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I was wrong, because this is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I crave surrendering to Trap. My body and my mind—they need to be dominated by him. In the safety that he’s built for me, I’ve learned to hand over control in exchange for utter satisfaction.
But nothing about sex with Trap has prepared me for this intensity. Not his toys, not our games, not any of the things we’ve ever done together. My nerves are super-charged, delivering a thousand times the sensation they’ve ever carried before.
“Sweet fucking Christ,” Trap groans. I laugh because it’s so perfect, because Trap is riding me, with his foul mouth and his beautiful cock and his perfect understanding of my body.
My laughter frees something in him. I didn’t realize he was holding back; I didn’t know he was still afraid of hurting me.
But he grits out, “You like that, Princess?”
“Yes,” I sigh.
“You want it rough?”
“From you.”
“You want it hard?”
“Always.”
He’s pumping now, fingers digging into my hips. I know that grip. I’ll have bruises in the morning.
I push back into him, wanting even more.
He slaps my ass, and just like that I’m on the edge of an orgasm. My fingers tighten on the sheet. My neck arches.
I match him on his next thrust, whining with need.
“That’s it, Princess,” he says. “Show me you can take it. Tell me that you want it.”
“I can,” I gasp. “I do.”
He’s close to the edge himself. His breath is roaring now. His hands are iron clamps, binding us together.
“Please…” I beg, because that’s what I do with him. For him.
“Come,” he orders.
He isn’t touching my clit. His fingers are nowhere near my pussy. But as he delivers his command he releases into me, hot, hard pulses that shatter my nerves, stretching me and spinning me and pulling me under and I’m coming harder than I’ve ever come in my life.
I can’t see.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t stop.
When my brain begins to stir again, I realize I’m kneeling beside the bed. My cheek rests on the mattress. My thighs are shaking so hard I wonder if I’ll ever stand again.
Trap sits beside me, leaning his back against the bed. He pulls me onto his lap, holding me as I shiver. The furnace of his body warms me, calms me, soothes me back to something human.
“My good girl,” he whispers against my hair. “My sweet, good girl.”
He has a warm washcloth, and he wipes between my legs, long soft strokes that melt my mind. I must drift off again, because I wake on the bed. Trap’s sitting behind me, his legs a V of safety around mine.
He holds a glass to my lips, and I swallow the most amazing drink ever invented—ice-cold water. He smooths my hair from my forehead and tells me I’m magnificent, and then he feeds me chocolate.
I want to tell him I’m all right. I want to tell him he’s amazing. I want to say we’ll be together forever and ever and ever, but all those words are too complex.
