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"Hmm," he replied, looking down at me from under his eyelashes. "I think I'd like you to run us a nice bath and then I think I want to tie you up and have my way with you."
"Oh, Sir..." I closed my eyes, for the thought of Drake taking control made me almost giddy. "That makes this one very excited."
"Good," he said and thrust his hips and his very notable erection against me. "Because the thought of tying you up and making you come over and over again is making me very hard."
I smiled and leaned my cheek against his shoulder. We stood in an embrace for a few moments, both our bodies warming to the feel of the other. I was already wet and swollen just thinking about Drake tying me up.
"Mmm, Ms. Bennet, I love it when you tremble with desire. It's such an incentive to me to think up ways to make you shudder."
I smiled and breathed in his scent; a heady mixture of his cologne and his maleness. "When you call me Ms. Bennet, it takes me out of scene..."
"I know," he said and laughed lightly. "I can't help but be torn between Ms. Bennet, Mrs. Morgan and Katherine. I love all three of you."
I glanced up into his eyes and saw the warmth and love -- and desire in them.
"I'm yours, whichever one you want me to be."
"All of them at once, then. Just be you." He kissed me deeply, squeezing me tightly against his body. "Oh, God, I love you."
Then he devoured my mouth, his hands sliding over my body and I was caught up in his desire.
He pulled me to the bedroom, his eyes dark with passion, and I didn't resist for just the vision of him aroused and in need woke up the same desire in me. When we got to the bed, he pushed me down so that I lay across the mattress, my hands over my head. Then he stripped off my clothes, his motions a bit rough, needy, until finally, I lay naked beneath him while he remained fully clothed.
It was a familiar situation for us -- me naked, him fully dressed. I enjoyed being on display for him because I loved the expression in his eyes -- bald possession. He owned me, body, mind and soul. I was his completely.
His mouth moved from my mouth to my chin and then my collarbone while his hands slid down my body, cupping a breast, squeezing my buttock, pulling me up against his erection. When his mouth got to my belly, I flinched, a gasp coming out between my lips without my knowing it. My hands flew to my flesh and I instinctively covered my scar.
Don't ask me why I did, for we had made love many times before when it was even more fresh, but at that moment, I was became unaccountably self-conscious. The scar had faded with time but was still pink, the scar an ugly gash down my belly. It wasn't the usual bikini line surgical scar in a normal C-section. It was from my navel down and was ugly, the flesh on either side puffing out so that it resembled a small butt. At least, that was what I thought when I examined myself in the mirror after a shower. The surgeon hadn't sewn me back up carefully because they kept me open a long time in an attempt to stop my bleeding. As a result, the muscles had been cut and had separated -- at least, that's what my massage therapist told me when I asked her about it.
"What?" Drake glanced at me, his brow knit. "What are you doing? Don't cover yourself up."
"I'm sorry," I said and it took considerable effort to remove my hands from my belly. "It's just silly self-consciousness..."
"Don't apologize. You know I've seen you naked before many times since the accident. I've seen your scar. In fact, I've licked it and kissed it."
"It's ugly."
He rose up and lay fully on top of me, taking my hands in his and holding them above my head.
"I love your scar." He kissed me, tenderly. "Because of that scar, you're alive. You and Sophia are alive because of that scar. That scar is beautiful to me because it saved your life."
He stared into my eyes, and the expression in them was so intense that it made me tear up.
"You only say that because you love me," I said.
"Yes," he said and squeezed my hands in his. "Yes, of course I only say that because I love you. Another man wouldn't feel that way about your scar because he doesn't love you, but I do. I love you more than anything in this world. You are the world to me. That scar saved your life and I thank God every day for it. I wish it never happened and you had a normal birth and delivery, but the alternative was you dying. Sophia dying. I'd be happy with any scar that saved your life. Kate, I would have gladly given my own life to save yours and Sophia's. Don't you understand that?"
He continued to stare into my eyes, and my tears spilled over finally.
"Yes," I said, finally.
Then he kissed me again and the passion and intensity in his kiss told me he wasn't just being nice. He wasn't just telling me that to please me. He truly felt that way deep inside. Instead of tying me up the way he planned, he made desperate love to me, needy love, ripping off his own clothes and throwing them on the floor beside the bed, then devouring my body with his mouth and hands. When I was close to orgasm from his tongue and fingers, he entered me, thrusting deep until I spasmed around him. His own orgasm followed almost immediately and he cried out as he ejaculated, groaning in my ear, his eyes squeezed tightly, his face red.
It wasn't the careful, methodical, session of bondage and multiple orgasms I was used to with Drake. It was desperate and passionate and fast.
After we both recovered a bit, he looked in my eyes once more.
"Don't ever feel embarrassed about your scars," he said in a firm voice. "Never. They're beautiful, like you. They let you live."
