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I no longer want to submit him, I want to be submitted by him.
“What a naughty little girl,” he says, and my core starts tingling with need for him.
“This doesn’t count,” I tell him, still unable to leave the fighter behind and let the girl come to the fore. The girl who wants him—all of him.
“Oh, it counts,” he says.
My breath catches when he lowers his face down to mine, pausing for a moment, before he places a kiss on my cheek. It’s an innocent peck, barely more than his lips brushing against my skin, but it stirs a desire within me that makes me coil beneath him. I can feel his hardened length moving against my belly as I rear up, pushing my hips against his butt as if I was trying to throw him off.
He stays close to my face, following a trail of gentle kisses along my jaw up to my ear, where he comes to a pause.
“You want me, don’t you?”
He speaks in such a low voice that his words almost don’t feel real, like they’re just hushed whispers from a ghost.
“Say it, Madison,” he adds. “Say that you want me.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” I breathe.
“Wrong answer.”
I startle when he straightens his back and moves his hips up, until he can pin my arms down with his knees. He’s careful not to hurt me, but I’m even more at his mercy than before—and his hardened cock is straining the fabric of his shorts right between my exposed breasts.
He lets go of my wrists, leaving my arms locked to the mat with his legs, while he reaches down to his crotch.
“I want you, Madison. And unlike you, I’m not afraid to say it,” he says, while stroking himself through the fabric of his shorts. “I want to fuck you until you forget every other man you’ve ever been with. And I will. But we’re going to have some fun before that.”
I frown at him, unable to stop my lips from trembling when I ask: “W-what is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see.”
A treacherous moan escapes my lips when he scoots further, bringing his steely length so close to my face that the tip is touching my chin, while he cups my boobs with both hands. I can’t stop myself from moaning again, when he starts kneading the soft flesh, enveloping his length between my mounds. And when he takes my nipples between his fingers, I feel close to blacking out. He’s careful at first, watching me, as he pinches my nipples between his fingers, harder and then harder still, until the sensation starts bordering on pain—and I cry out with pleasure.
“Good girl,” he comments, and the words send a bolt of heat through my middle. “This is even more fun than I expected.”
He squeezes both of my nipples between his fingers, and the fiery pain makes me shriek, blinding me with its intensity for a split second, before I’m left with the aftermath, a warm sensation pulsating through my tortured buds.
“Lovely,” he says, while his eyes rest on my hardened nipples. “Like playing an instrument.”
“I’m…I’m not your personal keyboard,” I stutter, heaving underneath him.
The sensation of his hardened length nestling against my boobs renders any coherent sentence impossible. He shifts on top of me, and my gaze trails down to the considerable bulge below my chin.
“You want to see it, don’t you?” he asks.
My cheeks flush, and I nod, bereft of words.
“Say it,” he demands.
My eyes find his and I’m momentarily baffled by what I’m seeing. His expression is not stern, not condescending, or provocative. Instead, there seems to be honesty and curiosity, almost like he’s afraid of making a mistake.
Are we making a mistake here? Probably.
But it’s very hard to care right now.
“Say it, Madison,” he urges, his hand already playing with the hem of his shorts. The sight of it, the promise that comes with that motion, finally pushes me to speak.
“I want to see it,” I blurt out. “And I want…”
