What’s next? I can’t take anymore.
Alex rises from the bed and stands there, staring down at me for a long moment. It’s instinctive to close my legs, to hide myself, but his voice stops me.
“No. Stay open. You don’t get to hide from me. You’re mine to look at whenever I wish.”
It takes a breath and an effort to spread them again, but I do. The sheets aren’t merely damp, they’re sodden. I’m lying in a pool of my cum. Proof of what he’s done to me.
He gazes at me for a while longer, then without another word, turns and walks away. I blink in confusion, watching him enter the bathroom. A moment later, the shower starts up.
Okay…
What am I supposed to understand from that?
At least I can now close my legs. But for some reason, that doesn’t seem right. I don’t havepermissionto.
He doesn’t own you, Vicky.
It’s a good message. It’s just not… convincing.
But somewhere between him leaving and the shower eventually turning off, I manage to persuade my legs to close and turn on my side. I lie in a fetal position, facing away, still trembling in the aftermath of my orgasms. Though I can’t hear his footsteps on the thick carpet, I know when he returns. And a moment later, he’s by the bed, picking up the duvet and draping it over me. He climbs in, flicking off the lights before he presses into me from behind, his body naked and slightly damp.
Alex pulls my hips back against him, reaches up and brushes my hair to the side, then cups my breast and settles, giving a contented sigh and going still.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s not intending to fuck me. My ass is safe… for now, at least. Is that relief, disappointment, or both? It’s another few moments before my heart rate begins to slow.
“Aren’t you going to untie me?”
“No.” His breath is warm against the back of my neck.
Right…
A minute passes, then another. He doesn’t move.
“Why not?”
“Because I want you here in the morning.”
I suppose I deserve that.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, with a hint of petulance. “Where would I go?”
“And that’s why you’re tied up, so I don’t haveto worry about it.”
I can’t help but pull at the ropes, and they don’t give at all. I can’t even reach the knots, even though I try.
He tweaks my nipple, hard, pulling a gasp from me.
“Quit struggling.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
His palm covers my breast again. “Tough. Go to sleep.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not tied up and lying in a wet patch.
It’s only moments before his breathing deepens, becoming regular, his body warm against mine. His hand remains on my breast, even as he sleeps.
And I lie in the darkness, awake.
