Chapter 12 #2
I crossed the room quickly, dropping onto the edge of the bed and kicking off my shoes.
Adrenaline hummed through my veins as I scooted backward.
Sebastian climbed onto the mattress after me, his knees straddling my thighs, and made short work of my shirt.
Then he pushed me down and sat back on his heels. “Do you trust me?”
I swallowed, my heart jackhammering against my sternum. “I trust you.”
He took my right wrist and wound the fabric around it, then threaded the it through the slats. “Too tight?” he asked as he tied off a knot.
I shook my head, unable to speak. The sensation of the silk against my skin, the sense of surrender, was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
He repeated the process with my left hand, his fingers grazing my pulse as he secured the knot.
When both of my arms were stretched wide above my head, I flexed my hands experimentally. The ties were loose enough to not cut off my circulation, but it was clear I wasn’t getting free until he let me.
“You can tell me to stop at anytime,” he said, his voice gentle. “Just say the word.”
My throat felt dry as sandpaper. “I won’t.”
He kissed me then, deep and slow, his hands braced on either side of my head, before working his way south, planting kisses along my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone.
I pulled at the ties, wanting to grab his hair, but all I could do was arch up into his touch and writhe beneath him.
He nibbled on my nipples until I swore, delighting in every gasp, and peeled the rest of my clothes off, avoiding touching my throbbing cock.
I was desperate, every muscle in my arms straining. “Sebastian, please,” I said, my voice embarrassingly needy.
“Not yet,” he said, kissing my shins, my ankles, even the tops of my feet.
I laughed, and he grinned biting the arch of my left foot hard enough to make me cry out. Then he made his way back up my body. At first, his kisses were soft, then not so soft, leaving tiny marks on my skin with his teeth.
I loved it and hated it in equal measure.
Every nerve in my body felt like a live wire, and my dick was leaking like a faucet, leaving a sticky line against my stomach. I thrashed ineffectually, needing more, needing anything.
“Sebastian, I swear to god—”
He laughed, the sound low and a little bit mean, and holy shit, that meanness did something unexpected to me.
His lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Look at you,” he murmured, trailing one finger lightly up my shaft, making it swell and jerk under his touch. “So desperate.” He dipped his head forward and spit on my cock, and holy fucking shit.
I tugged against my restraints, needing to touch him. To be touched.
Finally—finally!—he wrapped his hand around me.
I nearly came, my hips arching into his tight grip, but he squeezed the base of my cock until the urge to blow faded.
Then he started the whole torturous process all over again.
It went on like that for what felt like hours, Sebastian working me up to the edge, then backing off, over and over again, until I was sweating and shaking.
I was out of my mind, babbling, begging, crying his name.
I would have let him do anything to me. I would have confessed every secret, signed away my soul, just for him to put me out of my misery.
“Please,” I whined.
“Please what?”
“I don’t know. Anything. I need to come so fucking bad.”
He lined my cock up with his mouth, rubbing the flushed head over his lips.
I cried out and cursed. “You fucking sadist.”
He chuckled darkly, saying, “I got you.” Then his mouth finally closed around me, his tongue pressing flat against the underside as he took me deeper, his nose coming flush with my pelvis, his throat flexing around me.
When he pulled back to focus on just the tip, his tongue swirling around the head where I was most sensitive, I felt tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes.
He dipped his tongue into my slit and I was off like a rocket. I came so hard I saw stars, my vision whiting out.
Sebastian sucked and licked me through the aftershocks, until I was begging him to stop.
“No more. Too much.”
He sat back, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then he was moving up my body to straddle my chest, his hands framing my face. He bent forward and kissed me deeply. I moaned into his mouth, tasting myself on his tongue.
When he broke away, he palmed his dick, letting out a low groan. He rubbed himself again over the fabric.
“Don’t you dare. That’s mine,” I bit out. If he made himself come, I was going to be livid.
“Is it?” he asked with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.
“Yes. Now give it to me.”
He tumbled off me, yanking his clothes off in a rush, then crawled back onto the bed, throwing a leg over my chest. He fisted himself, his free hand buried in my hair as he lined his dick up with my mouth.
I swirled my tongue around the tip, licking away a drop of pre-cum. Then, calling on every core exercise I’d ever done, I curled my abs forward and sank down, bobbing up and down over what I could reach with my arms straining behind me.
It wasn’t enough. It was barely anything.
I growled with frustration and popped off, leaning back against the headboard. “Fuck my face.”
“Why? You trying to make me come?”
“That’s the idea,” I said, my tone belligerent. “I want that cock.”
He lined up again, and the next time he pressed forward, I tried to swallow him down, but he kept his pace maddeningly slow. His movement shallow.
I growled again.
“Patience.” He traced my cheek with his thumb where his dick pressed against the inside of my mouth.
Fuck patience. I wanted him to lose his composure the way I’d lost mine. I wanted to watch him come undone because of me.
On his next thrust, he finally went deeper—as deep as I could take him—and fucking smiled. Then the bastard pushed in even more, stretching my throat around him.
My eyes watered as I blinked up at him, my lungs burning.
Sebastian pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping. He stroked himself a few times while I caught my breath, then he drove back in, over and over and over again, his hips snapping.
I breathed through my nose and relaxed my throat. I let him use me, exactly like I’d asked him to. Saliva dribbled down my chin, and my jaw ached.
My dick was hard again.
Eventually, his breath caught, and his rhythm faltered. He was close.
I moaned, begging for his release.
His fingers tightened in my hair, and with a shout, he spilled down my throat, hot and thick. I swallowed, greedily, triumphant, every cell in my body singing with victory.
He collapsed forward, bracing himself on the headboard at my back. When he finally pulled out, a string of spit and cum dangled from my lips. I licked it away, shameless, and grinned up at him.
He leaned in and kissed me, messy and open-mouthed. “Good boy,” he whispered, untangling my wrists with trembling fingers.
When I was free, I pulled him down on top of me, threading my arms around his shoulders and back.
He nuzzled his face into my neck, breathing hard, and for a long minute, neither of us said a word. Eventually, he rolled onto his side, dragging me with him. His expression was soft and maybe a little sheepish. “Was that okay?”
It was okay, but it also left me feeling confused.
Physically, my orgasm was probably one of the best I’d ever experienced, but I hated not being able to touch him.
It made me feel ... separate from him, like I was having something done to me instead of participating.
And then, as hot as it had been for him to use me, it hadn’t felt like him there with me.
It almost seemed like he’d been playing a role, adopting a different persona. I didn't think I liked it.
“It was good …” I hedged, not wanting to say more in case he was lying there thinking, “That’s it. That’s what I want for the rest of my life.”
His mouth twitched like he knew I was lying, but was choosing not to call me on my bullshit.
“What?” I asked, daring him to.
He brushed his thumb over my swollen lips. “It was hot, but …”
“But what?”
“I like it better when you can touch me.”
I huffed out a relieved laugh and rolled on top of him, practically tackling him. “Oh my god. I was thinking the same thing. Hot for sure, but definitely not my kink.”
He fell silent for a beat, his gaze moving over my face. “Thank you for letting me do that with you, though.”
“To me, you mean?”
“With you,” he corrected, carding his fingers through my hair, his touch gentle. “Big difference.”
And it was.