“I’ve pictured you riding me, your nails digging into my chest, right over this damn tattoo,” he continues, his voice rough. “I’ve imagined making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
His hands clench at his sides, as if he is physically restraining himself from reaching out to me. “But you know what really gets me? What really messes me up?”
I shake my head, transfixed.
His next breath is unsteady, his eyes wild with a mix of desperation and desire. “It’s... fuck, I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” He runs a hand over his face, struggling to maintain his composure.
“Say it,” I order, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s you taking control. Completely. Utterly. Tying me up, leaving me fucking at your mercy.” His breath hitches. “You’d tease me for hours, touching me everywhere except where I need it most. And I’d be begging, pleading for you to let me come. I picture you forcing me to admit how much I need this. How much I needyou. Making me say out loud that I’m not unconquered at all. That I’m yours to command, to use. Letting you own me—”
His voice breaks on the last four words, his six-pack trembling with the force of his confession. “It scares me how much I want that. How much I want you to break me apart and put me back together.”
He trails off, looking both relieved and terrified. The vulnerability in his eyes is staggering, a stark contrast to his usual swag.
His chest heaves with each ragged breath, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. His pupils are blown wide, darkening his eyes to near-black pools of raw need. His lips part slightly, dry from his heavy breathing. I watch as he runs his tongue over them nervously, the gesture both self-soothing and unconsciously erotic. This man who has always exuded strength and control is stripped bare. Every line of his body screams of conflict—the desire to retreat to safety warring with the need to stay, to finally let himself be truly seen.
He’s backed against the headboard, and I can see he’s on the edge of a precipice, craving the fall.
And then, as if the weight of his confession finally has become too much to bear, the slight quiver in his abs quickly spreads throughout his body. His broad shoulders shake against the wood behind him, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The trembling intensifies faster than a hurricane, as if years of pent-up emotion are finally breaking free, leaving him utterly exposed and vulnerable before me.
His eyes lock onto mine, wild and desperate. “I... I’ve never...” he chokes out.
“Finish it,” I snap, one hand braced on the headboard beside his head.
Gale’s jaw clenches, tendons straining in his neck. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he spits out. “It’s fucking terrifying. You could break me.”
“Think you can handle it?” I lean in closer, my other hand finding his hip.
He lets out a strangled laugh. “Hell no. But I want it anyway. Need it.”
“Show me how much,” I challenge, and with that I lick the seam of his mouth.
His lips crash into mine, all teeth and tongue and pent-up hunger. Nothing gentle about it. Nothing romantic. Just raw, primal need.
When we break apart, both gasping, I see it in his eyes—the last threads of his control snap. “Do it, Smythe,” he rasps. “Make me yours.”
I straddle his lap, careful not to make contact where he wants it most. His hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t touch me without permission. I like it.
“Hands on the headboard. Don’t move them unless I say so.”
Gale immediately grips the wooden slats above his head. The position highlights every sculpted muscle in his arms and chest. I straddle him, pinning his wrists. “If I break you, what then?”
Gale bucks beneath me, testing my grip. I hold firm, and see the moment he truly yields.
“Then I’m yours,” he breathes. “To put back together however you see fit.”
“I want you to remember one thing.” I lean in, lips brushing his ear. “You asked for this,” I whisper, feeling him tremble beneath me. “Begged, even.”
As I pull back to look at him, I see my own mix of excitement and trepidation mirrored in his eyes. We’re about to cross a line, to dive into uncharted waters. And despite the uncertainty churning in my gut, I’ve never wanted anything more. My pussy clenches so hard I want to scream.
Instead I lean in close. “I’m going to kiss you again. But remember, you take what I give you. Understood?”
“Yes,” Gale whispers, his eyes are almost black with desire.
Slowly, teasingly, I bring my lips to his. The first touch is electric, sending sparks shooting through my body. I keep the kiss light, teasing, pulling back whenever Gale tries to deepen it.
When I finally allow my tongue to trace his lower lip, Gale groans. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction.
