"Give or take." His hand skims down my spine. "And then I'm going to fuck you until you physically cannot walk. Fair warning."
I press my lips together against a smile. "That sounds like a personal challenge.”
"It is." He pulls me closer, completely unbothered. "You'll be confined to this bed all day tomorrow."
He leans back against the pillow, studying me in the dark with that unhurried, assessing look that makes me feel like a problem he's already decided to solve. "One question."
"Mm."
"What are your thoughts on restraints?"
The answer moves through me before my brain catches up with it. I bring my wrists together in front of me, crossed, and hold them out toward him in the dark.
"Restraints?" I lift my wrists, crossing them in front of me. "Yes, please. I humbly submit myself as an offering."
His eyes drop to my wrists. Stay there.
"I'm yours to do with as you please." My voice drops to something I barely recognize. "All weekend. Every hour of it."
The look he gives me could power the entire building.
"Twenty minutes," he murmurs, pulling me back against his chest. "Starting now."
It doesn't take twenty minutes.
It takes twelve.
He flips me onto my stomach without preamble, pulls my hips up, and takes me apart from behind with my crossed wrists pinned against the small of my back—one large hand holding them there like a promise kept. No headboard this time. Just thedark and his breathing and the controlled, devastating precision of a man who has decided exactly what he wants and intends to take all of it.
I come with my face buried in the pillow, muffling sounds I don't entirely recognize as my own.
He doesn't stop.
The second time he takes his time—rolls me over, pins my wrists above my head, and works me slow and deep and merciless until I'm shaking and incoherent and begging in a register I didn't know my voice could reach. He watches my face through every second of it. Cataloging. Adjusting. Giving me exactly enough and withholding just a fraction more until I'm frantic with it.
"Please."
"There it is." He gives me what I'm begging for, and the orgasm that rolls through me is long and devastating, leaving me completely hollow in the best possible way.
He doesn't follow me over.
Still hard, still ruthlessly controlled, he pulls out and moves—shifting his weight up the bed in one fluid motion, his hand already curling into my hair.
"Open your mouth." His cock brushes my lips. "Take it. All of it."
I don't hesitate.
His groan when I close around him is low and fractured and nothing like the controlled sounds he's been making all night. Both hands fist in my hair, his hips rolling forward, and I feel the exact moment his composure finally, completely gives out—the rhythm turning urgent, his breathing ragged, every last thread of that iron control unraveling between my lips.
"Don't spill a drop." The command comes out rough and breathless, barely holding together. "Swallow every bit of it, little bird."
I do.
He finishes with my name on his tongue and his hands shaking against my skull, and I take everything he gives me without flinching.
He stays there for a long moment afterward. Just breathing.
Then he pulls me back down against his chest, one arm locking around my waist like punctuation. His lips press once to the top of my head—wordless, almost involuntary, like he doesn't entirely realize he's doing it.
