Chapter 7 #2
I don’t know how many times he’s brought me to the precipice now.
The afternoon light has shifted, casting longer shadows across the bed, but I can’t track minutes or hours.
There’s only pleasure—his mouth, his fingers, his cock working into me with devastating slowness before he pulls out and denies me again.
He intersperses everything with spanking, the sharp crack of his palm pulling me back when I drift too far. When I’m too tense with anticipation, the rhythm of impact pushes me deeper into that strange suspended space.
My thoughts start fragmenting.
Please. More. Now. Words tumble out without my permission, desperate pleas that don’t quite form properly.
I’m his instrument, and he’s playing me expertly, drawing sounds from me I didn’t know I could make.
The sheets beneath me are damp with sweat, and the room feels warmer than it should, the air thick with the scent of sex.
“That’s it, lass.” His voice reaches me from far away. “Stop thinking. Just feel.”
Thinking is impossible now. The room has gone soft around the periphery, reality reduced to the points where his flesh meets mine. His voice is the only anchor, telling me I’m good, I’m perfect, I’m his.
His. The word sits in my chest where my thoughts used to be. I’m his. Nothing else matters.
Another crest approaches without release. I sob into the pillow, trembling everywhere, and he strokes my back.
“So beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “So completely mine.”
Anything. I would do anything for him right now. Anything at all.
In the floating space behind my closed eyes, my mind drifts.
Leo’s fingers are inside me, curling against that perfect spot. I’m suspended somewhere between agony and ecstasy, so far gone that thoughts don’t form so much as surface—rising like bubbles from deep water.
His hand shifts, and for a disorienting moment I imagine a second set of hands holding me still while Leo takes what he wants. The phantom touch feels so real that I moan, my back arching toward something that isn’t there.
Something he said days ago floats up. His friend Dane is coming for Christmas.
The thought shouldn’t be erotic. But in my hazy state, my mind transforms it without my permission. What would it be like to have two sets of hands on me? Two voices commanding me? One holding me down while the other takes what he wants?
A moan escapes me, louder than before, and I feel Leo’s attention sharpen.
The fantasy intensifies. I imagine two men using me, passing me between them, both of them telling me I’m good.
My pussy tightens hard around Leo’s fingers. He makes a low sound of surprise.
“Where did you go just now, pet?” His voice cuts through the haze. His fingers still. “Something made you react differently.”
I can’t answer. Can’t articulate the forbidden thing I was imagining. The shame would surface if I were more present, but I’m too far under to feel anything except the echo of that fantasy and the hunger it’s left behind.
He doesn’t push. Just watches me with those knowing eyes and continues his torment.
He brings me to the brink again, and this time I scream. Yet I still don’t come.
Hours. It’s been hours.
The light outside has gone golden, then dim. Every nerve ending is exposed and screaming. There are tear tracks on my face. I don’t remember starting to cry, but I can feel the dampness on my cheeks, taste salt when I lick my lips.
My ass is warm and sensitive from the spanking, each shift of my hips a reminder of everything he’s done to me. The marks feel like ownership.
Verbal communication is nearly impossible now. The begging has devolved into sounds that aren’t quite language. My mind is a blank white space where thought used to live—empty except for feeling, except for him.
Leo’s face swims into focus above me. His expression is intense but not cruel. There’s something almost soft in the way he watches me shake apart.
“Color, Alice.” His voice is firm. “I need words. Or tap if you can’t speak.”
It takes everything I have to surface enough to speak. I could tap three instead, but I need him to know I want this. The word feels like it’s coming from somewhere outside myself, dragged up from deep water.
“Green.” My voice cracks on the single syllable. “Please. Please.”
He studies me for a long moment. “One more, lass.” His voice catches, almost rough, like he’s fighting to hold the line himself. His thumb strokes my cheek, wiping away tears. “Give me one more, and then I’ll let you fall.”
I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if there’s anything left of me to give. But I nod anyway, because he’s asking and I would give him anything just to hear him tell me I’m good.
He brings me to the brink with his fingers one final time, and I break.
Not into orgasm—into something else. The tension shatters but doesn’t release, and I’m sobbing, clinging to him, trembling everywhere.
He holds me through it, murmuring praise and reassurance, and somewhere in the wreckage of my thoughts I understand that this was the point. Not the orgasm. The surrender.
“That’s it, sweet girl. You did it. You gave me everything.”
His words wash through me like light.
“Now, lass. Come for me now.”
His cock’s inside me. I don’t remember when that happened, time is still slippery. His hand is between us, fingers on my clit. I hear him reach for the nightstand, the velvet bag, and then a vibrator buzzes against oversensitized flesh.
The orgasm doesn’t crash. It blooms.
It starts somewhere deep and rolls outward in waves that don’t seem to end.
I’m screaming—I think I’m screaming—but the sound is distant, muffled by the tsunami of pleasure washing through every cell.
My walls convulse, tightening around him.
He drives deep one final time, and I feel him pulse inside me, hot and claiming.
“Fuuuuuck.” The word is torn from somewhere primal deep in my brain, and he groans and follows me over, pumping me full of hot cum as we shatter together.
Holy hell, it goes on forever. Wave after wave, aftershock after aftershock. All the denied pleasure from the entire day crashes through me at once, and I lose track of where I end and he begins. There’s only release, only the overwhelming relief of finally, finally letting go.
When I come back to myself, I’m wrapped in his arms. Blankets cocoon us. The room is darker than I remember, and I have no idea how long I was gone.
My flesh feels wrung out, liquid, not entirely my own yet. But Leo is there, solid and warm.
“There you are,” he murmurs when I stir. “There’s my sweet girl. You did so well, lass. You were perfect.”
Tears leak from my eyes, but they’re not sad tears. I don’t know what they are. Release, maybe. Everything I held back flooding out now that it’s safe to feel.
“That’s it,” he soothes, his hand stroking through my hair. “Let it out. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He kisses my temple. “You’re safe. You were so beautiful, so brave for me. Such a good girl.”
He holds me tighter, murmuring praise against my skin, and lets me cry.
The shower water is perfect.
I’m tucked against Leo’s chest while the water and steam rise around us. He washes me with gentle hands, checking the skin where he spanked me. My ass is pink but not damaged, sensitive when he touches.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is soft. “Really.”
I take stock. Every muscle carries a pleasant soreness. My mind is quiet for the first time in longer than I can remember.
“Amazing,” I say, the word barely audible. “Wrecked. But amazing.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Good.”
Later, after he’s changed the sheets, he sits with his back against the headboard with me between his legs. He brushes my hair while I drift in the hazy space between waking and sleep. The bristles move through the strands with careful attention, and the gentleness of the act makes my throat tight.
“Leo.” My voice is barely audible. “What are we doing?”
The brush pauses. “What do you mean, lass?”
Turning to face him, I search his hazel eyes in the dim light. “This. Us. It feels like more than an arrangement. It feels real.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to say the rest. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Sorry.”
“Alice.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. When he speaks, his voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before. “It is real. What we have, it stopped being just an arrangement a long time ago, if it ever was one.”
My heart squeezes. “What does that mean for us?”
“It means we take it one step at a time.” He leans down, kissing my nose. “It means we see where it leads.”
Something warm and fragile unfurls in my chest as I nod. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” He pulls me close, settling me against his chest.
We lie there in comfortable silence, his heartbeat steady under my ear. Sleep tugs at me when he speaks again.
“Dane arrives in a few days on Christmas Eve.” His voice is casual, but something about it makes me more alert.
My pulse kicks. The memory of my earlier fantasy surfaces—two sets of hands—and heat floods my cheeks even in the darkness.
“I didn’t know it was so close to Christmas already.”
He hugs me. “Get some sleep, pet. You’ve earned it.”
Sleep doesn’t come immediately. The thought of being shared lingers. Was that just a thought in the moment? I don’t have the answer, but I let the question exist.
“Goodnight, Leo.”
“Sweet dreams, lass.”
His scent surrounds me, and I let myself drift.
My dreams will definitely be interesting.