“Not expecting that, were you?” he whispered, dragging his mouth to the other side, teeth scraping.
I whimpered, unable to form words.
One hand tightened at my waist, the other firm around my bound wrists. Then he moved me, using the strength in his arms to control the pace, the depth, as he lifted me up only to impale me again and again and again. I was nothing but softness in his grasp, shaking, blindfolded and speared on his cock like a toy he refused to give up.
“God, you feel good,” he growled. “So wet. So fucking tight.”
The bed creaked beneath us with every thrust, the slap of skin on skin growing faster, harder, filthier. My cries turned ragged. The pleasure was too much, too deep, too fast.
“Do you want to come, love?” he asked, voice rough and hungry.
“Yes—yes. God, yes!” I choked out, everything fading into darkness, into the abyss. The last coherent thought in my mind. A beg. A plea for release. And then I was gone.
“Then do it,” he growled, reaching between us, putting pressure on my aching clit—the friction shooting fireworks off in the darkness. “Come on my cock as I fill you.”
I broke apart with a cry that tore through the room. He didn’t stop, hips bucking wildly into me as he chased his own release, relentless and fierce. I was adrift in the black, warmth gathering at the edges of my mind like a blanket. His rhythm grew frantic, uneven. He thrust up into me with a roar, his cock pulsing, filling me with his release as I spasmed around him, milking every last drop.
He held me there, even as the tension eased from his body—his pulse slowing, his grip loosening, the storm between us giving way to quiet.
Chapter 34
***
Emma
Pleasure still sparked behind my closed eyes, constellations scattering across the dark.
This must have been what it meant to fly without wings—to exist outside a body made of pressure and anxiety. I could have stayed there forever, suspended between worlds where pain and pleasure blurred into something holy.
I drifted through that stillness, exploring the peace blooming through my mind, my body, my soul.
Time unraveled—minutes, hours, days. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care.
All that mattered was the calm. The impossible, weightless peace. As if every jagged piece of me had finally settled into place.
And still, he held me—his touch the faint thread tethering me to the world, keeping me from slipping away completely.
Then I felt it—what he’d spilled inside me—sliding lower, pooling between us, a lingering echo of everything we’d shared.
Reluctantly, I began to surface. Rising from that weightless dark toward the pull of the waking world.
When I opened my eyes, darkness still greeted me—the blindfold silken against my lashes. The final barrier between dream and waking.
His arms loosened around my wrists, my back. Then his voice, low and tender, brushed against my ear. “Are you ready for me to remove the blindfold?”
I heard the words, but their meaning lagged, blurred by whatever world I’d just come from. A world made of touch and heartbeat.
Understanding hit gradually. Then all at once. The haze shattered, leaving bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
I managed a small nod. His low laugh vibrated against my chest as he released my wrists. My arms fell to my sides, heavy and useless.
His fingers sifted through my curls, easing them away from my face. Light seeped in gradually, as if he were guiding me back one small flicker at a time—first a hint at the edge of my vision, then a sliver, then the full shape of the world.
He was watching me. Skin still slick, chest rising and falling in measured waves. His eyes traced over me like a map he already knew by heart, lingering on every place he’d touched, every breath he’d drawn from me. A faint smile curved his lips. His gaze swept across my face again, searching for any flicker of discomfort—and finding none. The short scruff along his jaw glistened with scattered droplets; his lips, red and swollen, parted on a breath that shook the air between us.
He was magnificent.
My heart tightened, awareness of him burning bright between us.
