Chapter 21 #3
Everything comes alive. A loud, unholy moan forces its way out of my throat. I arch my entire body off the bed, legs shaking and muscles tightening painfully tight around Locke’s fingers while my climax crashes into my body.
He knows that name is special to me. I’ve wanted someone to use it out of adoration, and not spite, for so long. I don’t know if Locke understands the feelings it invokes in me to hear it used how I’ve always imagined it. I’m not sure I fully understand it, but my body does, thrumming all over.
The wave of bliss feels like it lasts forever before my breath catches up to me.
My entire body is sensitive. I don’t know when Locke let my wrists go, but the feeling of his hand running along my thigh is ten times more electric than usual.
His harsh grip forcing my knees apart is controlled, and intense, and I sigh contently.
“That was so fucking good.”
“We’re not done.”
Locke makes good on everything he promises me. What must’ve been seconds after my first orgasm, he stuffs his head between my thighs and licks his way through my slit.
The plastic of his glasses pressing into my skin, and the wet heat of his tongue flicking against my clit, is overwhelming. I gasp for whatever air there’s left and grip onto his sheets desperately.
“Oh my gosh.” My body takes over. I don’t think anymore. Just let my hips roll themselves into his mouth while the vibrations of his groans shoot themselves across my skin. I start to mindlessly speak. Nothing really makes sense except the white-hot pleasure Locke is sending throughout my body.
“I didn’t know it felt like this. Oh my gosh, it’s so fucking good. It’s so good.”
The pressure stops for a moment, but the vibrations of his voice keep it impossible to breathe. “You didn’t know?”
“No.” I whine and writhe and push my hips back into his mouth.
More. I want more.
“Princess.” He says that fucking nickname again, and I moan pathetically. “Is this the first time someone has eaten you out?”
“Yes.” I’m able to form a coherent answer, meaning the sensitivity of my orgasm is wearing off. Whining, I clutch onto his blonde hair and push his mouth back onto where I want him.
Locke doesn’t waste another moment. His hands fold my legs further, roughly pushing me down into the mattress. He’s not careful. His mouth is ravenous, tongue moving around my pussy furiously and nose pressing into my clit at just the right spot.
The sensitivity works back into me. I feel the crest return almost as quickly as it left and thrust my hips into his mouth without abandon.
His glasses are indenting into the flesh of my thigh when he sucks harshly once, twice, and that delicious rush of heat and Locke runs through me again. Legs shaking, back arching, moans tumbling out of my throat.
I forget everything. The only thing tethering me to the world is Locke licking the skin of my folds and kissing the stretch lines around my thighs.
His pecks move around the curves of my body while I return to earth.
“Take a breath,” he says softly, like it’s easy.
By the time I’ve relaxed my body into the sheets, he’s kissed his way to my temple.
“I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed that many times with someone before.” I confess mindlessly.
It slipped out while I became aware of what happened. It’s not meant to stir anything in Locke, but his eyebrows knit together and he turns his nose up.
“That was only two.”
Only two. Like a man getting more than one real orgasm out of a woman isn’t a feat on its own.
Well, for Locke it isn’t.
“That’s two more than I’ve ever had with someone else.”
All my muscles are slack when I see it. The green of his eyes. From emerald to forest.
Locke rolls his neck, grits his teeth, and starts to trace his fingers along the expanse of my body again.
“Boys. You were with boys before me, Rosie. You deserve a man.”
When Locke produces a third orgasm out of me, by doing nothing more than rubbing the head of his cock torturously against my clit, I almost decide to call it a night.
Almost.
I’m not sure if my body can take one more life-altering orgasm at his hands, but I want it. The thick shape of his cock makes my mouth water and my body pulse, and no matter how tired I am, I want Locke in me tonight.
He lets me rest for ten minutes. He patiently waits, like I asked him to, and holds the base of his dick while I catch my breath.
I think we’re both on the edge of bursting by the time I trust my body’s ability to handle whatever it is Locke is about to give me.
“One more.” My voice is more energetic than my body feels, but I’m sure. Even if I ache tomorrow, I want this. “Only one though, no overstimming. I don’t think my body can handle it.”
Instead of taking his place above my body, Locke shifts beside me. Laying down comfortably before he moves me, pushing my back flush to his chest.
His sinister laugh that’s starting to become familiar reappears again. “We’ll work you up to higher numbers, Princess.”
The nickname sends my head back against his shoulder. I try to focus on that, and not his right hand reaching around my hips expertly. Like he’s already memorized every part of me.
“You keep calling me that.”
“I do.” He grabs me, adjusts me exactly where he wants me, and holds my leg open while he settles between my thighs. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it.” It’s never sounded this sweet, or sincere, or heart-pounding. Because when Locke says it, he means it. It makes my head hazy with uncontrollable need. “I want you raw. Don’t put a condom on.”
I feel his chest rumble when he groans. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Rosie.”
He’s wrong. I do know. I can feel it. His hard cock rubs against the wet opening of my pussy. It’s the euphoric version of skin against skin, and it’s so close to satisfying the needs that have been built throughout the night.
I nod, urging him to continue, and the thick pressure fills me. My hand finds the hair at the back of his neck and tugs desperately.
It’s only an inch, but it’s so much. So full.
I gasp. “It’s not going to fit.”
His left-hand bends to squeeze my breast and we moan together.
“It’ll fit. We’re gonna make sure it fits, right?”
Locke eases another inch into me and my hips buck down into it.
He’s so big. So impossibly big, crowding the space around me and taking up every spot within me. I don’t know how we’re going to make it work, but we will. I crave it.
“More.” I manage to spit out. “Fuck me, Locke. Please.”
He grunts and pushes another inch into me.
Then another. And another. Waiting in between for a reaction other than blissful moans and fucked-out requests for more.
All I give him is desperation, until he’s pushed his way completely into me.
I’m stretched so full, it’s teetering between painful and delicious.
My muscles throb where his dick stays seated inside me.
“How do you want it?”
His thrusts start slow and soft. I tug on the hair at the nape of his neck again and speak in a raspy tone.
“Hard. Fuck me into being yours or don’t do it at all.”
It’s instant. Something snaps. The muscles of his chest tighten and the grip around my waist digs rough into the bone.
“You want to be fucked like a slut, Princess?” His words are menacing and dirty, and they set every part of my body alit.
The name isn’t offensive. It’s hot and sexy and lust-filled because I know it’s for me. He’s not saying it because that’s what he thinks of me; Locke says it because he knows what it’s what I want.
Another moan of his name almost emerges out of my mouth. But then his lean fingers stop twisting the sensitive skin of my nipple, and find a new home in the expanse of my throat.
Grunting in my ear, he says, “Grab the headboard.”
I do as he says. My arms barely reach the wooden bars banging against his wall, but I stretch every part of me to make it work.
My hands wrap themselves around the head board, and Locke pounds into me at a pace I think only he’s capable of.
Hard and rough and reckless, but still caring enough to brace me against his chest.
“I’m going to give you everything you want, Rosie. I’m going to take care of you and worship you, and late at night when you need me to, I’m going to fuck you exactly how you want. How you deserve.”
My vision goes black, eyes rolling to the back of my head and conscious becoming a light-hearted reality where only the pleasure of this moment exists. Nothing else.
His hand leaves my hips and busies itself with pressing into my clit. Back and forth, in a motion that makes the rest of the world slip away and my climax find its way to the surface.
“And you’re going to come on my cock, just like you asked.”
He releases the grip on my throat, and the sensation of his hard cock fucking into me and the rush of air filling my lungs is too much. I shake and cry and scream while the intensity of my orgasm takes control.
Locke works me through it. Still slowly thrusting in and out of me, he mumbles in my ear how hot it is to see his girl get what she needs, and the aftershocks of coming make me twitch against his body.
When I catch my breath, he pulls out. I feel so suddenly empty, and my mind cries for me to tell him not to remove himself from my body, but I physically can’t take another one.
I roll onto my back and reach my hand out, waiting for him to tell me what to do. How to bring him over the edge.
He doesn’t take my offer, though. Like always, Locke puts me first and gets off just on knowing I’m satisfied.
Furiously, he works his fist over his own cock, arm flexing and shoulders tense. The black-rimmed glasses that symbolize him are fogged up and crooked. I want him so bad, it aches. So does the physical exhaustion of four orgasms in one night.
Mindlessly, I spit out, “You should’ve come in me.”
The lump in his throat bobs and he throws his head back.
“Fuck.”
“You better do it next time.” He’s still staring at the ceiling when I grab his free hand and suck two fingers into my mouth. His breath catches, and I mumble around his fingers. “Come on my stomach tonight. Next time, I want you to fuck it deep into me. You can claim me as yours.”
I hear it before I see it. The shaky sounds, the broken grunts, the small whine that slips out right before he shoots cum across my stomach.
Locke learned my body and mind by asking. I learned his by watching. I don’t think anything turns him on more than giving me what I want and making me his.
After his chest rises and falls regularly, Locke places a soft kiss on my forehead and walks out of the room. For once, I don’t wonder why I’m left alone after sex. I know he’s coming back.
A few minutes later, he’s tenderly wiping me down with a warm cloth.
He massages the most strained parts of me—the thighs he worked over his shoulders, arms that braced me against the headboard.
None of his movements are sexual now. They’re light and caring, and the version of Locke I came to know first returns.
Soft green eyes and quiet kisses of adoration.
I’m wrapped into the smooth cotton of one of his shirts and tucked back into his side when I huff out what’s been gnawing at me all night.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” I tilt my head to look at him. The confusion painted across his face makes me roll my eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re supposed to be quiet. And shy!”
My hand slaps his chest, vibrating with laughter. “I am.”
“That was not quiet or shy.”
“You asked me to be rough, so I was. I told you I’d give you what you want.” His finger lightly tugs my chin, bringing my mouth to his for a kiss. He mumbles against my lips, “It’s different in bed, too. When it comes to sex, I don’t necessarily want to be soft.”
I groan and twist my eyes shut. “Fuck. It really is always the quiet ones, huh?”
Locke’s laugh is back to sounding sweet and calm. Not laced with lust, but comfort. My stomach tugs at the sound anyways.
“I guess it is, Princess.”
Princess.
That name had been soured for so long, I’d resigned to never hearing it again. Locke remolds reality for me. He makes that word feel like mine. He feels like mine.
And in every sense of the word, I’m his.