Wild Pitch (Dominating the Diamond Book 1)

64. EPILOGUE, cont

It is impossible to form a single thought with the toy stroking my prostate without mercy, and Sierra sitting close enough for me to smell strawberries and sex, with her legs spread wide in that tease of a bodysuit, and the toy in my control drawing the most beautiful whimpers from her open mouth. I don’t tell her that I’m not going to last long like this. The way she’s controlling the machine, she already knows.

I will never get tired of being broken by this beautiful woman, but tonight, I want to ruin her, too. The toy in her cunt is a familiar one, and I waste no time ratcheting it up to the seventy-percent intensity that drives her to the edge without overstimulating her.

When her heels dig into our mattress, and her body curls in on itself, I have to make a choice: make her come or edge her back down. Even if my brain weren’t fuzzy from the fuck machine, it wouldn’t be a hard decision. We both love when she edges me until I’m a begging mess, but when the tables are turned, overstimulation is my favorite way to torment her.

She screams my name. Her toes curl, and she fists the sheets beneath us. Sierra is beautiful every second of every day, whether she’s sweating all over the gym or sweating all over me, wearing a grass-stained uniform or a cocktail dress, lounging by the pool or cramped for yet another hour on a plane. But like this–skin flushed, body tight, eyes dark, and hair a mess–there are no words to describe how beyond stunning she is.

“I fucking love you so much,” I say.

She crawls toward me on shaking legs. With her stomach still tensing and the egg trying to steal another orgasm from her, she pulls herself up and captures my mouth. It’s less a kiss than a collision of desperate noises–whimpers and moans exchanged on our exploring tongues.

Her nails score my back when her second orgasm hits her, but it’s the sensation that comes next that makes me lash against my restraints in the best way.

I’m so overwhelmed by sensation, I hear the vibration a split-second before the feeling registers. My mind is so hazy with lust and stimulation, I have to look down to fully comprehend the vibrating wand stroking the underside of my cock. She starts at the base, and it feels like I’ve transcended from sex to a borderline spiritual experience. When she reaches the sensitive spot below my cockhead, my spirit practically leaves my body just to watch the way she’s shattering me.

She changes the intensity to match whatever I’m doing to the egg inside of her, and I give in.

“Please,” I beg. “I’m so close, Sierra. I need to fucking come.”

Sierra slides forward. Her knee brushes against my thigh, and she’s careful to avoid the restraint attached to my stomach. Most importantly, she makes sure my dick is pointed at her.

“You’re in control.” She nods at the ring on my finger, and I don’t have any energy left to gesture at my restraints and the silicone cock railing my ass. “Come for me, cari?ito.”

I increase the intensity on the egg; she increases the intensity of the wand. Again. One last push of the button, and both toys are going at full intensity. She doesn’t let up on that extra sensitive spot on my cock any more than the fuck machine lets up on my prostate.

Sierra breaks first. Whimpering my name and struggling to keep the toy in place, my wife comes, and comes, and comes. Wave after wave of an orgasm that seems to last forever.

She’s still coming when I follow her over the edge.

My cock jerks in her hand, and cum splatters purple latex and golden skin. She tosses the wand aside still buzzing and fumbles with the power to the fuck machine. All I can do is grip the restraints while a fuzzy warmth fills my body.

Deep in sub space, I don’t do much to help Sierra clean up. When I try, she plants her hands on my chest and presses me down until I think the mattress is going to engulf me forever. She tucks me under a weighted blanket in a fleece cover before the sweat on my body can cool. I don’t worry when she climbs out of bed instead of laying down with me. Not like I did the first few times after we got back together, when I still worried that she might leave me again.

Time, finally confiding in my best friend, and going to therapy with his old marriage counselor healed those wounds. The loft set-up doesn’t hurt that either. I sprawl in bed and watch her fill the deep, copper soaking tub that sits in the far corner of the loft surrounded by candles and tropical plants that thrive from the humidity and the skylight overhead.

I doze off. Sierra wakes me with forehead kisses and murmured, I love you’s. She sets the blanket aside, and we walk across the room arm in arm. My legs are still wobbly, but my wife helps me into our tub without struggling.

She hands me my water bottle. Salami, cheese, grapes, apple slices, dark cherries, and honeycomb are arranged on a phallic charcuterie board on the side table that Sierra slides over the tub, and she finishes setting up the projector and speaker before climbing into the tub with me.

My favorite episode of one of the comfort shows I’ve watched too many times to count begins to roll on the wall over the mini fridge and bar area.

We don’t need to talk to feel close. I listen to her giggle at the same jokes we’ve heard a hundred times. She massages my calves distractedly, hands always moving along my skin except for when we’re snacking and feeding one another.

I watch her reaction to the show more than I actually watch this episode. Everything about this moment—everything about her—is pure perfection.

It was worth every moment, hurt, and failure that it took to bring us here.