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"Eyes on me, Kat." He digs his hand into my hair, turning me so I'm facing him. "Watch what you do to me."
His hand brushes against my clit. I manage to hold his gaze, even as his pressure intensifies, even as bliss spreads through my thighs.
How can I possibly be doing anything to him? I'm the one at his mercy.
He strokes me. His touch gets harder and harder. I tug at his hair and he holds that pressure. It's just right.
The knot inside me tightens. I want to close my eyes, to do something to contain the intensity.
But I don’t. I follow his commands. My gaze stays on Blake. I watch what I do to him.
His pupils are dilated. His mouth is open. He's hard. I can't feel it from this position, but I can see the erection straining against his slacks.
He strokes me until I can't take it anymore, until I let my eyes close, until my teeth sink into my lip.
He stops. "Open your eyes, Kat. I want you looking at me when you come."
I barely manage it.
"So you know you're mine."
I nod.
"And that I'm yours."
I bite my lip. He's not touching me. I hate that he's not touching me. My body is close to release. It's screaming for his hands.
"Tell me how you want me," he says.
"Touching me." I barely get the words out.
"Then?"
"I want you to fuck me."
"How?"
I fight my shyness. He's not going to touch me until I give him a specific answer. He's proving a point—it's ridiculous for me to offer myself to him when I'm so thoroughly his.
But the point hardly matters compared to how badly I need his hands on my body.
The angular lines of his tie catch my attention. Yes. That's what I want. I drag my fingers down his shoulder and over his tie. "I want this around my wrists, so I can't control anything but how loudly I groan."
His fingers brush against my upper thigh. "Why did you offer me carte blanche when you want this as much as I do?"
"I didn't know what else to offer."
He brings his hand to the back of my head and pulls me into a deep kiss. My body lights up with a mix of desire and affection.
When the kiss breaks, Blake stares into my eyes. His breath is heavy, like he's about to lose control. "You have no idea how much you much I need you." He takes my hands and places them on his shoulders, one at a time. "Eyes stay on me if you want me to fuck you. Understand?"
I bite my lip. That's an awful thing to lose. I nod. Yes. I understand.
He is painfully slow about dragging his fingertips up and down my thigh. They brush against my clit, so light I can barely feel them. The softness makes it more intense. I squirm to contain it. He does it again and I dig my hands into the thick wool fabric of his suit.
My eyes stay on his, even as his touch gets harder, even as the knot inside me pulls so tight I can barely breathe. I'm tempted to look away, to press my lids together, but I don't. I inhale and exhale slowly, focusing on every wave of pleasure pulsing through my body.
It's too intense. I'm at the edge, about to go over. I groan his name. It's the only way I can react enough to keep my eyes on him.
His next touch sends me over the edge. My orgasm is hard and fast. The pressure gets tighter and tighter then releases in a torrent of bliss. I'm desperate to close my eyes, to go deep into the feeling in my body. Instead, I hold his gaze. I go deep into the look of desire in his eyes, until I'm swimming in it, until it's the only thing I can feel.
Blake pulls me onto his lap. His lips find mine. He kisses me so deep and so hard I lose track of everything around us.
I'm vaguely aware that we're in his, well our, apartment a few days before Christmas. But the only thing in focus is the heat of his body, the vanilla on his lips, the hardness of his muscles.
He brings his hand to my ass and sets me on the ground. In one swift movement, he pulls my jeans and panties off my feet.
I watch as he strips. It's too damn slow. First his suit jacket. Then he loosens his tie and wraps it around his hand. He leans next to me.
I pull my arms over my head so he can bind my wrists.
He moves faster with his shirt, shoes, socks, slacks, boxers. The soft white light casts such a wonderful glow over the hard lines of his body. He's still too good to be true, like a statue cut out of marble.
He kneels between my legs and pries my knees apart. It's needy but gentle. He isn’t proving anything. He’s giving me what I want.
What we both want.
Blake brings his body onto mine, his hands outside my chest. His cock strains against my sex. It’s a tease. It isn’t enough.
My body lights up. I’m so, so desperate to get him inside me.
His presses his lips to mine.
Slowly, he slides inside me.
I groan against his mouth. I arch my back, my wrists straining against their binding.
The weight of his body presses me against the hardwood floors. They're still slick, and with my hands bound, I can't do anything to keep from sliding.
There's no more tease. He thrusts into me, hard and fast. I wrap my legs around him. It’s the only way I can hold him, the only thing I can do that will keep us from sliding all the way across the room.
Every thrust presses me against the floor. My head and shoulders ache. Not the good kind of pain, the kind he gives me, but a strain I don't like.
I bring my eyes to his. He's lost in this. He pumps hard and deep. He feels good inside me, but I want him here, staring at me the way I stared at him.
"Blake," I groan. I shift to meet him. "Look at me."
He blinks. His gaze meets mine. He looks at me funny, like he doesn't know where he was.
And then he kisses me. I kiss him back, focusing on the sensations of his body. How warm he is. How hard he is. How his muscles tense the closer he gets. His mouth goes to my neck. I turn my head to offer myself to him. This is how I want him, feeling so good he can't help but mark me.
Every scrape of his teeth pushes me closer. There's not far to go. I'm almost there.
The heat coursing through my body collects in my legs. Desire turns to a deep, desperate pressure. So tense and so tight that I can't do anything but groan.
His next thrust sends me over the edge. I come again, pressing my wrists against the bindings of his tie to contain the heavy wave of pleasure.
Blake does nothing to slow. His movements get harder, more intense. His teeth sink into my neck. His cock thrusts deep inside me. His breath strains.
I groan his name. After coming twice, any more sensation is hard to bear. But I need to feel him go over the edge too. I need him to be mine too.
The next time he bites me, he's there. I can sense it in his breath, in the way his shoulders tense. One more thrust and he's groaning, his cock pulsing inside me as he comes.
Blake waits until he's emptied himself, then reaches over and undoes my bindings. He examines my wrists, one at a time.
"You got lost for a minute there," I say.
"Yes, but you found me." He leans down to kiss me.
I soak it in for a moment. "Can we pick up a tree today?"
Blake shakes his head. He shifts so he's sitting next to me. "Tomorrow."
The affection is draining from his eyes. He's closing off. I push myself up and place my body next to his. I run my hands through his hair. I stroke his cheek. But nothing brings him back.
"It will be okay," I say. "I promise."
He looks away like he doesn't believe me.
For lunch, we go to the Thai restaurant down the street. The Christmas tree in the corner does nothing to boost Blake's mood. Thankfully, there are no holiday decorations around our booth, just the usual photographs of tropical beaches, Buddhist temples, and mango trees.
It's a quiet meal. I try to come up with some words to soothe Blake, but I know they'll feel hollow in his ears.
At home, he excuses himself into his office. He expected three days of uninterrupted work, quite the luxury for a man who has to weigh in on every one of his company's decisions.
Two cups of coffee do nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. He's been better about working shorter hours. We have dinner every night, spend every Sunday together. But he loves work so much. It would be so easy for him to disappear into it forever.
I spend the afternoon drawing. After a few rounds of sketches, I fall into a rhythm. Draw a dozen panels, fix a cup of coffee, repeat. I'm working on a new graphic novel, my first attempt at pure fiction. It's a simple story about falling in love during a New York City summer. The imagery is supposed to be warm and vibrant. The feelings are supposed to be big and overwhelming.
But, today, it isn’t coming. I'm cold and muted and small. Everything outside is bleak and gray. Everything in here is hard and empty.
Blake is dealing the only way he knows how. I tell myself this every time a doubt creeps into my head, while I eat dinner alone, while I shower alone, while I watch TV alone.
Sometime past midnight, I go to bed alone. He's still working, his office door locked, the walls around his heart creeping so high I might not be able to climb them.
The bed is cold without him. I toss and turn, trying and failing to fall asleep.
He's dealing the only way he knows how.
The words don't warm me.
Chapter 3
December 23rd
Blake is not in the bed when I wake. He's in the kitchen in his pajamas, sipping a cup of coffee and staring out into the bleak white sky. It's uglier today.
His gaze turns to me.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"I'll tell you if I'm not."
"But—"
"Don't ask again."
He's clearly not okay, but I won't get anywhere by pushing it. I go back to the bathroom, brush my teeth, apply a touch of makeup, and change into jeans and a wool sweater.
