Chapter 35 #3
He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The world had narrowed to this one perfect, terrifying woman.
He was naked, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the discarded sheets pooled around his hips.
His cock was thick and heavy against his abdomen, no longer just arousal, but a manifestation of a need so profound it was staggering.
It pulsed with a life of its own, a silent, desperate plea.
Her eyes swept over him slowly, a lingering, deliberate journey from his face down his chest and back again. She saw everything. The tension in his jaw, the frantic beat of his pulse in his throat, the raw hunger in his gaze, and the part of him that throbbed with a need that bordered on pain.
“I want to respect your boundaries,” she said, her voice a low, steady hum that vibrated through the air and settled deep in his bones. “I do. If you want me to go. I will.” She took another step, the movement fluid and graceful, her bare feet silent against the cool wood floor. She waited.
“No,” he whispered, then stronger. “Don’t go.”
“I think you’re scared.”
“Goddamn right I’m scared. My past should scare you.” He clenched his fists in the sheets, the fabric twisting in his grip as he fought the urge to fucking jump her damn bones.
"I want to show you there's nothing to be afraid of." She kept walking, her hips swaying with hypnotic confidence. He swallowed hard as she neared the bed. The air grew thick with the scent of her skin, something warm and floral that made his head spin.
"This won’t be one-sided, Kelly." Her voice softened, the certainty giving way to a fragile edge of vulnerability. "I'm here to share. To give."
She stopped at the edge of the bed, a dark silhouette against the warm glow of the fire, looking down at him.
Christ, he couldn’t hide a damn thing. Not the frantic desire in his eyes.
Not the tremor in his hands. Not the aching need roaring through him like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under.
“Don’t run from me,” she whispered, the words a caress. She reached for him, her fingers cool and soft as they brushed his knuckles, gently uncurling his fist from the sheet.
He let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel the urge to run.
Her touch was a brand, a searing heat that melted the last of his resistance. So maybe he couldn't trust himself, not with this raw, untamed part of his soul. But fuck, God help him, he knew deep down, down to the very heart of him, he could trust her.
She ran the flat of her hand up his thigh. The heat of her palm was a shock against his bare skin, and he tensed, every muscle locking in anticipation. “Let me take this out of your hands…” Then she moved, a slow, deliberate slide upward. “…and into mine.”
Her fingers wrapped around the thick, rigid shaft of his cock, and he broke.
“Blair,” he whispered, his voice ragged, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth as his hips lifted in an aching plea, driving himself deeper into her grip.
“Show me,” he begged, the words torn from him.
Her thumb swept over the slick head, spreading the bead of moisture there, and his whole body shuddered.
It was too much and not enough, a perfect, torturous pleasure that burned away every thought but her name.
A sharp gasp escaped him as his hips bucked involuntarily.
Instead of releasing his aching cock, she fisted him in a slow, rhythmic slide, while her other hand lifted, her nails scraping lightly across his abdomen, then up, carving a path over the ridges of muscle.
Her touch was a line of fire that seared through his control.
Her nails continued higher, circling a nipple before tracing the line of his throat.
He was helpless, burning for her, every muscle straining, his mind blank with sensation and surrender.
She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him.
Her hair fell like silk around their faces as she brought her lips to his, still fucking him with her hand in a relentless slow glide.
He opened to her instantly, his tongue tangling with hers in a desperate, hungry dance.
This was the giving over he hadn't known how to ask for.
Her mouth left his, only to travel down his throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses.
"I'm going to take the edge off," she whispered, her fist tightening around him in a slow, possessive stroke that made his hips jerk.
"I've had enough of watching you suffer.
I'm going to enjoy every moment as you give yourself over to me.
I know you can't fight me anymore, but how delicious it'll be if you try. "
She stroked him without mercy as she bit the thick muscle above his nipple. He groaned, the sound helpless and consumed. "Oh, please fight me," she whispered, the rhythm of her hand never ceasing, "while I fuck you so hard with my mouth, you'll forget there was ever shame tied to this part of you."
His cock throbbed at her words as he held onto his sanity by a thread. She bit him again. The sharp sting of her teeth on his muscle was a shockwave that collided with the steady, maddening friction of her hand, a dual assault that made his vision swim.
Her tongue slid over the top of his abs. She moaned softly, then surged up, capturing his mouth again. Her hand roamed, the free one cupping his balls, the other still wrapped tightly around his shaft. He groaned into her kiss, his mind spinning. She stroked him, his hips lifting into her palm.
"You're not that man anymore," she murmured. Then she kissed him again, slow and teasing. "You..." A taste. "Never..." A brush. "Ever..." A breath. "Were."
He tilted his head back, a silent offering, and she took it, her teeth scraping his throat just enough to make him gasp.
She moved lower, her lips and tongue worshipping the hard planes of his chest again, and then she found his nipple.
Her mouth closed over it, and she sucked, hard, a ruthless, possessive pull that shot straight to his groin.
She bit down, a sharp, shocking sting that melted into a wave of pleasure so intense his vision blurred.
All the while, she stroked him, a slow, maddening rhythm that had him arching off the bed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat.
Her mouth released his nipple, leaving it wet and throbbing, and began its descent again.
She kissed and bit her way down his stomach, her teeth leaving possessive marks on his upper abs, her tongue soothing the sting with lazy, sensual licks.
She was mapping him, claiming every inch of him.
Her hand never stopped its work on his throbbing erection, stroking him from base to tip, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture gathered there.
She moved, her breath a warm gust against the sensitive head of his cock.
He looked down, his breath catching in his chest as she lowered her head and took him into her mouth.
The wet, velvet heat of her was an explosion, a supernova of pleasure that obliterated every thought, every fear, every last shred of control.
Her mouth moved over him with a devastating expertise, her tongue swirling around the head, tracing the sensitive ridge before she took him deeper, her lips sliding down his shaft in a slow, relentless glide.
The sensation was exquisite, a tight, silken friction that sent jolts of electricity straight up his spine.
He was going to come, and God, he wanted it desperately, wanted to be broken by her, wanted to drown in the pleasure only she could give him.
Emotion built in his chest, a terrifying, overwhelming tide.
He did fight. A primal instinct for self-preservation, for control, screamed at him to stop this before he shattered.
He tried to slide away from her, to escape the exquisite torture, but she was faster.
She pinned him with her body, straddling his thighs, and sucked harder.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.
Panic built, a frantic, clawing thing in his gut as she breached every wall, his armor disintegrating layer by agonizing layer.
This was too much, too intimate, too real.
Tears pricked the back of his eyes, his throat tightening with a knot of pure, unadulterated feeling.
He tried to rise, to push her away, to do anything, but her sweet, ruthless assault rendered him defenseless, his muscles turning to water.
The pressure began to build deep inside him, a low, coiling heat at the base of his spine.
It wasn't just pleasure; it was a force, a gathering storm that pulled every nerve ending taut.
His hips bucked, a desperate, involuntary thrust against the wet, silken trap of her mouth.
Each retreat of her lips was a brief, gasping mercy, but the return, the slow, deliberate slide back down, was a fresh wave of conquest. Her tongue was a wicked, knowing thing, swirling around the sensitive head, pressing into the slit, tasting the salt of his impending release, and every flick made the coil inside him tighten another notch.
His thighs trembled, the muscles screaming as he fought the instinct to drive into her, to fuck her mouth with the abandon she was demanding.
But she was already doing it, setting a rhythm that was both a gift and a punishment.
The pressure grew from a coil to a weight, a heavy, aching fullness that demanded release.
It was a sweet agony, his entire body straining against the inevitable, his mind a battlefield of terror and desperate need.
He was losing himself, the edges of his consciousness blurring, white-hot static creeping into his vision as the pleasure became a roaring in his ears.