Chapter 24 - Jackson #2
It’s when the warmth of his breath ghosts over my jaw and the corner of my lips that I realize my mind is floating, light and untethered, like it’s caught in a slow, sweet tide.
The sparks of color inside my eyelids shimmer and blur, losing their edges.
It’s like my mind is drifting while I feel everything, every touch just a little softer, a little muted.
His mouth is at my ear, and his teeth nip at the shell of it before he asks in a low voice, “Do you want more of the crop or are you ready for my cock, sweetheart?”
“Cock. Please. Please, Sir. I want your cock.”
Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so desperate.
My voice cracks, but it somehow sounds soft. Calm. Like those waters I’m floating in.
“You’ve been such a good boy. Of course you can have my cock now.”
I hear a faint click and then feel the bed dip in front of me before Sir takes a fistful of my hair and lifts my head until I feel something new nudging against my lips.
It’s not the rough leather of the crop, but the softness of skin.
I part my lips, and he pushes the head of his dick past them, stretching my mouth open wider.
I taste him on my tongue, salty and musky.
He groans. “There you go, sweetheart. Take me into that beautiful throat of yours. “
A cool, wet sensation trickles down the crease of my ass, and the shocked noise I make is muffled by the cock driving deeper into my mouth.
Sir’s finger dips between my cheeks and presses against my hole, swirling the lube around before he pushes inside.
He thrusts once before adding a second finger, then a third, not making me wait by taking too long stretching me open.
He must know how badly I want him.
I don’t even think I’m sucking him, not really. He holds his dick in my mouth while I moan around it, giving little thrusts just to let me feel the slow glide of him across my tongue.
The next thing I know, the blindfold is ripped off my head, and I blink against the dim light in the room. I peer up through the blur of tears to see Sir staring down at me, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.
“That’s better,” he growls breathlessly. “Had to see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
When his fingers leave my ass and his cock slips out of my mouth, I don’t even whine, more than content knowing where it’s going instead.
Sir lets my head fall back to the pillow and repositions himself, ending up between my legs again. He grips my hips and raises them so my ass is in the air, my dick hanging heavy as it quickly fills once more. I leave my cheek pressed to the pillow, letting him maneuver me wherever he wants me.
Just ready for him to fucking use me.
I can hear the rustle of clothes, the click of the lube bottle again, and I start writhing in anticipation.
“Keep squirming like that and I’ll make you wait for it.”
I still immediately.
He chuckles darkly.
Definitely feeling sadistic this morning.
With one hand still gripping my left hip, he brings the blunt head of his cock to my hole, slick with lube, and slowly starts pushing inside. I’m already so relaxed and stretched from his fingers that it doesn’t take much force for his crown to slip past my rim.
We groan at the same time, the noise mingling with all the heat and sweat and arousal in the air.
Both his hands hold onto my hips again, fingers digging into my flesh, leaving yet more marks on me. He thrusts slowly, and I can feel him tremble with restraint. The stretch burns with every inch, but I’ve come to love it, to crave it—the bite of pain before the flood of pleasure.
He bottoms out, and I moan loudly before peering behind me to see him throw his head back.
“Fuck, Jackson,” he says, his voice a deep growl again as he slowly pulls his cock back. “Always so fucking tight for me. Always my perfect little hole.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I manage to speak through a nonexistent breath.
He lowers his gaze to mine and grins, showing teeth in that wicked way he does. “Hold onto those ropes if you need to, sweetheart. I’m about to fuck my hole hard and fast.”
The groan I make gets cut off when he drives all the way in on one thrust, punching the air from my lungs in a silent cry.
Hard.
Fast.
Just the way he promised.
He doesn’t stop this time, setting a brutal pace that doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath.
I do exactly what he said, scrambling to grab onto the ropes that extend from my wrists to the headboard as he pounds into me, his cock hitting my prostate with every thrust. His fingertips dig harder into my hips, and God help me, I want him to leave bruises.
There’s no break. No pause. No respite from the vicious way he fucks into me.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve taken even one single breath.
My mind is hazy and heady, his power over me intoxicating. All-consuming. So much so that I forget who he’s meant to be in this moment.
“Isaac.”
His name spills from my lips on a low, quiet moan before I can catch it.
Somehow, he hears me over all the heavy breaths and the slapping of skin. He slows his thrusts to a complete stop, one hand moving from my hip to the arch of my back, tenderly brushing down my spine.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?”
“Perfect,” I mumble. “Need to come.”
He chuckles again, and then his body drapes over the back of mine, his hands going to the ropes.
I don’t know how he unties them so quickly, but they fall from the headboard, still bound around my wrists.
He moves back again, this time bringing me with him until I’m on my knees with my back pressed against his chest. The new position has his cock buried impossibly deep inside me.
“Oh, fuck,” I grunt when he gives another thrust.
One of his hands comes up to my neck, fingers slipping beneath the chain of my collar to wrap around my throat.
He doesn’t squeeze, just holds me possessively.
Meanwhile, his other hand finds my cock, gripping it in a firm fist. He strokes me from base to tip, twisting his palm around my head in a way that has me throwing my head back against his shoulder, panting heavily.
“Don’t forget,” he whispers in my ear as his thrusts pick up another rhythm. “I haven’t given you permission yet.”
I shake my head back and forth on his shoulder and let out a whine.
“No. Please, Sir. Please, may I have permission?”
“Not yet.”
I whine louder because there’s already a white-hot flame flickering in my stomach, growing, each thrust of his cock and stroke of mine stoking it higher. Every inch of my skin is oversensitive, too aware of everything. Heat, friction, breath. Every muscle in me tightens, preparing for the release.
“Don’t you dare do it, Jackson.” His voice in my ear is a low, quiet threat, producing a spark that only brings me closer. “Unless you want to find out how much more of my crop your ass can take.”
At the reminder, my mind registers the dull ache and the slight sting from my ass slapping against his pelvis.
Fuck, I don’t think my ass can take more.
I hold it back as best I can, but I can feel myself hovering on the brink of that point where all the pleasure turns sharp.
A tremor races through me, small but impossible to hide.
My breath catches. My fingers curl. Every cell in my body drags me toward a climax, telling me to give in, to stop fighting it.
But I can’t. I have to be good.
It’s as though he knows. He knows I’m at that tipping point where there’s no turning back, and he doesn’t want me to be bad.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
It hits me in a way I can never quite brace for when it comes to Isaac.
The world narrows down to blinding pleasure. It’s like falling and flying at the same time, every nerve lighting up in bright, overwhelming relief as the rush of warmth tears through me.
My body shudders as I ride out my orgasm.
Shaking.
Unraveling.
Coming apart in Isaac’s hands.
While I’m somewhere floating far away, I vaguely register his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his own release, faintly hearing his grunts and growls in my ear.
As those intense, feverish sensations begin to ebb, my thoughts drift back in slow pieces, my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Isaac’s still holding me, his cock softening inside me, his chest that’s slick with sweat heaving against my back.
All I can do is exhale and sink into the moment, untethered and undone.
Isaac presses his forehead against my temple, still catching his breath, hot air from his lungs fanning the side of my face.
“Say you’re mine,” he whispers breathlessly.
I turn my head until it’s both our foreheads pressed together so I can stare into his eyes. I see it then, the change in him. He’s no longer Sir, no longer my Dom. He’s just Isaac. The man who’s afraid of losing people. The man who’s lost too much already.
The man I believe would do just about anything to keep me.
“I’m yours, Isaac,” I tell him easily. “I’m yours. I’m real. And I’m staying.”
His breath hitches, and his gaze searches mine like he’s afraid I’ll take the words back if he blinks.
He’s always so sure, so confident and in control, whether he’s teaching a classroom full of students or doing things to my body I never thought were possible.
In moments like this, it’s still strange to see him scared and vulnerable, yet trust him enough to take care of me in the way I need him to after what we just did.
Moving his hand from my throat to cup my jaw, he presses his mouth to mine and whispers against my lips that I’m his.
Don’t disappear.
They’re not words spoken aloud, but I can hear them in his kiss.
Don’t disappear.
And in that fragile, tender second, I realize I’m not the only one who finally feels wanted.