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“Mine for this,” he says, pulling back, his words breaking the haze of tears. His thrusts are slower yet somehow harsher and deeper. Somehow more meaningful that before.
His hands palm my ass, light slaps alternating with caresses, and I don’t know where to feel. I don’t know what to feel. Until…
“Mine for this.” He reaches beneath me and grabs my jaw, turning my head forcefully until our lips meet. He rocks his hips against me and I moan into his kisses, my wrists bound and tied, my body irrevocably held to this man’s.
He’s gone—his mouth, his hands, his cock. And I’m flipped onto the bed and he’s over me, grabbing my legs, hooking them over his hips, gripping my jaw, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Mine for this,” he says a third time, entering me again.
My hands are stretched above my head and there isn’t a thing I can do but lie here and let him take the control over me I deny him elsewhere.
Because that’s what it’s really about for both of us. A fleeting moment in time where we truly have what we desire.
Freedom.
“You look at me as you come.” His words come as my pussy tightens around him and I hook my ankles behind his waist. “Do you hear that, Liv? You look in my fucking eyes as you come.”
I nod. I can’t look away if I wanted to. I’m mesmerized by this moment, a moment where I’m so afraid to yet so ready to relinquish control.
“Mine,” he repeats again, like he needs to tell himself it, like he can see the fear in my eyes. He grips my jaw tighter until I clench it.
Warmth.
Heat.
Pleasure.
Throbbing.
Clenching.
Tyler.
“Mine.”
It seeps through the heaviness in my mind, the swirling craziness of my release. It enriches it. The possessive, definitive word sends me on another tailspin, and I flip my arms up and forward to around his neck. His hair slinks between my fingers. His cock swells inside me. His mouth descends on mine…
He joins me in craziness, the whole time whispering the word ‘mine.’
The bed is empty and cold when I wake. Brief memories of lips ghosting mine and a whispered goodbye come to me, and I roll over onto Tyler’s side.
The pillow smells like him, and despite my previous thought, I swear the duvet is still warm where he was lying. I snuggle beneath it, pulling it right up to my face, and breathe him in.
I can count on one hand the amount of hours he’s been out of Seattle and my heart is already aching.
It aches so much that it hurts—and that’s the brutal reality of my addiction. Take the item of my craving away and I’m no different to anyone else experiencing withdrawals. I’m snappy, shaky, antsy. I’m irrational and constantly looking for the thing to sate the insatiable.
And I hurt. Everywhere. Bone-deep pain.
I close my eyes and take another deep breath. I know that being here, surrounded by something that’s so him, even if it is just his smell, isn’t a good thing. I know that I’m looking at forty-eight hours of nothing…which means I need to leave.
Now.
I roll myself out of bed with a look back to the pillow. A part of me wants to yank off the pillowcase and tuck it into my purse. But I don’t—I pull on some sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt and move my ass.
Angus’s food bowl is still full, so I pause only to grab my keys before running out the door. I run downstairs and into my car. I rev the engine with unnecessary vigor and hightail the hell out of the parking lot.
I drive on instinct, and it takes me only a few minutes to realize that I’m heading toward my parents’ place. Another safe place. A safe place without the danger.
