Page 88 of Run to Me

If I were to look over my shoulder, I’d see a war waging in his eyes. He wants to please me but worries he’ll hurt me. I need him to trust that I know myself and what I want. What I can handle.

Staring at the cushion beneath me, I say, “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

I meant what I said about wanting the pain. The thought of him being rough excites me. After years of rejection and loneliness numbing me, I’ll feel something real and tangible. The desolation consuming me will rush to the surface and unfurl as tendrils of pleasure reaching for my nerve endings. I’ll feel alive.

When I chose my sleepwear for tonight, I intended to seduce him. I knew he’d push for a serious conversation, rightfully so, but I also knew he’d need to relieve some stress and settle his mind. I learned years ago that Jensen functions better when he feels like he can lose himself in a controlled environment. The way I see it, I’m absorbing his pain too, taking it upon myself as pleasure. A win-win.

Flexing the fingers on my hips once, twice, three times, he says, “As you wish.”

His fingertips sink into my flesh to secure his grip, and the last thought that races through my head is, “Oh shit. What have I done?”

“Jens—”

He unleashes, pounding into me with wild abandon. My mouth hangs open, a silent, gaping hole with no air flowing in or out as the blood rushes to my head. Only the sounds of his grunts and the movie soundtrack surround us.

“So. Fucking. Good.” Through gritted teeth, he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. When I can’t support my upper body any longer, I face-plant on the sofa. He reminds me, “You asked for this, Maisy. Take it all.”

“I’m trying,” I say, though my response sounds like a whine. Who knew I could be so whiny during sex?

He pulls out, leaving me with an empty, pulsing ache. My head tingles from the dizziness subsiding after I roll to one side. Sinking onto a cushion, he spreads his legs and adjusts his glistening length.

“Get over here,” he orders. With shaky legs, I move to straddle him face to face, but he stops me. “Turn around, plant your feet, and put me inside you.”

On his lap with my back to his chest, I wrap my hand around his slick erection and sink down. The air whips out of my lungs when he surges upward to meet me halfway.

“Oh god.” Groaning, I drop my head to his shoulder.

The deep voice growling in my ear says, “Tonight I am. Keep praying, birdie. You’re at my mercy now.”

He plucks my nipples with one hand and rubs rough circles on my clit with the other while driving into me. I’m overstimulated as he works my sensitive parts all at once. Never have I been on the verge of sobbing from an abundance of pleasure. I tremble from head to toe. My core muscles clench around him, frantically seeking release, afraid he might leave me on the edge forever.

A hiss of air tickles my cheek. “Yes. You’re right there. Come for me, beautiful.”

With a pinch of my clit and twist of a nipple, he draws a ruthless orgasm from me. On a hoarse cry, I spasm uncontrollably. Only the strong arms wrapped around me keep me from melting into a puddle on the floor. Once I go limp, he folds us onto our sides without breaking our connection.

Spooning me, Jensen plants kisses along my jaw and neck. He buries his face in my hair, slowing his thrusts to a steady, leisurely pace as he whispers his adoration. “You’re exceptional. My beautiful, perfect birdie. My Maisy.”

“Please,” I rasp, clueless about what I’m begging for. A drink of water? Another orgasm? Mercy?

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Beggars don’t get to choose their reward. Now suck.”

He grabs my chin and stuffs two fingers into my mouth, then he drapes my leg over his thigh and pins my foot to the back of the couch. It’s like we’re on a wrestling mat. I’m spread open and locked down as he pistons his hips, unmerciful, while rubbing my swollen clit.

“Give me another one,” he says.

I mumble a sound of protest around his fingers because I can’t shake my head with him holding my jaw. He withdraws the fingers and angles my face toward his. The kiss we share is fierce, his tongue demanding, his moans pleading.

“One more, birdie. I need you too tired to run after seeing this side of me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I say with a whimper.

“You can, and you will.”

He brings my legs together and creates a tight gap where he enters me from behind before wrapping his leg over mine. I’m so full of him I can’t see straight, and the new angle makes his cock rub against my g-spot with every stroke. Teeth sink into my shoulder, unwitting participants in my wildest fantasy, and I lose all free will. My spine bows forward with the instinct to curl into a ball. My release gushes through me, soaking us both. I’m convulsing, a small earthquake trapped beneath a giant boulder, unable to break free as he thrusts through my orgasm.

When I’m spent, all the pleasure leached from my boneless body, he pulls out and rises to his knees. Bracing an arm above my head, he jerks himself wildly. Mouth parted, breaths quickening, eyes locked on mine before they roll back in his head and warm spurts of cum land on my breasts.

Everything comes to an abrupt halt, as if the earth stopped spinning. No sounds from the TV. No flashing lights. No words spoken when our foreheads join, and we heave each other’s air for long seconds.