Seventeen
The black silk slips through Nate’s calloused fingers, cool as riverwater, contrasting the heat building under Claire’s skin. She can’t see him yet, but she can hear his slow, sure steps across the floor. Can feel her heart beating through every nerve. Can imagine how it will be—blind, bound, her whole body one desperate pulse. Nate holds the blindfold out, waits for her small nod before wrapping it snug, plunging her into a darkness that makes her ache.
Claire is a tangle of need and nerves. Already spread on the bed, the room dim and hushed around her. She waits, hears Nate coming closer. Her heart drums a wild rhythm beneath the rise and fall of her breath. She feels each sound as if it were a touch—his movements deliberate, unhurried, impossible to resist. She remembers the first time they locked the door. The first time she couldn’t keep quiet, couldn’t keep her grip on reality. She is unraveling again, and the need is almost feral. Almost too much.
His presence fills the room, all slow certainty and intention. She doesn’t have to see him to know he’s close. Doesn’t have to see him to tremble with want. The blindfold is still in his hands, black against his skin, and Claire feels the image burn behind her eyes. Already she’s imagining how it will be to lose herself in him, how it will feel when the world is reduced to breath and touch and him. The need swells and aches, a tightness in her chest, her voice.
He brings the blindfold to her, one slow hand caressing her hair, the other raising the silk over her eyes. It slides against her temples, smooth and light, but the effect is instant. Binding. She lets out a soft, shivery gasp as Nate ties it in place. Her world narrows to a single desperate point, sight disappearing, leaving only the echo of his touch and her heartbeat thudding inside her. She’s blind now. Soon she’ll be bound. Soon he’ll push her so far she won’t know where she begins and he ends.
Darkness washes over her in deep waves. Nate’s breath is closer now, ragged and wanting against her neck. He touches her shoulders, leans in with a whisper that sends fire down her spine. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Spread out for me like this. So perfect, Claire.” The heat of him is unbearable. The words break her open. She’s trembling before he even begins. “My girl,” he says, voice low and reverent. “You know what I’ll do to you.”
He guides her, helps her fall back, the mattress shifting under his weight as he moves. Her pulse is everywhere, quick and sharp. She imagines herself as he sees her: legs bent, hair spilling around her, lips parted and breathing his name. The scent of him fills her lungs. His cologne, the familiar and heady mix of skin and soap and Nate. She gives in to it, to him, lets out a small, shaking sound as she arches, searching blindly for more. Her cheeks are flushed, her body pulling toward his, toward the promise she knows he’ll keep.
She remembers how he tied her hands at the mirror, how he made her watch every unfiltered second. The way her voice broke when she came, when she begged. The way his body felt, sure and hard against her back. “Don’t look away,” he had whispered, and she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Not when he touched her like that. Not when he touched her like he knew she would break apart and trusted him to keep her whole. She knows he’ll push her to the edge again tonight. Her body, already reacting, needs this. Needs him.
Every moment that passes makes her shiver more, her anticipation bleeding into panic, into urgency. The blindfold clings damp to her skin. Her heart is so loud, so fast. Nate’s weight on the bed shifts again, a long exhale. She imagines his eyes on her, how dark they get when he watches her come undone. How much she wants them, even though she can’t see. A whimper slips through her teeth. Nate pins her wrists. She pulls against him, but he keeps her there, strong and steady. She is shaking now, barely able to breathe, unable to be without this another second.
“Nate, please,” she gasps, and his low hum nearly unravels her. His hands slide down her arms, firm, deliberate. It makes her body jerk and seize. He keeps her pinned with only his grip and his voice, his slow words an anchor. “That’s it, baby,” he says. “Give me everything.” His voice is so sure, so close. “You know I’ll take it.” She doesn’t answer; she doesn’t have to. He can feel how hard her pulse is through her skin. She wants this. She needs this.
He lets her wrists go and drags his hand down, down. She is velvet and fire, exposed and aching and ready. “You love this, don’t you?” he asks, already knowing, his breath hot against her cheek. She is strung so tight she can’t even answer, just nods against him and pushes up, as much as she can, straining for his touch. Her cheeks burn, her body burns, the cool air like ice as she shivers. Nate kisses her temple. It is tender and rough all at once. It is everything she needs.
Her back arches with the want of it, her hips rising off the bed. A long, broken sound escapes her lips. He runs his fingertip down her center, a trail of fire that makes her jerk. She is wet and already undone, his light touch like lightning. The mattress shifts again, and she breathes him in, can taste how close he is. How thick the want is in her own throat. His lips brush the shell of her ear, and she’s so lost she doesn’t know if she can be found. Not yet. Not unless he brings her back.
His hands weave into her hair, holding her, pulling her in as he works his way down her neck with his mouth. A soft, low noise gets caught in her throat, but Nate swallows it with a kiss that makes her knees draw up, makes her muscles quake against the mattress. He pulls away and moves down, his breath a whisper against her stomach. The warmth and weight of him is almost too much. The way her body betrays her, trembling and exposed, is almost more than she can bear. Her breath catches, and she’s already begging. She needs him, needs all of it.
Nate is her world, the single, crashing point of it, and she feels herself falling hard. Her body is a tremor that he’s already set off, shaking and relentless and his.
*
The bindings are silk against her wrists. Nate pulls them snug, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough to remind her who she belongs to. Tight enough that she can’t do anything but feel.
Claire lets out a shivering breath, and Nate kisses her there, keeps his lips pressed to her pulse as it flutters beneath the skin. He ties the other wrist, then pulls back to admire his work, murmuring how proud he is, how much he’s going to give her.
She is exposed and breathless, each word making her shudder more. Her mind is already hazy, spinning, and his voice is the only thing grounding her. The silk feels different now that she can’t see it. It feels like everything is new, shocking and overwhelming in the most perfect way. “Beautiful,” he whispers, rough fingertips working. “Look how needy you are for me.” He binds her left wrist the same way, ties the knot slow and sure. His touch feels so heavy she almost breaks.
She gasps for air as he pulls away, moves down her body with the same deliberate attention, the same possessive grip. Every motion is charged, electric. She imagines the way his eyes burn into her, and she almost wishes she could see. Almost. She pulls against the ties, and her muscles tremble, her body arching into each fiber. She has no idea where the darkness ends and he begins. Only that she belongs to him. That he’ll keep her from falling apart too soon.
He gathers both arms in one strong hand, stretches her above her head like a gift. Like she’s his and only his. Claire lets out a whimper that he catches with his mouth, swallowing it before it gets too loud. The bed shifts beneath her as he leans in, as his weight presses down. She shivers and holds her breath and holds nothing else. Her thighs are already damp, but she knows he won’t let her break yet. Not until she’s so close she doesn’t know which way is down.
He fastens her to the bedposts, one hand gripping her arm, one working the ties with calm precision. He knows what this does to her, how helpless it makes her feel. How safe it makes her feel. He knows that every time he does it, she needs it more. She trembles as he checks each restraint, making sure they’re tight enough to hold, making sure she knows who owns every shiver. Her breath catches, and her world spirals, contracts, all darkness and anticipation.
“You want more, Claire?” Nate’s voice is deep and low, like a spark that sets off every nerve in her body. He runs his thumb down the length of her arm, a soft trail that makes her writhe. She pushes up, desperate, urgent, too breathless to answer. Too sure of his strength, of his hold, to care. “Can’t see, can’t move. You’re perfect,” he says, and she strains for him. For the warmth and weight she knows is so close.
Her breath is shallow and sharp as he moves down, his touch so light it could be mistaken for air, for fire. Claire lets out a hard exhale, and her voice gets caught on the want of it, on how close she is to losing control. She pulls again and again, tries to escape just so he can hold her tighter. So he can tell her how much he loves it when she fights and falls apart and trusts him to pick up every piece. Her heart beats too fast, her pulse a white-hot drum, and still he doesn’t let her go.
He takes his time undressing her, takes his time watching her shiver. Each second is a crackle of electricity, a raw intake of air. He holds her down with his stare, with the power of his focus and hands and voice. With the weight of his wanting. She fights it, loves it, needs it. Nate kisses her shoulder, then moves lower. The heat of him is more than she can bear, and a moan slips from her lips, unbidden and uncontrolled. It undoes him.
His mouth is a whisper against her, all praise and promise. She is already spread and needy and wild. The way he moves is so sure, so steady, that Claire doesn’t know how she’ll make it to the end without breaking first. “Look at you, baby. Can’t get enough, can you?” He kisses her hips, and she gasps, tries to draw him in with her legs, with her silence and pleading and will. But he knows, and she knows, and still he takes his time. Still he takes everything.
The mattress shifts beneath her as he moves, as his hands slide lower, pulling at the elastic of her yoga pants. It feels like a jolt, like a rush of cold and need and want. His breath is warm on her stomach, his hands confident and slow, and she is shaking already. She is wanting too much. He lets his fingers trail down her center, light, so light, but enough to make her thrash against him. Her whole body moves, all frantic desperation, and she’s too far gone to hold back, too lost to even care.
“Just you and me, Claire. Just us.” His voice is a low, growling thing, full of promise, full of power. The feel of it sends a shudder up her spine, makes her arch into the nothingness, into the black, and beg. Nate presses his mouth to her again, his beard scratching her soft skin, her thigh, the most sensitive parts of her. She is slick and pliant, raw and wet, the pulse between her legs a match for the one in her throat, her wrists, her chest. She pushes her hips up and up, losing herself to the urgency. “You need more?”
Her answer is a cry, a gasp, a shivering mess. It doesn’t matter. Nate hears it all.
He goes slow, steady, so sure of his strength and the effect it has on her, so sure that she’ll give in before he ever does. He loves that, too. The scent of him floods her senses, the heat and skin and heavy want, and Claire is pulled in deeper. Deeper and drowning. She breathes him in, loses herself to the hard push of his calloused hands, the softness of his lips, the way he kisses every inch and keeps her waiting, keeps her begging. He works his way down, doesn’t let up, doesn’t let her slip. Not yet.
Her legs are bent and slick against him, her breathing sharp and strained and as ragged as it’s ever been. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. She doesn’t care. She just knows she needs it, all of it, and she needs it now.
*
She doesn’t need to see to know what he’s doing. The hum of the drawer is the only sound in the room, and Claire is already wet, already shaking as he brings the plug to her skin. It feels impossibly big as he works it in, as it stretches her with relentless patience. Her cry is a shuddering, undone thing, and Nate comes unraveled.
Claire’s heart beats with the hum, frantic and too fast. She can barely catch her breath. Nate moves with calm deliberation, taking his time, knowing how wild it makes her. Her voice is a mess already, a small, aching thing as she pulls against the restraints. He watches her tremble, hears the frantic urgency of her need. “Last time was just a taste,” he says, and the words make her whole body tense, arch, strain for him. Remembers the mirror, how exposed she felt. How perfect it was. She is already gone, and he hasn’t even touched her.
He doesn’t have to. Her pulse quickens with the sound of the drawer, with the promise of what she knows he’s going to do. Her muscles are a sharp, pulsing tremor. She knows how this will end. She can’t wait. Nate is close enough for her to feel the heat of him, close enough for her to know she’ll be begging soon. A rough exhale escapes her, desperate and sharp.
His hands are on the plug, warming it. His voice is low, like gravel, like thunder, as he tells her what’s next. She fights to stay grounded, but it’s impossible with his weight on the bed, with the heat of him between her legs. His skin is so close she can taste it. Her body jerks and quakes, and her words are a mangled sound. Her voice is an open thing, and he loves that too.
“Ready, Claire?” he asks, and the first touch makes her shake. The first touch makes her whole body buck. He is impossibly patient, the opposite of how she feels. He strokes her stomach, then moves lower. Lower. She lets out a frantic, broken cry, and he shushes her, soothes her with strong hands, with soft strokes, with everything she needs. Her pulse is ragged and frantic, a blur of red-hot want. His sure movements make it burn even brighter. Her anticipation becomes fire, becomes ache. Becomes now.
He presses the plug against her, lubed and cold, the promise of more. The promise of everything. Her muscles tighten around it, and her whole world dissolves. Each push stretches her further, deeper, until she’s not sure she can take anymore, until she’s not sure she can survive if he stops. Claire pulls hard against the restraints. He sees her, loves her, knows how close she is to snapping.
He loves that.
She is burning up, every nerve alive and begging. Her body is one frantic beat, a want so big she can’t contain it. The stretch and fullness make her writhe, make her mindless. She can’t see. She can’t move. Her legs are already wet against him, a glistening, needful thing. Nate activates the vibration and holds her as she cries out, watches her arch, makes sure she can’t come unhinged without him. She is teetering, right there, ready to fall apart. And he knows it.
The vibrations are so deep she can barely breathe. Her whole body moves with them, and her voice is all shuddering noise. She fights for more, pushes for more, is more. She has lost track of herself, of him, of the everything. She just knows she needs it to end. She needs it to never end. Her pulse is a live wire, her breath one long quake. Nate gives her just enough, tells her she’s beautiful, that he’s not done with her yet. The words send her spinning, send her reeling. Her body can’t take it anymore. Her mind is a frenzy of moans, a soft chant of begging, of wanting, of Nate.
He knows that too.
She is soaked and aching, every part of her one bright heat. He holds her steady as she falls apart, gives her the edge, holds her just far enough back. “This?” he says, touching the plug. “Or this?” pressing it in. Her cry is the answer he wants, the answer she needs to give. Her hips lift in the most desperate arc, the vibration pulsing against the frantic thud of her heart. He takes it lower, then even lower, and she lets out a wail that’s almost a sob.
“Please, Nate,” she gasps, and it comes out a tremor. Comes out a raw, wrecked plea. “Please, I need—”
She doesn’t get to finish. He knows what she needs.
She is so lost she might not make it back. Her mind and body spiral, urgent and heady, so far gone she can’t be found. Not until he fills her. Not until he takes it. He releases the tie on her wrist just long enough to pull her legs wider, just long enough to remind her what it’s like to touch, to feel. Then he’s in between, in her, and the slick stretch of him is so much she can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but lose herself. The vibration makes her convulse. The fullness makes her whole. He presses her legs to her chest, tells her to take it all, and she comes undone at the rough, perfect sound of his voice.
He is her whole world, and he pushes in harder, deeper, in time with the plug, in time with the relentless wanting. Her voice cracks, and she is too far gone to hold it together. Too far gone to care. His pace quickens, and he feels impossibly big, feels so perfect that she doesn’t know how to keep from shattering. She doesn’t know how to keep breathing. She pulls against the restraints, too wild to stop, her legs shaking as he drives into her.
Nate watches her fall apart, takes her deeper, faster, loves her harder than he ever has. The stretch and the vibration and the force of him make her mindless. Make her his. She is crying now, gasping, too lost to know where she begins and ends. “Let go, Claire,” he says, and her world turns white-hot, turns heat and light and too much and more.
She breaks apart with his name, and he keeps her steady. Her body shakes with the release, her words sharp and choked and overwhelming. “Good girl,” he murmurs, never slowing, never letting her slip. Her voice is ragged, breathless, and he loves it. Loves the way she opens up, the way she takes it for him. “Don’t stop, Claire. Take it all.”
It’s more than she can hold, but he doesn’t stop.
She is a shivering mess. Her whole world a blissful, brutal blur. Her muscles clench around the plug, around him. She is an endless pulse of breaking, of becoming, of raw release. She doesn’t hold back. She doesn’t try. She doesn’t have to. Her words are lost to the swell of it all, to the crash of feeling, to the wreck and rebuild and relentless pounding.
The silk at her wrist shifts with each pull—soft, warm, just enough to remind her she’s real, she’s held, she’s here.
She sobs against him, and he pushes deeper, harder, faster. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says. “I love watching you come.”
Her whole body arches, then crumbles. Her words a low, broken wail. “Nate, I’m—”
“Yes,” he says, giving her everything. “Again, baby. Let go.” Her back lifts, her world dissolves, and she is shuddering and raw. She’s coming. Again.
And then again.
*
He pushes deeper, harder, until the world blurs at the edges and she is nothing but breath and release and a long, wild pulse. Her cries are almost sobs. Her begging is just the beginning.
Claire shakes uncontrollably as Nate keeps up the same hard, urgent rhythm. Her voice is frantic and broken as she calls his name, as she gives him everything. He pounds into her with no intention of stopping, no intention of letting up. His force is unrelenting, a drive that she can’t resist. A drive that he loves.
She’s coming so hard she might split in two, but Nate’s voice keeps her whole. “Again, Claire. You’re so beautiful like this.” Her words are strangled and thick, an uneven rush of sound, but still she gives them. Her body is beyond breaking, beyond release. Her muscles clench tight around him, tighter, so tight she doesn’t know if she can take more. But she does. He makes sure she does.
“Take it,” he says, low and demanding, in time with each forceful thrust, in time with the wreckage he’s making of her body and breath. Her heart beats out of her chest, out of her throat, her pulse fast and hard, relentless, and he’s the same. Her back arches as another climax slams through her. Her legs are slick against his chest, against her skin, against the world that dissolves into heat and blur. She is breaking apart. She is barely holding together.
“Please,” she cries, “please, Nate, I—” But the words vanish. Her mind vanishes. She trembles in his grasp, limbs limp and humming with aftershock. “Oh god, oh god,” she gasps, the vibration still working her from the inside. “Oh god, I can’t—” But she can. And she does.
Her begging is a raw, pleading noise, an impossible desperation. He knows how to push her. Knows how to make her break and love it. She has no words now, only high, keening sounds, and it doesn’t matter. Nate knows what they mean. His voice is even and steady, a rock against her frenzy. “You’re not done,” he says, and she knows she’s not. Not until he lets her. Not until he’s taken every last piece. “Take it for me,” he says, and her release is wild, a furious, throbbing heat. “Don’t stop.”
She isn’t sure how she’ll survive. Isn’t sure she cares. She’s his, all his, her body and her will and her voice that gives everything, every time. “You want this, don’t you?” he says, and she sobs as another wave hits, as another spiral makes her tremble from her bones to her skin. Her voice is jagged and lost, a call, an echo. Her body responds, gives it back to him, wraps around him in one final, helpless plea.
She is weightless. She is a live wire. She is a tethered spark, a burst of endless sensation. And still he doesn’t let up. Still he doesn’t stop. “Oh god, I’m—” she gasps, but she’s not even sure where she is, not even sure if she’s really still there. His presence is so deep, so complete, that she’s almost convinced he’s everywhere. His body. His words. His insistence. It’s too much. It’s everything.
He knows. He wants it that way. He holds her tight, relentless, making her take all of him, making her need more. He is a furious, perfect heat. He is the world closing in. She doesn’t want it to stop.
She feels it too. Feels all of it. The plug is a constant, a deep thrum that keeps her suspended, a stretch and vibration that doesn’t stop. Not even when she does. Not even when she can’t. Nate moves in time with it, in time with her frantic pulse. She is slick skin and wild abandon, a frantic rhythm that has no end. She comes in gasps, in shuddering cries, in a long, chaotic chant of his name. “Yes,” he says, feeling her unravel. “Keep going.” His words push her over, send her reeling. Her muscles give, then take, then give again, and it’s all for him.
The pleasure borders on pain, and still it grows, a relentless rise that makes her voice thin, sharp, so full that she might be empty. So full she might explode. She pulls against the restraints with a force that surprises her, with a wildness that breaks everything, especially herself. Especially the last bit of control. The mattress is damp with the mess she’s made, with her release, and still Nate gives more, still he takes more. “You can do this,” he says, pulling her hips in tighter.
She wants to. She will.
Her body is lost, completely shattered. She doesn’t know how much longer she can last, how much longer she can hold on, but she gives him everything. She trusts him with everything. Her body is wrecked, but Nate never stops, never lets her slip, not even when her mind does. Not even when the last thread of sense snaps. His voice is everywhere, more than her pulse, more than the impossible stretch, more than she can believe. More than her. “Nate, I’m—” But she isn’t sure. Isn’t sure what, isn’t sure where. She’s too far gone, her voice a hitching sob, her words a desperate release, her whole body so fragile she might not make it back. She’s shattered beyond any limit she’s ever known. “Nate, I’m—”
Her world dissolves into white noise—static and soundless.
He guides her through it, never slowing, never stopping.
He loves her through it, deep and raw.
He makes her do the same.
*
He kisses her damp cheek, cradles her like she’s new. Like he can hold every piece, and he will. Like he’s not the only one. He is still inside her, deep and sure and hers, and she feels herself become.
He wraps his arms around her, steady and safe, keeps her tight and loved and his. He holds her like this, like everything, lets her breathing slow, lets her world slow. Her heart beats against his chest, and he is all she knows. She is raw, a bright thread of feeling. He lets her become. She sags into him, lets him hold it all.
“Good girl,” he whispers. Her pulse is a dull, pounding thud, but it starts to even out. The static noise of release turns quiet, but not silent. Not with him. He loves her through the fragility, loves her through the calm. Loves her as the chaos gives way to bliss, to connection, to love. Her voice is a soft, muted echo, and he keeps her grounded, keeps her warm and known.
Claire lets out a slow, hitching breath. Lets him take it, take her, stay deep inside her as she unravels. Her body is a long, shuddering mess, but he’s there through every aftershock, through every quaking thrum. His pace is slow, so slow, a whisper of what it was, but just as powerful. Just as much. Just enough. He stays with her through it, lets her come back, lets her build up from the break.
Her hands are weak, her limbs shaking, and he is her whole world. She loves the feel of him, the stretch of him, the deep, persistent knowing. Her skin is damp and sticky, and he loves her through that too. He tells her as much with every lingering push. He holds her with every beat. He holds her tight as the last tremor shakes through, as her breath turns rough and new. He is all of it, all she needs.
Nate doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t pull back. He presses closer, his body an anchor to her fragile self, his voice the thing that makes her whole. “My girl,” he says, and she is, always. She trembles at the words, warms to the weight of them, feels them deeper than anything else. She is overwhelmed and delicate, a flood of raw feeling, and Nate is everything that keeps her steady.
Her skin burns where he touches her, and she arches to him, pushes into him, opens for him all over again. The light is dim and soft, and she starts to adjust, to see him, to see how completely he’s filled her world. How much he still is. His hands are so gentle, so tender, so unlike the way she’s felt, and it makes her want him more.
He releases her from the restraints, strokes the silk over her wrists like a memory, like a promise. He moves with the same care he always does, with the same love. He works the ties slowly, patiently, tells her not to rush, tells her he’s right there. She’s never heard words so beautiful.
Nate is everywhere, his touch, his voice, his breath, and she surrenders to it, to him, lets herself go again. He massages her hands, keeps the warmth in them, keeps the life in them. She’s not sure how he manages to hold so much, but he does, and she’s grateful, and she’s his. She gives in to him like the softest breath.
The blanket is a gentle weight around her, a sure weight that wraps her up, but Nate is even more so. He’s her blanket. Her warmth. Her everything. She feels him cover her, feels him swallow her whole, and she never wants it to stop. Not when he makes her this safe. This wanted. This loved.
He kisses her lips, lets the salt of her sweat and the wetness of her mouth blend with his own, lets her breathe it in, breathe him in, fill her lungs and chest and soul with only him. Her body goes slack and easy, and he’s the reason. Her body is the happiest it’s ever been, and Nate’s still there. Still moving.
She’s trembling in the softest, most sacred way, and he knows just how to take it. He knows just how to love it. He removes the plug last, careful and slow, holds her through it, holds her as the wet mess of it makes her sigh, makes her draw him in and trust him with everything. “So proud of you,” he says, and it’s the most perfect sound she’s ever heard. “So proud.”
His words are a flood, a rush that fills her to the brim, a quiet intensity that makes her gasp and hum, a low vibration that spreads from her heart to her limbs. She lets it carry her. Lets it take her to the safest, warmest, best place. She is cradled in it, in him, and the world can’t touch her here. Only Nate can.
He’s so soft, so gentle, so full of love that she can barely believe it, but she does. She does.
The mattress is damp with sweat and trust, and Nate doesn’t mind. He wraps her in his arms, cradles her as if he’s holding everything. Claire trembles against him, overflowing with something so deep it feels holy.
‘I love you,’ he says.
And she cries because it’s true.