Rated: M


He thrust out a noise of frustration between his teeth from deep within his throat, and pushed himself up off her naked, dewy body. He stared down at her, blue eyes hardened with solid displeasure. “You’re holding back,” he said flatly, his hair shiny and falling over his forehead.

She shook her head and glanced away. “No.”

“Enough.”

Her gaze slipped back to his. Fierce. Challenging. The pressure from her fingers on his shoulders increasing. “I’m not doing anything!”

“Exactly!” he whispered harshly. The sweat sprinkled across his neck and chest was thinly sparkling. “You’re not doing anything. Because, why–you’re concerned I cannot manage with a few nips and scrapes? That’s utterly asinine.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“I wouldn’t have to be so sharp if you weren’t acting so thoroughly insulting.”

“I’m not trying to be insulting.”

“It’s insulting.”

The late morning sun was seeping in through the curtains, painting their figures and the room with a filmy, summer yellow light. He hadn’t wanted to start off the day without fucking her first, but if she was going to continue to act like this he’d simply cut his losses. He wasn’t about to go on screwing her knowing she was doing it nicely. There was something altogether wrong with that scenario.

If he wanted someone who was boring and wasn’t going to play rough, he’d find someone who was boring and didn’t play rough. What didn’t she get about that? Did he honestly have to spell it out for her?

“You have never taken issue with this before,” he said.

“It’s never been this many marks before.”

“You’re covered with just as many.”

“I am not, and besides, that’s not the same.”

“Why.”

“Because I’m not the one doing that!”

“I don’t understand this logic.” If it was even logic at all.

“Of course you don’t,” she huffed bitterly and pushed him away from her completely, the tips of her fingers catching on his damp skin.

“No. Eva, you owe to me a sound explanation,” he said rigidly, watching how her body moved under the flawless skin of her back as she slid off the bed. He was becoming genuinely angry, and he didn’t like being angry when he was home with her. It was a waste. “You cannot claim I am incapable of understanding simply because I am me; and leave your reasoning to that. Again, it’s insulting.”

“Stop saying I’m trying to insult you,” she mumbled, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her dressing robe.

He shrugged, pulling the downy comforter up around his waist. “I’ve yet to see an alternative, justifiable reason put forth.” Of all the altercations they’d had over the years, this had to be one of the most ludicrous. Their sex life was perfect the way it was and it didn’t require discussion. Now she was trying to change it, which didn’t make sense because he’d almost been certain she somehow enjoyed the sex more than he did.

Staring at her, he finally said, “This is stupid.”

She turned and gave him a wry smile, holding her robe closed between her fingers just over the tiny dip in her collarbone. The gold bracelet he’d given to her years ago for her twenty-first birthday, the one piece of jewelry she wore every single day without fail, glittered on her wrist. “That’s twice now you’ve said that this morning.”

“Both times warranted. Get back into bed.”

“And if I say no?” She was tying her robe closed.

“I will not be hunting you down.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Then I emphatically recommend you heed my direction, and get into this bed.” She momentarily only gazed at him, pretending to sincerely contemplate whether she was going to take him up on his offer or not. But he had no patience for this game. “Ach, abandon the phony act. We both know very well you’re coming over to me.”

She did. She went to the bed, crawled up onto its fluffy, flower-patterned surface, and tucked her knees beneath her, hands folded in her lap. “I only want to be sure you’re having fun. During sex.”

“Precisely what have I said to persuade you otherwise?”

“Well, nothing.”

“Sure. How one arrives at this conclusion then, I completely understand,” he said, his voice whetted by sarcasm. Womeennn. Always seeing signs that weren’t truly there. If only he could find in her brain that good-for-nothing wire and cut it.

“I’m worried I’m being selfish!” she confessed, voice exhausted, her fingers fiddling with that bracelet.

Pardon me?

She was the most altruistic lover he’d ever had. It was never a race to the finish line with this girl. It was always, what else can I do to make you feel good? She was so obvious in her desire and her eagerness to bring him that unparalleled sense of transcendent, physical pleasure; so obvious in how erotic she found servicing him and leading him to orgasm. Which had not been the case with anyone else. But that’d be an awkward conversation, and it wouldn’t end well. He couldn’t say that. No matter how reinforced his statement was with truths regarding how much he positively loved having sex with her. Her jealousy was worse than his; and he knew that because he intentionally toyed with it.

It’s all she would hear: she hadn’t been the only one. And then that’s all she would see when looking at him: other women, coloring his body all over with their company. Her paranoia would balloon, her mind would fly off, and ceaselessly multiply and multiply and multiply his number. And this he felt was unfair. He had self-control.

But maybe that’s all he’d hear too, had it been the other way around. Maybe that’s all he’d see too. Men, men, and more men. And seldom, when they stepped a bit too close for his comfort, he did; and he did not enjoy that sight. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He just knew the intentions of men. He knew the thoughts of men.

It wasn’t possible to have a companion as pretty as her and expect men around him not to think about her in certain ways. He was aware. There was pride in having her as his own, undeniably. But he wanted those thoughts to go only so far. Admiration and stop. There were lines, but only visible within in own his mind. He could hardly tell anyone outright, think about her only like this.

Still. That didn’t mean he didn’t own the right to be moody when he knew lines had been too far crossed. At least, that’s what he’d decided.

“I’m worried I’m putting my fun before yours,” she said finally. “I don’t want to spoil your fun by… getting lost in my own enthusiasm, I suppose. I don’t want to forget about you.”

“That’s–” He stopped short due to her expression, and looked to the side. Regardless of the fact that it was warranted here as well. Because it was stupid: the notion she was too focused on herself during their love making. But perhaps using the term when she appeared to be genuinely troubled that she hadn’t been considering his needs enough was… a bit cruel. “Really very silly.”

“I don’t think it is,” she grumbled.

So he grabbed her shoulders and threw her on her back into the pillows, moving to hover over her. “It is; and I should know. Take my word. You have no others.” A fact he knew he took for granted and would happily continue to do so. Hands trapping her to the mattress, gripping her just below the shoulders, he dipped down and put his mouth to the hollow right beneath her ear. “Take my word when I say: I like it,” he whispered fast, his sultry breath coating her sensitive, now tingling skin as his fearless fingers slipped into the tie of her robe and began to tear it open.

He had to say it fast. Move on the impulse. Otherwise he’d second-guess, and decide he wanted that part of his hand to remain hidden. Admissions of the kind were sometimes… difficult. Awkward. Exposure was still a bit of a new feeling to him. He was still getting used to it, still learning to let go and enjoy it. But he was certain this was the right move and the only move to fix this. It was the card to play and he had to play it now.

He felt her exhale, the air moving through his hair and grazing his scalp. She turned her face into him and delicately took his ear between her teeth, her fingers lacing themselves securely through his glossy hair. He yanked open the sides of her robe, re-exposing her body to him. He growled hoarsely into her ear, “I know you can do better than that.” It helped that he was unbelievably needy this morning.

Unexpectedly, he felt her hands latch onto his shoulders and force him up vertical again, her body moving with him. She buried her face in his neck; and he began hastily pulling the robe off her shoulders and down her arms, completely removing it from her body and throwing it to the floor. He felt her mouth wandering up and down his neck, her lips soft and wet, her tongue brushing over his skin. And with her hand sliding back up into his hair, she took a sturdy hold of him, suddenly pulled his head back and sunk her teeth in.

Gott!” he exclaimed gutturally, eyes wide, the force of breath moving the word forth  from behind his clamped teeth strained. He wrapped taut his arms around her and fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. Her face still tucked into his neck, marking good his flesh, he took a hold of her thighs and moved them to either side of his hips, spreading her wide over his body. He dropped a hand beneath her and she felt his fingers sweeping across the skin of her stomach as he traveled down her abdomen. Down between her legs.

Instantly, he drove two fingers into her and she gasped, unfastening her teeth from him. Blood rushed hot to his newborn wound. He let go a laugh thin of strength into her unruly hair, and said, “Always at the ready for me.” He’d hardly yet touched her. But her body was so ready for him to get going again, regardless.

Her hips began to move in rhythm with his thrusting fingers. She’d braced herself up on her forearms over his chest, and he had clear view of her face as he relentlessly worked the begging, sparking nerves within her vagina: her lust powered eyes, her scandalously flushed cheeks, her frantically panting mouth. Too soon, the noises rising from within her were becoming harsher, denser, rawer. He felt her fluids slide over his wrist and start creeping down the inside of his arm. He wasn’t going to allow her to get off so fast.

He withdrew his fingers. But covered in sweltering desperation, she was quick to act: she reached down between her legs, seized his agonizingly hard cock, and moved to line him up with her velvet opening. Intent on dragging him into immediate nirvana alongside her.

So she was hunting for a fight. He’d happily provide her one.

Just as he felt her press the head of his cock against her overheated flesh, he threw her off to the side and she dropped solidly onto the bed with a stunned, terse cry. He immediately sat up and pounced on her prostrate form, momentarily struggling against her resistance, then succeeding in wrestling her immobile. His hands pinning her wrists to the bed just above her head, his knees compelling her legs to open wide, he gazed ravenously down at her, eyes ablazing, pearls of sweat lazily sliding down his temples. Her breasts, spotted with dying love stains, were rising and falling rapidly, her skin was moist and sticky, and her gaze was bathed in an intense, dazzling sexual excitement.

Both naked and shimmering, submerged in love, submerged in lust, submerged in golden light. A Renaissance painting.

“You’re such a tease,” she said, grinning madly. She opened and closed her fingers. He was unknowingly preventing the blood from flowing into her hands but she didn’t care.

“I won’t apologize for that.” His ability to tease her, to edge her to that razor thin precipice settled between the dizzying climb and the hard fall, made her climaxes exponentially superior to any she’d ever experienced at her own fingers. She simply didn’t have the required self-control when it came to her own body, especially when he was the one producing those mind-altering sensations. But he did in most cases. It was a tougher challenge when it was his cock inside her, but not impossible. There was no regret in simply removing himself from her and watching her delicately float back down like a feather in the breeze as he thinly sprinkled her body with soft, slow kisses.

“You should be conveying a healthy dose of gratitude, really,” he said, his thumbs moving over her numbing wrists as he jerked his head to the side to flip a lock of hair away from his eyes.

Her heart and her vagina throbbed in synchronization. “Hm, I’m trying,” she said silkily, one of her legs sliding up the outside of his thigh and locking around his hip. “But you’re making it awfully tricky.” She turned her head to the side, kissed the inside of his arm, held set his gaze with her lips on his skin, then pinched him with her teeth. His grip on her wrists tightened, and her grip on his hip tightened in return.

He bowed in close. So close, she could count out his individual eyelashes. “You’re certainly one to talk,” he said, his voice low, emerging from far within his chest. She could smell the mint riding on his breath. And that persistent, wild lock of his hair had fallen and was caressing her forehead.

She arched what she could of her body up off the bed and sealed her lips with his, her nose brushing against his. She tried to pull him closer, tried to urge him down onto her, but he was immovable, appearing resolute on maintaining his position. He smiled against her mouth, chuckling. “You’re in such a rush.” She sighed a meek noise of so what? into him. “We still have two hours before I’m due to rise,” he said, his mouth straying down her neck and onto her shoulder.

She groaned, her body helplessly squirming beneath him much to his delight. “So let’s get round one out of the way,” she pleaded, her hips thrusting vainly up into empty air, achieving nothing. Nothing for herself, at least. But something else entirely for him. Because he noticed.

He felt that primitive, carnal-fanged fiend that he kept so well in check, that he kept so severely buried, that looked so identical yet acted so different to him, stir. Instigating rebellion, goading temptation and encouraging captivation. Urging submission, satisfaction, and satiation. Breaking chains, reaching for the controls, and painting need across his eyes, giving him tunnel vision. Blurring everything around him. Everything but her.

He released his hold on one of her wrists, grabbed her leg that was still on the bed and threw it up over his other hip. “Gott, the way you move your hips,” he snarled against her shoulder with bared teeth, the sound torn and coarse. She was dragging him across that line again: where he lost his polished and civilized veneer, and began to act on instinct. Hot-blooded instinct. An instinct she recklessly continued to fever higher and higher until he burned her.

“I want to say the same about you,” she pushed, taunting him, both of her legs now trying to pull him into her. He sensed the desire to lose surging up within him and he fought like hell against it; his cock pulsating and furious, waging a dirty war against him, outraged he wasn’t simply giving in. There were only so many battles he could fight at one time. And it caused him to become weaker in willpower as he grew stronger in appetite. They were parasites unto one another, each constantly trying to feed off the other.

“Come now, Adi. Let me make you happy. Let me atone for my behavior.”

He leaned back, closed his eyes and groaned. “There’s an order to these things, my child.” At least there should be.

“Are you sure?” she asked, sounding so indecently innocent. “That’s really very silly.” His eyes shot open at his own words. She was biting into her wetted lower lip, her stare so heavily weighted by sex. A drop of sweat from his temple had fallen at the top of her breast and had wandered down the side, leaving a shiny path across her skin. He wanted to trace it with his tongue.

“Don’t do that,” he threatened. Still fighting. Still losing.

“Why?” They simply stared at one another for a long moment, saturated with electricity, each daring the other to make the next move; until she said “I love when your eyes get like this.”

“Like what?” he asked quietly, words stiff and crisp like winter air.

“Out of control,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” he cursed, the word lacking enough power to hit her ears. She only noticed his lips move before he dropped his head and she lost sight of his face. All of a sudden, he collapsed onto her, one of his hands forcing her head back from beneath her chin, holding her immobile; the other hand clutching tightly at her thigh. His mouth was right beside her ear again. She could feel and hear his rugged breathing, wholly unobstructed, the hair towards the back of her neck tickling her skin with its movement. “I want you to love me in the way I want to be loved,” he breathed savagely.

“Always,” she whined. So obvious in her desire, so obvious in her eagerness. Her arms wound around him and snugly held him flush against her body, lacquered nails biting into fair skin. She tried moving her hips beneath him, endeavoring to get herself into a position where she could give to him the friction she knew he wanted. The friction she knew he needed. “I’ll only ever give you more than you expect. Never any less. Never. Never any less,” she panted.

It was a truth neither of them ever questioned.

He nuzzled his face into her neck, greasing her skin up with kisses. She began to whimper drunkenly, his name spilling off her lips. Over and over. A special type of symphony to his ears, but she was rising in pitch and growing in forte and it was still too early, he wasn’t supposed to be awake. The house would be quiet. And curious ears would be alert. This symphony wasn’t written for their ears. Only his. It wasn’t a record he was willing to share. So he pushed three fingers into her accommodating mouth, her tongue sliding erotically against them. Making him realize that it felt the same way, that it moved in the same way, as when she had it against his cock. Making him remember it. Making him envision it.

He could feel her hips stirring beneath him, enticing inspiration within his own. He had to admit, she was correct in her earlier suggestion: it was better to get round one out of the way. Neither of them ever lasted very long. They simply fit together far too well. The heat was always too hot, the energy too great, the sensitivity too high, the itch too demanding. Round one always had the immediate height; whereas round two always had the length. Round one depended on more foreplay. Round two could operate with more intercourse.

But the sheer, blinding, numbing intensity of the orgasm achieved in round two often just couldn’t be matched by the first. It wasn’t that a single round wasn’t great in itself; but if a second round was possible, they never passed up the opportunity.

So a decision was made. His hand on her thigh forced its way between the two of them, grabbed his erection, and before she’d realized what was occurring he’d unceremoniously filled her to the hilt. He felt her jaw stiffen and her teeth plunge into his fingers as vibrations from her pitched groan ripped through his bones. A million things had sprung into action at once inside her. Taking off like a startled flock of doves. He could feel it around his cock, her very blood trembling within the walls of her vagina.

He wasted no time in taking off for that cliff. And he had no plan on stopping. He was going to impetuously throw them both off that fragile, phosphorescent edge immediately. He was merciless and unsparing in his thrusting, keeping her anchored on the mattress with a hand depressing into her hip, the other still at her mouth, fingers pressing into her tongue and bottom teeth. Her nails were haphazardly engraving his skin, inscribing her presence into what was her territory. At each thrust she let slip a small cry; and each time she cried out he nipped at her, which only made her cry out again. A vicious cycle of noise and teeth.

That immediate height was coming up on them, within the both of them. He could feel it, he could hear it. He could feel it in the way her vagina was frantically clutching at him, in the way that distinct physical shimmering sensation was beginning to permeate the veins of his groin and beyond. He could hear it in the way her gasping was growing frenzied and sugarcoated with a guttural urgency, in the way his panting was stumbling and stuttering, losing any semblance of rhythm. It was there, so clear in the way they reflected the shattering of each other’s self-control.

Then, she went silent. Her breathing halted. Her hands were around his shoulders, nails sinking in and breaking skin. Indications that she was cumming and she was cumming hard. He felt her legs around him strangle his hips as she jerked hers up into him as best she could beneath his body. He quickly pulled his fingers from her mouth and fastened his palm over her lips just as overpowering, muscle-crippling bliss tore out from her throat, over and over with each wave that moved through her. He felt her body press even harder up against his.

He could sense his was seconds away, and he knew he needed something to stifle what had been building in his chest. What had been building and was about to break free. Her neck was as good as anything. Better than anything.

He bit. Wide enough that his tongue found tendons and an active pulse. Severe enough that he felt a sharp sensation immediately flare out across his palm in response. Then he realized: her own teeth had instinctively reacted hard to his bite in the way he loved so, so much. And he all but screamed into her warm skin as he painfully swelled; and finally ejaculated daringly deep inside her, the sensation of his semen being released into her with reckless abandon causing her to rake her nails across his skin with fierce and bloody wildness.

But her hips were still moving up against him, imploring his to carry her all the way to the end of a manic road where she would be crying out for him to stop. So he would. He told her by snaking his fingers up into her hair and taking a firm grasp of her feathery locks that he would. He continued to shove her hips into the mattress as she slowly, gradually, timidly began to try to pull back, and pull back, and pull back, and pull back. As she began to still. As she began to freeze. Paralyzed by sensitivity. But he continued to fuck her deep into the mattress even though he himself had gone completely numb just below the waist–he wasn’t sure if there was even any life left in his penis–and she was starting to whimper into his smarting hand.

He flung his hair back again and gazed into her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re set to give in,” he said breathless, his voice flexed; his tone both mocking and provoking. She stared at him, eyes so open, a brief moment of wondering if she’d taken the right path. Then swiftly she shook her head. He grinned. “She’s such a lovely girl,” he said under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Now. Move your hips.”

She whined, exasperated, letting her eyes fall back; but she did as she was told. Vigorously. Aggressively. Determinedly. Determined to please beyond expectations. Driving her hips up against him so violently it made him wince, stroking his own sinister rawness and reawakening vicious sensation; her hips moving too well right up against his own, following and responding to his movements too perfectly, her body meeting his with enthusiasm and a rising desperation. He hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from her right out of the gate. But perhaps that was his fault. Those words of hers were loud in his ears: I’ll only ever give you more than you expect. Never any less. He was beginning to sincerely fear she was going to force him out of her.

Then he felt her vagina severely tightening around him again. Fracturing his certainty. Making his body tensed as he pushed himself ahead a defeat that was now only a beat behind his every move. She met his eyes with a brilliant, bold gaze as her legs shifted to hold him closer and force him deeper. Forcing him to the end of that manic road where he would have to cry out for her to stop.

She tore his hand from her mouth and pulled his lips to hers, her fingers wrapping around the back of his neck to keep him fixed to her. And behind her fervent, wild kisses seemed to be a very real and very fierce intention to rob him of all his breath because he soon found himself suddenly, quickly losing it. He was forced to break from her. And the moment he did, he felt her hands flat on his chest; and in an instant, the sight of her before his eyes had abruptly transformed into the ceiling. She’d thrown him off to the side, just as he’d done with her earlier. And he was now on his back, dazed and a little confused.

But she wasted absolutely no time in repositioning herself atop of him, offering him no opportunity to regain his bearings before she easily maneuvered him back inside her. He was hardly sure how that was possible. But his entire body was so over-saturated with endorphins he had no clue as to the current physical state of his body. How was it possible to feel so empty when he felt so charged?

But victory was fast slipping from his fingers. He wasn’t altogether certain what it would’ve looked like–likely her surrendering to the sensitivity before him with a plea for mercy–but he knew enough to realize the adrenaline still raking through his veins wouldn’t be enough to get him there. He was perishing to rawing sensation that coated all inspiration trying to flower up within him.

His hands instinctively moved to her hips with the aim of stilling her. And once she felt his fingertips brush against the skin of her waist, she stole his fingers into her hands and clutched them with an angry intensity. She bent over him and planted her hands on either side of his head, bringing his with them. She drove herself down harder and faster onto him, using the stranglehold she had on his fingers to help reinforce her movements. Her mouth found his again, and with it her teeth found his bottom lip. With a severe bite that drew blood she had successfully and entirely flipped the board against him, yanking him down beneath the power of her own mercy with cut-throat ambition.

It was too much. Nerves sparking past limits, threatening to blow the fuse and knock him out. Woe betide the day she let him forget it was a soldier he’d invited into his bed.

Using all he had left, he managed to jerk free his hands, take a hold of her body and roll the both of them to the side. A one-eighty rotation he used to secure her beneath the weight of his body and restore his position as the director. He abruptly withdrew from her, inhaling through clenched teeth. “Verdammt, Evi,” he hissed. He shut his eyes, his lungs bankrupt, his body all but draped on top of hers as his head rested on her chest just beneath her chin.

What was the score between the two of them again? He’d forgotten. He’d lost track long ago. Years ago. So many matches ago. But she had far too many points, of that he was certain. Which in itself, was a loss to him. She wasn’t supposed to have this much power over him. But for some strange reason, he found himself not caring as much as he felt he should. At what point had he suddenly found her power, her influence, over him to be so sexy? At what point had he started to care less about losing because even losing to her had become fun? When had that change occurred?

If he had to guess: most likely around the same time that other change had occurred.

She giggled, and he simply laid his hand over her mouth, hiding his own amused grin by turning to spread kisses out across her breasts. Then he languidly refocused his gaze back on her and removed his hand from her mouth, a wet stamp of saliva from her lips left on his palm. She was smiling. Reading his mind. “I win,” she said cockily.

“I hadn’t realized love was a contest.”

What in God’s name had made him say that?

(And it most definitely was…)

Her eyes were so wide, and glistening so vividly now; and his heart was beating way too fast. Her lips were still wet. He wanted badly to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. He wanted to kiss the inside of her wrists, and bury his face in her hair, and brush his nose against hers, and smell the perfume on her neck, and play with the strap to her nightie as she fell asleep perfectly conformed to the shape of his body, and wake up to her running her fingertips against his whiskers.

He wanted snowball fights. He wanted hand holding by the fireplace. He wanted card games and puzzles and table-tennis they both pretended they were almost evenly matched in but each knew she was far more skilled. He wanted someone to do frivolous things with. He wanted fierce teasing and relentless bantering. He wanted someone to occasionally fight with. He wanted someone to worry about. He wanted someone who would worry about him. He wanted someone to sweetly whisper the nightmares out of in the midst of war.

He wanted loyalty. He wanted a conversational vault. He wanted someone to come home to. He wanted a dose of normalcy.

He wanted… well, it seemed he wanted a wife.

He had all these things. And he had all these things with her.

Ah. So that’s what had made him say that. Always doing strange things to him, this one. Stranger things than anyone else ever had. Always messing with the things inside both his head and his chest. Apparently, he’d given her those keys to hold onto. But he really wasn’t in any rush to take them back. At this point, she could simply keep them as her own. It felt kind of nice not having to worry about misplacing them.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me oddly.”

“How do you mean?”

“You look too happy,” she said. Cautious, but pleasantly cautious.

He had such a problem with transparency around her now.

But he’d gotten fairly deft at quickly covering up one truth with another. “Well, understand I just had marvelously erotic sex with a ravishing, young girl,” he said. He’d always been adroit with the magic of misdirection. “Naturally, I’m happy.” His mouth journeyed down between her breasts and the center of her stomach, halting on her mons pubis. “And I’m about to repeat it,” he murmured against her skin.

“Just say the word,” she said, mind already ascending, his lips making her tipsy.

His mouth wandered back up her body, climbing up the side of her neck until it was just beneath her ear. “I’d expect nothing less from my girl,” he breathed. Intentionally intoxicating her blood and her sense of reality further. Tipping her further back into that delicate and delicious pre-orgasm inebriation state that made her cheeks blossom, her nipples erect and her vagina beg all over again. That made her squirm like his fingers were brushing all over her like an ethereal mist. He wanted to groan. She was just so reliable. In every single way.

His words now hushed by the soft, heating skin of her cheek, he said, “I need for you to go into the study.”

“Okay,” she nodded. Her voice was anemic. He sat back and took a hold of her knees, gently pressing them to the bed; and the muscles in her lithe thighs brutally spasmed from being tensed and holding tight to his hips so hard for so long. She released a lengthy, weary moan. Then shakily said, “Ow.” He grinned down at her like a fool. Those words, her favorite words, crept out of his heart, out of his chest, out of his throat, onto his tongue. He could feel them just behind his teeth, wired, jittery, ready to break from of the gate at the first sliver of light. At the first slackening of the reigns. He swallowed, promptly cramming them back into his throat. They would go down no farther.

She lazily rolled to the side of the bed, and lowered her feet down to the carpeting. She rose up, at first appearing unsteady, and he reached out to offer her a hand; but she speedily regained her center before his assistance was required. As she was coming upon the room that would lead her into his bedroom, he stopped her. “A moment, Evchen.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows arched, head cocked, hair tangled chaos. “Bring with you the duvet.”

She tucked her chin down into her shoulder and softly bit her bottom lip. An action that reminded him of the dull ache now troubling his own lip from the bite she’d just given him. She wasn’t supposed to mark him in such conspicuous locations; and even though she knew this was a rule set by him for their love-making, he knew she sometimes very much broke it on purpose. The problem he then too often found himself wrestling with was maintaining the resolve to reprimand her for such infractions. Because it could be so hard to care. Especially when he liked it so much. And that she knew, which did not help.

“All right,” she said, her eyelids weighed by crude, obscene fantasies. He silently watched as she gathered the comforter up in her arms, his gaze haunting her naked body as she dramatically leaned and reached and twisted and arched. He felt something within him trying to pull on his desire. Trying to pull him up off the bed. Trying to pull him closer to her. Up against her. Against the girl who was currently bending over the side of the bed, her thighs flush with the mattress, her stomach only inches above the sheets.

Farther. Lean a little farther. Just a little–

She straightened, the comforter fully filling her arms. His fingers twitched, taken by a rash instinct to push her back down and take her in the same position he’d imagined them in his bathroom. Instead, he mirrored her movement as his own lurid fantasy thinly whispered up into the air like smoke. He hadn’t realized he’d been subconsciously tilting toward her ever so slightly, muscles coiled and taut. A panther ready to jump.

He blinked, his sight now soaking right through the walls, right into his study. The blank canvas before him. The ability to do whatever he liked. The ability to get whatever he wanted. It was entirely his to design this morning. The inside of his mouth was wet. He wanted to run his tongue all over her sugar-sweet body; all over her arms, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. He wanted to hold her legs wide apart and greedily, wantonly consume her need for him as she unremittingly whimpered his name beneath crushing passion: Adi, Adi, Adi.

“Adi?”

Eyes snapping together like magnets. An instant transaction. And then she knew what he was thinking about. He could tell: that subtle, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, the sound frayed. His mouth may have been wet but his throat was dry.

“Don’t be too long. I want to see what’s going on behind those wild eyes of yours.”

Cumming inside you so much it’ll drip down your thighs. All day long. That’s what. And they’ll all know, they’ll most certainly all know. They’ll all know just how hard I fucked and fucked and fucked you. They’ll all know because you won’t be sitting for days; because that ache down there, it hurts. But it also reminds you of me; and that makes you want it all over again, doesn’t it.

That is what.

“Do as I’ve said, and perhaps I will show you.”


Chapter 3: ENDURANCE

© 2017 Elizabeth Klarke 

It really only gets more sinful from this point, so.
I also reserve the right to “verb” words.

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