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On the eighth, Elise can’t stay still anymore, but she tries. It’s so hot, how she tries, her hips moving, body shaking, toes scrabbling at the floor.
On the ninth, she bursts into tears.
I swipe the gag out of her mouth and push her down to the bed.
“One more, sweetness.”
Elise opens her thighs another trembling inch, doing her best to cry quietly. “Yes.Yes.”
The tenth makes her sob.
“Such a good girl. Fuck.Fuck.” I untie her wrists, guide her hands to the comforter, and step behind her. I just need a little room to get my hand between the bed and her body and find her clit. I keep stroking her when I line myself up and push in. “Your cunt is soaked. Fuck, it feels so good.”
She’s still crying.
“Is that better? Is that what you wanted?”
“Want to come,” she sobs.
I give her a few hard, fast strokes despite the pain in my ribs, then go as deep as I can and stay, working her clit with my fingers. “You’re even tighter with the plug in. Come on my cock, sweetness.”
“Oh—”
She comes in a hot clench, her body shattering, hands in fists on the comforter, face buried in the blankets. I keep myself inside her. A few rocking pulses while I bring her down.
Elise can’t catch her breath.
I feel her start to wind up again under my fingers.
“Once isn’t enough. I want to feel it again.”
Her skin is so hot, so soft. Jesus, she’s wet. “Oh, God. Oh. I don’t know—”
“You fucking can. I’m going to make you. Do this for me.”
I’m relentless on her clit. Her thighs are like earthquakes. I can feel her knees start to go. It takes longer to get there this time, but I’m a patient man. Fuck. I can be a patient man. Not for much longer.
Elise gasps, almost there, and I choose that moment to free her from the plug.
That’s what does it.
She comes hard around my cock, sobbing so loud I have to push her face into the blankets for her. She squeezes so tight I can’t think.
Then she scrambles onto the bed—how, with legs that weak?—tumbles to her back, and reaches for me.
I crawl over her and push back inside, and Elise wraps her arms around my neck. She kisses me. I kiss her back. All I want is friction and contact and I can’t—
I can’tbeanything anymore. I can’t plan. I can’t choose. I can only fuck her the way my body demands. I don’t remember the last time it was like this. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t aware of the guilt and shame and pain that’s followed me for most of my life.
It’s the same feeling I had in bed with her the other night, and as soon as I recognize it, I want to pull away. I want to get far away in my head. It feels dangerous to be so open with her. It’s dangerous not to be in control. To let her see me like this, to let anyone see me like this—
No. I want to. I have to let it happen, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The pull between what my body wants and my mind’s panicked need to be safe hurts like a knife in a dark alley.
That’s not where I am. I’m with her. I can smell her. Taste her. It’s okay. It’s okay.
I push in deep and roll my hips, hardly pulling out. It’s not a practiced move. It feels too simple, too desperate, too primal, and that means I’ve lost control.
And that’s…that’s fine. That’s okay.
