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The desperation in my words is embarrassing, but he looks at me with understanding.
Moving slowly, he grasps me by the hips and pulls me farther toward the edge of the bed. My legs fall open to him, and he fits himself between them. He belongs there. His hands begin to drag down my thighs over the sweatpants he dressed me in, and I relax into the caress. It’s so careful and tender. He moves slowly enough not to startle me, and every movement and touch brings my walls down a little further.
Fingers skim across my inner thighs tentatively, the feeling soaking through the soft fabric, and my sighs of appreciation seem to encourage him. He works his way up until his touch is barely shy of where I need him. Seeing my content expression, he stops there and lingers. Then he frustratingly moves away and starts to run his palms along my sides and ribs. He carefully avoids the wounds hidden under the bandages he so carefully wrapped me in, but there are small unavoidable flashes of pain that only serve to heighten the pleasure his touch brings me.
When he reaches my breasts, I nearly lose all thought. Bra lost to the carnage of my captor, he cups and fondles them. Studies them through the thin white shirt I’m wearing over my bandaged body. Impatience seems to take over him for a moment, and he reaches to pull up my shirt.
My hand shoots out to stop the movement.
“No,” I command.
Understanding dawns on him, and he backs down. He took care of me when I was at my worst. He knows what bruises are healing and which cuts will scar. He knows the reminder that those things are for me, and I admire that he doesn’t push me to fulfill his own desires.
He lowers the hem of my shirt back down, but only moments later, I feel his hands rise beneath the fabric. The warmth of his hands on me is soothing, and I relax as he explores the feel of my bandaged body. I suck in a breath when he grazes his thumbs across my nipples, and an intense need lights in me. His thumbs flutter back and forth over the taught nubs, and my desire flames further as he circles the sensitive skin.
He continues to caress and work my breasts, but he never rises up to kiss me. Impatience taking over, I firmly grasp his hands where they cup me, and I lean down to kiss him. When our lips connect, he rises up farther onto his knees, seeking more from me. I guide him in the kiss, sucking and biting at him. Our tongues intertwine in each other as we drive ourselves closer.
The bed is low to the ground and, finally, we’re close enough that my cunt is lightly pressed to his cock. I feel him continue to press into me, and my heated core grinds into him through the fabric of our clothes. When I start to fall back with him above me, fear shoots through me, and my hand reaches out desperately to grab him by the throat.
He stops, but there’s a renewed fire in his eyes. He likes this. My hand forcefully grabbing his neck turns him on.
A name crosses my mind, and I wonder what his reaction will be.
“Stay on the ground where you belong, pet.”
In another life, this man would wear my collar.
The endearment makes him grin, and I know my feeling was correct. This man wants—no, craves—my control. He wants to submit to me in whatever way I desire. The rush the thought brings me is thrilling.
I decide to embrace the fantasy.
“You like this, don’t you? Do you like when I choke you?” I tighten my hand around his throat. “Do you like it when I call you pet?”
He manages to get out a breathy yes through my grip.
“Do you want to be a good boy for me?” I push him back down on his knees and lean over him. My hand loosens its grip so he can respond.
“Yes. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Emboldened by his compliance, I let go of him. My fingers move to take his chin and tilt his face up towards me.
“Are you hungry, pet?” I phrase it as a question, but it’s a statement. “Do you deserve to taste me?”
“Please.” I’ve never witnessed someone plead, but it feels good to hear his desperation and hunger. I realize I like it, too. The puzzle pieces of our desire lock together—his need for my control, and my need to take it.
I lift my hips off the bed slightly. “Take them off.”
Slowly, his hands rise to the edge of the sweatpants, and he begins to draw them down. When they reach my ankles, I speak.
“Take them off. I want to see you kiss and nip and bite your way up to my pussy.”
His face snaps to look at me, but it’s not out of confusion. It’s lust.
He does as asked, and the feel of his lips, his teeth, and his tongue on my skin fans my desire hotter and higher. There’s a gentleness to his touch, and my head tips back; I sink into the feeling and the thrill skimming across my body.
When the sensation stops, I look back down at him to find him looking at me with a whisper of a smile on his lips. Simply looking. Being the center of a person’s attention, admired so closely, is a heady feeling. The intimate weight of the moment presses against a part of my heart that’s been neglected. I feel seen. Truly seen by him.
Overwhelmed, I grab him by the hair and pull him where I want him—my cunt. At the closeness, my knees fall farther apart, and I sigh in pleasure.
