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I grit my teeth, keep up the hard, steady strokes until my muscles cramp. Until sweat rolls down my body and my cock cries out for relief. Until Aria comes yet again, limp and wrung out beneath me, her body nothing but a vessel for everything I want to give her.
Only then, only when she’s safe and sated and nearly slack with exhaustion, do I let myself go. And when the release hits me, when it tears through me like a speedball, it’s so strong and violent and all-consuming that for a moment it’s like death itself.
Chapter Four
Aria
I feel strange when it’s over. A little lost, a little exhilarated, a lot exhausted. My body feels like lead, like it would take more energy than I will ever have again for me to move.
Now that pleasure isn’t rocketing through my every cell and nerve ending for the first time in over an hour, my brain clicks back on. Or at least, the switch moves away from the holy-fuck-I-need-to-come setting it’s been resting on pretty much since Sebastian brought me up here.
Sebastian.
He’s still inside me, his chest still pressed to my back, his fingers still intertwined with mine. And he’s making no move to pull away. To walk away now that he’s gotten what he wants from me.
Tears—weak, useless, pathetic tears—fill up my eyes and I try to ignore them. I’d probably do a pretty good job of it, too, if they didn’t make everything blurry. Especially the lights of Vegas spread out below us as far as the eye can see.
If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that I like the blur. The way that everything is softer, shadowy, just a little bit out of focus. It makes all the truths I’m living with—including the one where I just let my boss fuck me in his office like some kind of inflatable blow-up doll—so much easier to look at.
The fact that it didn’t feel like that, that it felt like something more—something powerful—only proves how stupid I really am.
This was a lesson I thought I’d learned a long, long time ago.
Suddenly I can’t bear to be this connected to him, not anymore. I shift a little, press back against him. It takes a couple seconds, but he gets the hint.
“You doing okay?” he murmurs after he pulls out. His lips skim my shoulder, press soft kisses to my back.
“Yeah. My arms are sore.”
“Right. Sorry.” He untangles our fingers, then steps away, making sure to keep me close as he lowers my hands and gently unties them.
They hadn’t really been hurting before—or if they were, I’d been too caught up in my head to notice—but now that they’re down and the blood is rushing back into them, it feels like I’m being stabbed by a million pins and needles.
I don’t say anything about it, but somehow Sebastian knows—probably because he’s got a lot more experience with tying people up than I have with being tied up—and he takes hold of my right arm, rubbing it gently. When I have feeling back in that arm, he moves on to the second one, all while keeping his arms around me and his body pressed to mine.
I don’t know how I feel about this. About Sebastian, about what we did together, or about the way he’s treating me now. I guess I expected him to treat this like any other rich man fuck—wham, bam, get the hell out, ma’am—but instead he’s being kind, tender.
He’s taking care of me. And I’m letting him.
That, too, is a shock. I’m pretty much a do-it-myself kind of girl, or at least I’m trying to be, and the fact that I need this—his tenderness, his comfort, the soothing stroke of his hands down my back—disturbs me in a way the sex didn’t.
And the sex was plenty disturbing in a blow-my-mind, drag-me-out-of-my-comfort-zone kind of way.
“I need to get back to work.” My voice sounds rusty, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Or like I’ve spent the last hour screaming Sebastian’s name.
“I know.” He presses a long, lingering kiss to my bare shoulder. “But taking a few more minutes won’t hurt anything.”
“Except my tips.”
“Right. Your tips.” He steps back then, bends down and gathers up my clothes. As I take them from him, I refuse to meet his eyes. I also do my best to ignore the fact that I’m still wearing my high heels and stockings.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He rests his hand on my lower back, his thumb stroking softly against my skin as he guides me toward the closed door on the other side of the room.
“Thanks.” I reach for the doorknob, still doing my best not to look at him.
“Hey.” He puts two fingers under my chin, tilts my face up until I can’t help but look at him. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
