Chapter 21 #2
The wind gets knocked out of me. I’ve thought about this, too. My imagination has it down to a science—how he would treat me in the folds of a bedsheet and bring me to the ends of pleasure.
I almost don’t tell him. The Locke I’ve come to know doesn’t completely fit the mold I’ve created in my mind. Real-life Locke hides behind his glasses and stumbles over his words when he’s not comfortable.
I’m not sure fantasy Locke—who grips me to the point of bruising and calls me names I’d never allow anyone else to—can exist anywhere but inside my mind.
The Locke hovering above me is still staring. Eyes waiting, patiently, for me to give him an answer. Wanting to cater to me, because that’s what my Locke does.
It’s a type of kindness exclusive to him. Even if I don’t think he can deliver every one of my fantasies, it would be wrong not to at least open my deepest thoughts to him. Just like he did with me those few nights ago.
Pushing myself on to my elbows, I set my mind straight.
“I know what type of sex I like. I’m not sure if you’d be okay with it-”
“I am.” He dips down to press a sweet kiss against my forehead. It’s both what I need, and not at all what I want. “Whatever it is you ask of me, is what I’m going to give you.”
“I believe you believe that. But I’m not sure you can give it to me. And if you can’t, that’s okay!”
“Rosalie.”
His jaw clenches. The muscles beneath his cheeks move, tight and shifting, and it looks eerily similar to the Locke I see in my late-night fantasies.
“Don’t doubt what I’m willing to give you, please. Just tell me what you want.”
My heart is working overtime when I breathe in. “Okay. Being direct—I don’t want you to be nice to me. And preferably not quiet. No slapping but… manhandle me, definitely. Don’t get me wrong, I like the shy, sweet side of you. That’s what made me like you to begin with, actually. But in bed…”
I expect there to be a long pause of Locke letting the words sink in. There isn’t.
Only seconds after I trail off, he’s ripping his shirt over his head and pointing a stare at me so intense, I retreat into the sheets.
I don’t get enough time to admire the defined muscles of his chest before they flex, with Locke leaning over me, voice dropping. “Yeah? Is this your way of saying you want it rough?”
“Yes.” His free hand finds its way into my hair. Pulling and making me gasp. I’m not sure why I ask a question I know the answer to. “Do you think that’s something you can do?”
Locke drops his mouth to the side of my neck. Groaning, he bites into my throat. “Didn’t I tell you not to doubt the things I’m willing to give you?”
I moan, thrusting my hips so I can feel something. Anything.
“Shy doesn’t mean inexperienced. I know how to fuck, Rosie. If you want it rough, I’ll give it to you rough.”
I didn’t think he’d be inexperienced, and never assumed I was his first partner, but hearing it laid out makes everything sexier. Fantasy Locke is my Locke, and there’s too many layers separating us. Being next to him isn’t enough. I need to feel him.
“Take your clothes off.”
He laughs, dipping his head into the crook of my neck. There’s still a tilt to his voice that makes me hot all over, but his words hold the same tenderness that’s become synonymous with him. “I am. We will. But is there anything else you like that I should know?”
There is one more thing. One sexual fantasy I’ve had, but never felt connected enough with my past partners to share.
Locke sucks a mark into my skin, thumb tenderly caresses the side of my cheek. Soft and harsh. Careful and passionate. Friend and lover. When it comes to him, I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t want to share.
“I want to be overstimulated. Right after I come, I want you to keep going.”
A deep breath blows into the side of my neck. “Until you come again?”
“Yes. Even when I say it’s too much, just keep going.”
Locke moves, head lifting from my throat to hover above me, expression stern. “I told you, if you say stop, I’m going to stop.”
“I know. I won’t say stop, I promise. But when I’m in the middle of it, I might say it’s too much and I can’t take it. But I can take it. And I want you to keep going.”
The cycle of emotions he feels is so strong, I see them physically pass over his features. Skepticism, worry, lust. I squeeze his bicep and answer the silent question.
“I’m sure. I trust you.”
He sighs, nods, and drops his forehead to mine. “If you say stop, I’m going to stop.”
“I got it.”
“I’m serious, Rosalie. This instance, with the ‘too much’ and the overstimming is the only exception I’m going to make, because you asked for it. Any other time you show you’re uncomfortable, or in pain, or not wanting to do something, I’m going to stop.”
“I got it, Locke. It’ll be fine. That’s what I want.” His glasses start slipping off his face, and I readjust them for him. I tap the plastic of his frame and smirk. “I want this too, actually. The glasses stay on. And the watch.”
He chuckles. “My accessories turn you on?”
“Yes.”
An image of Locke in this same position, with a thick band around his finger while he works his way into me flashes through my brain. It sends my hips chasing his again, and my hands moving back to my waist band.
The last layers of our clothes are slowly working off our bodies—finally—when I ask, “What about you? What do you want?”
His pants are off. The outline of Locke’s cock is unmissable in his skintight, name-brand boxers, and I throw my head back in a moan.
“That’s what I what. More of those.” Like a magnet, he’s hovering over me again. We can only go a few moments separated before we’re attracted to each other again. I’d think it’s adorable and heartwarming if I didn’t want him naked so fucking badly.
“What else?” I tug at his boxers for only a few seconds before Locke is grabbing both my wrists, pinning them down at the sides of my head and pressing his lower body onto mine. The rigid pressure pressing against my clothed clit is so intoxicating, I almost miss what he says.
“I don’t want you to do any work. You lay back and enjoy. The only thing you need to do is tell me how much you like it, and give me the orgasms I earn, alright?”
He grinds his way down into me, and I see stars.
“Yes. Okay. Got it.”
Locke grinds into me once more, and my jaw goes slack. The smirk plastered across his face is sinisterly sexy and so far from the shy guy who couldn’t make eye contact with me when we first met.
Shakily, I ask, “Anything else?”
He removes himself from me. Sitting back, he carefully runs his hands over the expanse of my thighs.
We both watch the motion. It’s torture, but the build-up feels so good, I almost come just from the blissed-out look in his eyes.
He takes just as long inching my panties off, grunting deep in his throat when I’m laid bare across his navy comforter.
The air that hits the most sensitive part of my body is cold, but I’m warm under his lust-filled stare. His hands are immediately busy, one gripping the hair at his scalp and the other holding himself under the hem of his underwear.
I don’t feel exposed. There’s a rush of realization, and his words from earlier echo in my mind. I might be the one lying under him, asking him to rough me around and have his way with me, but I’m in control. I could ask Locke to fall to knees and kiss my feet right now and he’d do it.
It’s the most sexual experience I’ve ever had.
“Last thing.” He finally groans out. His lean fingers start to slowly work his own underwear off his body, and I’ve never been so engrossed with something in my entire life. “I’m last. Always.”
“What does that mean?”
The black fabric drops off his thighs, down his calves, and onto the floor of his bedroom, and I forget how to breathe.
The length of him is too much. It’s too big.
I’m so frustrated by everything. The heated air in the room, the shadowed muscles of Locke’s body, the fact that he’s hard and pulsing and nine inches, at least, that my hands instinctively reach between my legs to feel some sort of relief.
My wrist is caught before I get the chance.
“I told you you’re not doing any work.”
Both hands are pinned above my head again. This time, though, Locke only needs one hand to keep me in place. The other works its way exactly where I want, rubbing along my slit and gathering the traces of my arousal before slipping a finger into me.
My back arches. I chase it—whatever it is.
The pulsing need to have Locke’s finger deeper in me.
The uncontrollable desire to moan for him and beg him and let him give me he wants, because he promises.
His finger pushes around the hottest place of my body, and I know he’ll make everything so, so good.
“As I was saying,” he mumbles and presses another finger beside the first. I can’t stop the loud, explicit moans if I wanted to. I barely muster the strength to look him in the eye and watch his shade of green shift deeper and darker. “I go last.”
His movements are methodical. He doesn’t push into me with speed, but with careful precision, caressing the parts that make my nerves stand up. I’m forgetting how to breath when his thumb starts drawing circles into my clit.
Over the loud sounds of his hand working its way in and out and my moans reaching an octave I didn’t know possible, Locke says, “That means you come first. And second. Third, too. Fourth, if you can handle it. Fifth, if you’re conscious.”
“Locke, please.”
It’s too hot. Sweat gathers in every fold of my body. Every place we touch is sticky and damp.
I crave it. I want more of it.
The crest of my orgasm moves closer and closer to the surface, and I cry out, “I’m going to come if you keep going.”
The deep sound of his laugh crawls around my nerves. His hand doesn’t stop—just continues fucking into me and rubbing expertly into my clit. It’s more intense than any other orgasm I’ve had.
“Good. Come for me, Princess.”