Chapter 8 #2
I’m barely conscious of the moment he tenses over me, his thrusts getting shorter, more urgent.
But I’m very conscious of his cock swelling deep within me, the grunt of effort he releases, and then the burst of liquid that splashes into me.
He’s coming inside me, filling me with his seed, and the feel of it pushes my orgasm to new heights.
Tears leak through my clenched lids, but I’m past feeling any shame.
I don’t care anymore. It’s too much emotion, too much intimacy, too much sensation, and my only regret is that it wasn’t Declan I followed all those years ago.
He’s fucking me like he wants me, not like it’s a task that he has to do, or an easy way to get off.
He’s not just in my body, he’s in my head, my soul, my heart.
Scarily so. It’s too soon.
I know it’s just the moment, the wash of endorphins that keeps coming, the vulnerability I have because I’m so damn inexperienced, but those arguments don’t change anything. He’s shown me what sex is truly about, and I’ll always owe him for that, even if for nothing else.
Declan gives a full-body shudder over me, then slowly eases up his grip on my throat. I draw a deep breath because I can, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
His gaze is as intense as ever, his pale blue eyes capturing mine, and then he smiles, possessive and satisfied. I can’t deny he deserves a little smugness after that performance. I’m flushed with my orgasms, perspiration covering every inch of my skin, but he doesn’t seem to care.
He pulls out of me, drawing a gasp I barely manage to muffle, and falls to his side on the bed against me.
Not flopping on his back, not even breathing particularly hard.
Not staring at the ceiling, or asleep in less than a minute.
Not even releasing his grip on my wrists.
No, he’s watching me, and the fingers of one hand are brushing up my inner thigh.
Being under scrutiny that intense? Not knowing what’s next? My hands still pinned? It’s almost worse.
Declan cups my pussy, his touch gentle. He hasn’t said a word, back to his usual brooding silence, eyes locked on mine even though he’s touching me.
What more could he want? I swear I’m too sore, too sensitive for anything else.
One fingertip probes at my entrance, making me draw in a breath that makes my lip tremble, my hips twitching. I’m so wet, his touch glides through my folds. But it’s not just my cum, it’s his too.
He collects some on his finger, bringing his hand up over my body. “Open.”
My hands are pinned. I could refuse, but I can’t find the words. His gaze holds me, compelling me, and I don’t want to refuse. Not after what he’s just done to me.
He feeds me his cum on his fingertip, mixed with my own arousal, and I lick it from his skin, salty and thick. It clings to my tongue, filling my mouth with his taste.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and goes back for more.
I press my legs together. I’m too sensitive, and I’ve done what he wanted.
Declan pauses, tilting his head ever so slightly, like I’m a curiosity. “Open.”
I know he’s not referring to my mouth this time.
“I’m too sensitive,” I say. They’re the first words I’ve spoken in… a while. My throat feels raw, and I have to clear it.
“No, you’re not,” he says, like I’m being silly, protesting too much. “Open.”
“Can’t we just… cuddle?”
“Yes, when we’re done.” His eyes harden. “Open, little hellcat.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. I want you to taste my cum, have it inside your body, and not staining your sheets.” His palm finds my nipple and rubs over it, then he takes it between finger and thumb, and tweaks it.
I bite at my lip. I thought we were done; we’re not done.
“I’ll be gentle,” he assures me, as an afterthought.
I test his grip on my wrists. There’s no give. His hand tightens, and his mouth quirks at the corner.
“Are you fighting me?” he asks. His hand leaves my breast, trailing lightly downward, over my stomach, to where my thighs are pressed closed.
He gives my vulva a three-fingered slap, sharp but not too hard.
A promise, nothing more, yet it still makes my body jerk.
“Playful hellcat. You can fight; you’ll lose.
” His eyes have darkened again. “That’s what you want, isn’t it. ”
It’s not phrased like a question. He’s telling me he’s recognized it. And maybe he’s not wrong, either. Maybe I do want to rise to the challenge and test him. That’s how I do everything else; why not him? Or maybe he knows me better than I know myself—at least here, in this moment, in this act.
He sure has a lot more experience than I do.
I struggle against his hold, just to see if I can get free. One wrist twists, almost escaping, and in response, his hand slaps down on my mons, harder than before. I gasp and go still, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Open,” he says, and there’s a dangerous note of warning in his tone.
Slowly, I spread my legs.
“Good girl.” His fingers dip between, running through my slick, sensitive folds, and this time there’s a lot more of his cum to collect, oozing out of me. He lifts two fingers to my mouth, but I press my lips closed, turning my head to the side. I’m pushing him, I know I am. What will he do now?
“If this is wasted, I’m going to punish you,” he tells me. His voice is quiet, and all the more menacing for it. “It’s your choice, Genesis.”
My actual name. That somehow makes it all the more serious.
And some choice. Do as he says, or be punished.
I’ve never been this vulnerable in my life, and I know it.
I don’t want him to punish me. I don’t think I’d like it.
Yet I can’t help my body’s response to the thought, to his words, to the images they produce.
What will he do? Spank my pussy, my ass?
More? Worse? My stomach flips, my pussy clenches as if recalling him inside me.
In reflex, I swallow, and it makes me aware how much my mouth is watering.
The taste of him is still on my tongue, filling my mouth, and his fingers hover over my face, more of his cum waiting to be fed to me.
Jesus. I’m lying in my bed, being asked to lick the cum off the fingers of a man who’s just fucked me to three orgasms, who I only met a week ago. No, not even asked. Told. Commanded.
And I’m going to do it. It’s inevitable.
Why, Raven?
I don’t know why; I can’t answer myself. His charisma? The force of his dominance? It doesn’t matter; I’m still going to do it.
He knows it, too. He’s watching me, waiting.
I turn my face back, lips parting, and Declan pushes his fingers into my mouth, not even letting me lick them clean but rubbing them over my tongue. Penetrating my mouth as he has my body, forcing me to taste him.
My experience is limited in this too, but I have tasted cum before. Twice. I wasn’t a fan.
“Suck them clean,” he says, voice soft. I’m already complying, lips closing around his digits, tongue lapping at his skin.
This is different from those times I’ve had cum in my mouth. It’s not the taste so much—though he tastes better than I remember from those experiences. It’s the insistence of it, the pure dominance of his act. Pinning me down, ordering my obedience, threatening me if I don’t.
Is he right? Is this what I wanted? Or what he wants?
Or both?
Whatever it is, it makes the experience so much more. This isn’t about a man coming in my mouth, it’s about… submission. Yes, that’s the word.
Why does my body tighten at that thought?
“Again,” Declan murmurs, and his fingers leave my mouth, returning to my pussy.
This time, he slides them inside me, and it pulls a whimper from me.
I’m sensitive within, a mild ache that’s not even uncomfortable, just a reminder of what he’s done.
Then his fingers rub over my g-spot, and my hips twitch, my hands clenching where he holds my wrists.
“So beautiful,” he says, and brings his fingers back to my mouth.
I don’t fight him this time; we’ve already established the rules. He lets me suck his cum off his fingers and lick them clean without saying anything, only watching me as I perform this task.
“Good girl,” he says when I’m done, and maybe I’ve now earned that praise.
It seems he’s content, that the task is finished. His cum is still inside my pussy, but now the taste lingers in my mouth, and I’ve swallowed it, too. It’s in my body in more ways than one.
Is there any better way for a man to mark a woman?
“Do you always do this?” I ask on a whim.
Declan goes still. He doesn’t move at all, save for an involuntary tightening of his pec as he tenses. It draws my eyes to the defined lines of his chest, covered in his tattoos, but I pull my gaze back to his face, waiting for my answer.
“No,” he says at last, eyes steady, voice quiet.
Then why me?
The question is on my lips, but I don’t ask it. I’m not sure I want to know the answer, or if I could handle it if he tells me. He’s just admitted that one of the most intimate, submissive acts he’s forced me to perform isn’t just a first for me, it’s a first for him, too.
I don’t know what that means, but I shy away from finding out.
Either way, he’s done with this. So what’s next?
I know he’ll leave. Any moment, he’ll stand up, walk into the other room, a rustle of clothes as he dresses, then the door closing behind him.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he releases my wrists, hooks an arm over my waist, and pulls me in against him, turning me on my side. His body spoons in against my back, my ass, and he places a kiss on the side of my neck.
“Sleep,” he murmurs.
Still telling me what to do.
So why does safe feel like the right word?