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“I’m not,” I answered honestly. “You can keep reading it.”
His smile twisted. “I don’t want to read right now. Not when you’re watching me like that, my curious gatita.” He took my hand and pressed it against his growing erection. His suit was rumpled from laying on the bed with me for hours, but he still looked powerful. Magnetic. The feel of his desire for me through his slacks made power pulse through my veins. This was for me. I wasn’t scared of him when he was like this, even though a part of my brain acknowledged the fact that my captor’s arousal should definitely terrify me.
But he’d never used me against my will. He’d never forced me to take his cock. He might have conditioned me to like it, but the knowledge that I’d been conditioned didn’t make his training any less effective.
My core fluttered and heated, my lower lips growing slick with my own arousal.
His hands closed around my waist, and he shifted my body off his. “On your hands and knees,” he ordered, his voice dropping deeper with desire.
I got into position without argument. After the intense fear and vulnerability of our scene in the playroom that morning, I was feeling particularly clingy. I wanted to be close to him, for him to touch me and tell me I was safe. Even though he had been the one to scare me in the first place. It was fucked up, but I ached to please him, to make him laugh and look at me with pleasure in his dark eyes.
I told myself that my weird feelings were a survival imperative; if my captor was happy with me, he wouldn’t hurt me.
But I’d seen the pain that lurked alongside the rage when he’d strapped me down to the spanking bench. I’d seen the calm that came over him once he had me bound, unable to escape him. He needed this from me.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he traced the line of my spine. “Stay.”
He left me briefly to retrieve a few items from the chest of drawers where he seemed to stash a multitude of kinky toys. I waited, trying to remain calm without his touch to ground me. It was unnerving, this… need. I craved physical contact with Andrés, and even in those few seconds of separation, a hollow sensation began gnawing at my gut.
Subdrop. I’d read about it online. Submissives could go into a depressive state after an intense BDSM scene, and they needed to be cuddled by their Doms until the feeling passed.
Only, Andrés wasn’t some dreamy Dominant partner I’d willingly gifted with my submission.
My animal brain warred with my rational mind.
Rational mind: resist, fight, escape.
Animal brain: pet me, hold me, kiss me.
“Settle, cosita,” he ordered, smoothing a hand down my back when he returned to my side. He’d read the mounting tension in my body, and it was soothed away as soon as he touched me.
My animal brain won. With Andrés so close, it was impossible to cling to rationality. I was too fragile from my breakdown a few hours ago, and neediness obliterated my brittle willpower to maintain emotional distance from him.
“I’m not going to restrain you, so you’re going to have to be very good for me,” he said, continuing to pet me. I sighed and relaxed under his hand, enjoying the sensation of his skin on mine. “Just like that,” he approved. My heart squeezed at the pleasure evident in his twisted smile.
“I want you to trust me,” he said. “So I’m going to trust you, too. I’m going to trust you to stay in position for me. I wanted to tie you down so you wouldn’t be able to move away from me. It’s safer for you if you stay still. That way, I won’t inflict pain unintentionally.” He shushed me before I could question him about inflicting pain. “You’ll like this,” he continued. “I’ll make sure you do, I promise. But you have to trust me. Can you do that for me?”
Fine lines of strain appeared around his eyes. He was asking for my trust, not demanding it. He was leaving me free to resist, to fight. It was my choice to submit or not.
And the fact that he gave me a choice made the decision for me.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I can trust you.”
His grin dazzled me, knocking the air from my lungs. There was no dark satisfaction in it, no triumph at my defeat; only pure joy at my willing surrender.
His touch eased down my back, over the curve of my bottom, before tracing the line of my soft folds. I moaned and pushed back into him, welcoming him to press inside me. Two fingers entered me, slowly penetrating my tight channel. I’d adjusted to taking him like this, so there was no pain as he stretched me, sliding his fingers in and out as I rocked my body in a rhythm to match.
I stilled with a soft whine when something hard and wet touched my asshole. I craned my head back to find him watching me carefully. He captured me in his warm gaze.
“Trust me,” he urged. “This will feel good.”
His fingers withdrew from my sheath to play with my clit, and he increased the pressure of the small red anal plug against my tight ring of muscles. It glistened with lubricant, and I knew he was going slowly so he wouldn’t hurt me. As his calloused fingertips traced teasing circles around my clit, my muscles relaxed. The tip of the plug slipped inside me, reminding me of how he’d penetrated my ass with his finger for the first time in the shower. That seemed so long ago now. It had been scary, and he’d done it to demonstrate his complete ownership of my body.
This was different. It wasn’t a power play, even though the power dynamic was definitely shifting between us. The farther he pressed the plug in, the more I submitted. He made it pleasurable for me, taking care to ensure that I enjoyed every deliciously deviant second of my virgin hole being stretched. I surrendered to the pleasure, surrendered to him. Dark bliss sizzled through forbidden places, lighting up my body in ways I’d never imagined I’d accept. Anal play had al
ways seemed too taboo, too humiliating to contemplate.
With Andrés staring down at me with such intensity, I certainly didn’t feel humiliated. I felt precious. Revered. His hands might be masterful, knowing exactly how to make my body flower open for him, but there was also something worshipful in his touch.
