Chapter 21 Sawyer
Chapter twenty-one
Sawyer
“What?” I stammer as I sit up, still panting. I pull a blanket over my chest. I’m not embarrassed to be completely naked and to have just masturbated in front of the man who considers me his wife, but I am very aware of my state of undress. The orgasm left me with a much clearer head.
A wicked smile paints Ty’s face. “You heard me, petit diable. Make yourself come again.”
Fresh, fiery rage fills in all the empty, open, weightless space my release has afforded me.
“That’s not how it works,” I sass back. “Haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?”
Ty barks out a laugh, like the subject is funny.
Huffy, I sit up straighter and glare. “I can’t just rub another one out right away.”
He lifts one shoulder, but his amused, sly smile stays firmly in place. “Fine. Get out a vibrator. Or invite me to explore between those sweet thighs. You can choose the how, but you are going to come again.”
My anger burns hotter. He’s not the boss of me. It’s dangerous to give into his delusions. It’s not safe to journey farther down this rotten path, away from the men I truly want.
And yet…
The submissive, needy part of me wants to play his game.
I want Ty to tell me what to do. I want to relinquish control. So I don’t have to spend another ounce of energy worrying about how wrong and twisted this is.
Deep down, this is what I’ve waited for, what I’ve wished for, for years.
I can’t explain it, and I’m loath to admit it, but his strategy is working. He’s winning. Every time I’m alone with him, my resolve dissipates a little more.
Night by night, orgasm by orgasm, I let go of logic and reason and give into the deeply seated want I feel for Tytus.
Slowly, with his full focus on me, I open the drawer of my nightstand and pull out a vibrator.
I pop open the clamshell case and remove my favorite toy.
Eyeing him, I make a show of bending it just how I like it. The wider end goes inside my body, then the suction side curves around to hook on to my clit.
I hold his gaze as I put the bulbous end into my mouth, swirl my tongue around it, remove it slowly, then spit on it for good measure.
Still locked in his gaze, I turn on the toy.
One side of it buzzes to life, the low hum inspiring a Pavlovian response low in my belly. Warmth and wetness gather in my core.
I tease the toy up my inner thigh, then fall back onto the sheets.
The one end slips between my pussy lips with ease. My body welcomes the intrusion, greedily sucking it into position while sparks of desire ignite in my core.
“Fuck,” I whimper when the vibrating nub hits my G-spot just right.
I’m a liar. My refractory period is nonexistent. This amped up, I could come again in seconds. Plus, it’s Ty. He’s starred in most of my solo session fantasies for years. Now, he’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s right here, watching me.
Clenching my inner walls, I stave off the mounting pleasure.
Sure, I could fuck myself to orgasm like this. But that’s not what I love most about this particular toy.
I try to hold still, to keep my hips planted and my body from trembling too badly, as I twist the bendy part of the vibrator and line it up with my clit.
Instantly, I have to squeeze my eyes closed.
In the darkness, I find the man that always watches me when I let my mind wander. Dark, bottomless irises. Sharp cheekbones. That perpetual scowl.
“Ty,” I pant. I fumble as I click on the second side of the vibrator. Pulsating pulls clamp around my clit.
The suction. The tightness. It’s too much and not enough and perfect. So fucking perfect.
My body holds the toy in place as pleasure coils tighter in every limb. My hands drift back to my breasts, my nipples aching for attention.
“Fuck,” Ty groans, the curse a heady reminder that he’s not just in my fantasy right now.
He’s here. He’s watching me.
I want him to do so much more than just watch.
Head lolled to the side, I open my eyes. When our gazes connect, my pussy spasms, desperate for him, so ready to fall over the edge again.
With my arm outstretched, I beckon him closer. “Here,” I say through breathy pants.
Brows knit together, he leans forward, but he doesn’t get up.
My skin sizzles when our fingertips touch, the caress sending targeted sparks to the deep hollow of my belly where my orgasm continues to build.
“What is this?” he demands, inspecting the quarter-size device that matches the color of the toy latched on to my body.
I give him a coy smile. “That’s the remote.”
His eyes go comically wide, providing a little reprieve from the intensity of the buildup.
“This one—for the inside?” He clicks the first button twice, creating an intense rumble inside my pussy.
“Fuck.” I tug on my nipples as my ass rises off the bed in response.
“And this one,” he says, a smile evident in his voice, “is for your needy little clit?”
A heartbeat later, fireworks ignite, a rainbow of color and brightness shooting off in all directions.
I clamp my legs shut, but that only increases the intensity.
“Fuck, baby.”
He sounds closer. Is he closer?
I crack my eyes open, desperately wanting to feel the weight of him.
He sits back in the chair beside the bed, legs spread wide, his searing gaze flitting from my face to my tits to between my thighs.
He’s too far away.
My body clenches around the toy, and I climb higher.
I want him to touch me. I want him inside me right now.
“Ty,” I beg. “I need more.”
He takes me literally, increasing the vibration and the suction.
It’s exquisite, despite not being what I really want.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his low voice sending a chill up my spine. “Putting on a perfect show.”
My mind goes fuzzy, the haze of the impending orgasm so much headier than my earlier high.
“You handed over this remote so sweetly. So submissively. You wanted me to have control, didn’t you, mon ange?”
Yes.
I shouldn’t trust him. My desire for him is liable to blow up my entire life.
But I want Tytus to take control.
I want him to take me.
“Ty,” I plead. “Put your hands on me. Please.”
A chair scrapes in the distance.
Strong, capable hands crank my legs open wider.
Warm breath tickles my core, snagging my attention.
Holy shit.
Ty’s face is between my knees, his focus intent on my body and the vibrator that’s about to hurtle me into the stratosphere.
That’s all it takes to send me over the edge I’ve been riding.
I scream out, thrashing against the bed.
I try to clamp my legs shut, only to be met with the resistance of Ty’s grip.
Bucking and quaking, I ride out the most intense spikes of my orgasm. When I have enough wherewithal to look down again, Ty’s eyes are on me, expectantly.
The vibrator is back to the lowest setting—his doing—prolonging the waves of pleasure without overwhelming my frazzled, twitchy nerves.
With his hands still splayed on my inner thighs, he uses his thumbs to caress my pussy lips, outlining the toy still lodged inside me.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he tells me, voice raspy and gaze set on my face. “I mean it, Sawyer. Better than I could have ever fucking dreamed.”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow as he looks from my cunt to my face.
A trickle of embarrassment hums in the back of my mind. I can feel the sweat on my brow, and I’m sure my face is red and blotchy. I subtly try to look away, but Ty slaps my thigh lightly, making me jolt.
“Eyes on me, mon ange. Don’t pull away yet.”
Dammit. With a shuddering breath, I force myself to zero in on him.
Voice quaking with vulnerability, he asks, “When you’re alone, and you make yourself come… do you ever think about me?”
My answer is honest and instant.
“Every time.”
He closes his eyes and huffs out a little laugh.
Then he stands, hovers over the bed, and gently pulls the vibrator out of my body. “That’s what I thought.” He inspects the toy, eyes narrowed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“You’ve always been my every fantasy,” he admits. “Your voice, the noises you make. The way you smell.” He holds up the vibrator and cocks one eyebrow. “How you taste.”
He puts the bulbous end of the toy in his mouth, eyes shuttering closed and a little moan escaping him.
Then he pops the toy out and leans over me, bracketing one arm near my head, his face inches from mine.
“Need to know how you feel, too, baby. That’ll be next, okay?”
With those words, reality slams into me.
What I just did.
What I allowed.
What I’m still desperate for him to do.
The truth is, I want to know how he feels, too.
I squeeze my eyes closed, clamp my mouth closed, and try to block out the guilt and fresh shame that douses me as I accept just how much I want him.