He’s only partially correct. A lot of this is the helpless part. But there’s also a big part that’s justhim.
“Y-yes, Sir. I think so.”
“Are you going to come all over my fingers like a good fucking girl?” he asks as he lazily toys with my entrance. If the anticipation of the orgasm doesn’t kill me, him in my ear like this surely fucking will. His scent is intoxicating and his very close proximity is intimate in the best way.
“Mmmmm,” I moan, squeezing my hands into fists at the sheer frustration. “Yes, Sir. I’m so close already.”
His fingers breach my entrance, plunging into my channel in one sudden movement of his wrist and my mouth falls open in a silent gasp. My walls immediately contract around him in a desperate plea to never leave. This man is so skilled with his fingers, I wouldn’t be disappointed if my vagina ended up their forever home. God damn.
“Oh my god.”
“God isn’t about to make you come. I am.”
His arm starts to move causing his fingers to follow suit as they pull out and then push back into me, picking up a little bit of speed with each pass. My body and limbs are antsy to move. To press my hips into his hand so I can gain more friction against him, but I’m fully restrained and at his mercy.
Every slight movement I make, shifts the rope against my skin causing the most delicious burn to travel across my increasingly sensitive nerve endings. It hurts in the best way.
His movement is restricted by my panties, but that does nothing to stop the wet sound of his fingers pounding quickly in and out of me from filling the room.
Every single sensation he has me feeling, mixed together, has me ready to combust.
I told him it wasn’t going to take long and I wasn’t lying.
A bolt of lightning zaps my spine and begins to travel down to my center. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Come for me, Babygirl. Show me how much you love what I do to you and make a mess of my fingers.”
His words are all I need to push me over the cliff’s edge into the orgasmic abyss. The more I fall, the more wetness I feel underneath me as he continues his rhythmic pace, pounding his fingers relentlessly into my greedy hole until my body eventually sags and I’m spent, with nothing left to release.
Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and I don’t miss the sound of him licking them clean. I shouldn’t like knowing that he just tasted the evidence of what we just did, but I do.
I really fucking do.
16
Raegan
My hands fumble hurriedly with the key card for way too fucking long before a tiny green light appears along with a faint ping and I grapple the handle quickly, pressing down until the hotel door pops open. I stumble through, then press my back hard against the inside of the door until it clicks closed.
I let my hair out of the tight confines of this fucking bun that’s making my head pound, then release a heavy puff of air aimed at my bangs. Quickly, I kick off my heels and slide down the door until my ass is on the cold, hard floor.
Every single nerve ending I have feels frayed and unbearably exposed.
Why am I even here? What did I think was going to come of any of this?
Pulling my knees to my chest, my head falls forward into my waiting palms as a lone tear slides down my cheek.
I came for my husband and found him with my ex-girlfriend and submissive. For a second, before I made my presence known, she was happy. Which is all I’ve ever wanted for her. Then I stepped into the light and my scarred heart cracked when it saw those broken-hearted doe-eyes. It was a subtle shift, but I’m apparently still attuned to her because I didn’t miss it.
I missher, though.
I miss the way she lit up under my touch and how she radiated love and light while we were together. She was so broken when we met. She worked so hard to put herself back together and then I had to go and break her all over again. I’ll never forget the look on her face the last night we saw each other. If I told you how many times I almost called her and begged her to take me back, you’d think I was crazy.
Personal reasons aside, I should have never engaged in an intimate relationship with her. It was unethical of me, as her therapist. Yeah, she pleaded with me to do it, but the responsibility laid with me to keep her safe and indulging her was reckless and shameful.
Then there’s the matter of myhusband. My fucking husband who I’ve spent so many years hating and plotting the various ways I could exact some level of revenge that would force him to feel and know exactly what he put me through.
He looks older, but altogether not that different. There’s a slight hint of gray right around his ears that wasn’t there before, but aside from it being more styled, it’s the same wavy light blonde mess I remember. He’s still tall, tan and lean. He also didn’t lose those piercing blue eyes I love–used to love–so much.
