mercy.
My hands are free, but I don't move them. I can't. The command is too strong, the memory of the leather too fresh.
"Can I move?" I whisper, my words brushing against his lips.
"You can touch me, Erica," he says, a permission and a command rolled into one.
He's right.
I am learning.
The thought should terrify me, shame me.
