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“You’re killing me…” I groan, losing my battle to stay still. I thrust up into nothing, keeping my tied hands pinned above my head even though they aren’t secured to anything.

I fucking love how much this is turning him on. And seeing him flourish under this power exchange is turning me on too, more than I have ever been before. I’ve always put his pleasure first, but I had no idea just how much he’d enjoy being the one in charge.

He’s in no hurry, despite how hard we both are. My eyes are glued to him as he walks around the room, lighting candles and incense, grabbing what I think might be lube and…holy fuck.

“What the hell is that?” I say hoarsely, craning my neck to look at him as he perches on the coffee table. The object in his hands is definitely phallic, but it looks like precious stone. Surely not.

“It’s my dildo.” He shrugs, tugging his shirt off and tossing it aside, revealing what he’s wearing underneath.

The black lacy bra, how could I forget? I thump my head back to the floor, praying to every deity that I don’t come untouched in my pants like a horny teenager. Not even a nipple rub and I’m already sticky as fuck.

“It’s rose quartz,” he says simply. My mouth falls open at the nonchalance in his tone. Like he’s not been using rose fucking quartz to get himself off. He spreads his legs where he’s sitting on the table, and—while I don’t believe in heaven—I think the closest I’ll get is nestled between his thighs.

“I’m okay with you using that on me, by the way.” I mean to say it coolly, but my voice betrays me completely. I whine. Like a fucking dog, begging for its master.

His brows pop up in barely contained surprise, legs snapping closed as a wave of desire ripples through his body. His fist closes around the dildo, raising it and wiggling it in the air.

“You want this?” he breathes, and I die a little inside. I don’t know where the hell this confidence is coming from. It’s such a difference from the shy boy I once knew; it’s driving me wild in all the best ways. It takes every ounce of my self-restraint to just lie there and watch as he wiggles out of his panties.

His foot slides against the opposite leg, hooking the thin fabric around his ankle. With a quick flick, the panties fly through the air, landing squarely on my chest.

“Please, Bels,” I beg, my fingers twisting to grab the edge of the belt cinched around my wrists. I buck into nothing, the head of my cock catching on the fabric of my boxers.

He swings his legs over the side of the table and walks over to me. Literally over the top of me, standing right over my head.

Please sit on my face.

Please sit on my face.

Please, please, please.

Sit.

On.

My.

Face.

My prayers go unanswered though, as he walks backward until he’s standing over my hips, holding a candle. The orange-yellow glow paints his delicious body in amber tones, highlighting the slender dip of his waist and points of his hip bones. The candlelight seems to settle in the hollow of his collarbone as he tips his head to the side.

I didn’t think I was into feet, but the way Bellamy points his toes and slides his foot across my belly to move the bundle of lace has me questioning it.

My thoughts stutter as he upends the candle. I gasp, expecting the wax to scorch my skin, but the drops are pleasant, tingly and warm.

“Massage candle,” he hums, dropping to his knees to finally free me from my jeans and boxers. My cock pings back with an audible thwack against my abs, dipping into the melted oil that’s pooling on my stomach. I expect him to go straight for it, but my twitching cock is not his first port of call.

He skips over it completely, dipping two fingers into the oily wax, rubbing it in before sliding his hand behind himself. His mouth parts with pleasure as he works himself open, crouched over the top of me. I feel his hand brushing my thigh every time he pulls out, the touch sending electric shocks up my quads and into my groin.

After what feels like an eternity of erotic torture, he stops, wiping the excess oil on his bra before ripping that off and tossing it aside too. He disappears for a second, coming back with something in his hand.

“Would this be okay?” he says, holding up a black sleep mask.

A blindfold.

All I can do is nod, my cock twitching as he slides the silk onto my face, robbing me of one of my senses.

Everything becomes more heightened. His touch isn’t just gentle—his hands move across my body in a benevolent caress. It’s slow, so fucking slow, roving across my sides, lingering on my nipples before sliding down south. He avoids my cock completely, running his hands down my Adonis belt and into the grooves of my groin.