Chapter 29 #2
“Didn’t plan on leaving my home tonight.”
He leans in, brushing his mouth over the curve of one breast. “Well, you’re here now.”
“Tell me about it,” I breathe, just as he flicks his tongue over my nipple.
I gasp, and his mouth closes over it, sucking gently, then harder. My hands fly to his hair, tugging. He growls, switching to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention until I’m panting.
Then his hand slips between my thighs.
“You’re soaked,” he says, voice dark with approval.
“Maybe I missed you.”
“Maybe?” His fingers tease the seam of my leggings, then hook into the waistband. “Off. Now.”
I wriggle out of them, breath catching when he drags my panties down with them in one slow, ruthless motion. He kneels between my legs, running his palms over my thighs, opening me to him.
“Nick,” I whisper, trembling with want.
He glances up, his pupils blown wide. “Spread wider. Keep your hands above your head.”
I freeze, heat flaring in my belly. “Bossy.”
“Always.”
I obey, because I want to, and the look he gives me in return is possessive. Proud. Wicked.
Then his tongue is on me. Inside me.
And everything disappears.
I cry out, bucking against his mouth, but his strong hands hold me down. He devours me slowly, thoroughly, licking up every drop of slickness, sucking gently on my clit until I’m shaking.
“You taste like fucking heaven,” he growls between strokes.
My thighs tremble, my breath breaks apart. And then he slides two fingers inside me, curling just right, just perfect, and I see stars.
“Come for me,” he commands. “Right now.”
I do.
Hard.
I shudder around his fingers, arching off the couch with a cry that’s foreign to me. When I come down, he presses his mouth to mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
“You’re mine now,” he says, low and possessive as he finally rises off me.
And God help me, I want to be.
But I don’t get the chance to say it. Not out loud. Because the moment he sees that look in my eyes, wrecked and desperate and greedy for more, he moves.
He lifts me in a single breathless motion, carrying me effortlessly as if I weigh nothing and this is nothing new. I yelp, gripping his shoulders, still naked and spinning from my orgasm.
He drops me onto the chaise lounge by the window, and my whole body bounces with a startled gasp.
“Hands behind your back,” he orders, voice full Alpha now. Full CEO. Full you will submit.
I blink up at him, dazed. “What?”
“Now, sweetheart.”
My hands fly behind me before my brain catches up.
He grabs the tie from the discarded blanket, thick, soft fleece, and wraps it expertly around my wrists, binding them behind me.
Not tight enough to hurt. Just tight enough that I can’t move without thinking about how much I want him to.
He parts my thighs and steps between them, the thick head of his cock dragging over my slick entrance, teasing me, tormenting me.
I gasp and try to rock my hips up to meet him, but he grips my bound wrists and holds me still.
“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “You think I’m gonna let you fuck yourself on me like that? After the way you came on my tongue?”
I whimper.
“Beg,” he says, teasing me again with the head of his cock, sliding it just barely in, then pulling back. “Beg for it, Sara.”
“Please,” I gasp, eyes wild. “Nick, please. I need you… need to feel you. I’m so wet, I can’t…”
“You’re dripping,” he growls, sliding one finger between my thighs to prove his point. “Look at this. Look what you did to my mouth. Look what you’re doing to my cock.”
Then he thrusts.
Hard. Deep. All the way in.
I scream, an unfiltered, raw sound that barely resembles my voice.
“Fuck,” he snarls. “That’s it.”
He pounds into me with a rhythm that borders on feral. Each stroke hits deep, perfectly angled to make me see stars.
My bound arms press against the back of the chaise. My body is arched, helpless, at his mercy, and it is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever felt.
He grabs my thigh, presses it higher on his hip. Opens me even more. Possesses me.
“Yours,” I breathe, barely coherent. “I’m yours.”
His eyes flash.
He snaps his hips forward and stills, buried deep, throbbing, pulsing, and growls, “Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Nick!”
He fucks me with fierce possession, carving the truth into my skin. He leans in, bites my lip, swallowing every moan as if they all belong to him.
When he pulls out, I cry out, but he just flips me.
Face down on the chaise, ass up, wrists still bound. My heart’s beating loud as a war drum. My body is wrecked and humming and still begging for more.
He spreads me with both hands, dragging his fingers along the swollen folds he’s already ruined.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Red and swollen. So fucking wet.”
He spanks me once, light, sharp, just enough to make me moan, and then slides back in, burying himself to the hilt from behind.
This time, it’s slower. He rocks into me with controlled dominance, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip as if he’ll die if he lets go.
I push back to meet each thrust. Moaning. Begging. Filthy and feral.
“Nick, fuck, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can,” he growls into my ear, slamming into me. “You’re gonna come again. You’re gonna come just like this, tied and fucked and mine.”
And God help me, I do.
I come again, shaking and sobbing, my legs buckling beneath me as pleasure detonates through my body. He fucks me through it, relentless, merciless, praising me in that broken, reverent voice.
“Good girl. Take it. That’s my girl.”
My body goes slack, useless with bliss. He unties my wrists and catches me as I collapse, pulling me into his arms.
But he doesn’t give me time to recover.
He rises to his feet in front of me as I roll onto my back, towering, cock flushed and slick, glistening with pre-come, a dark, almost dangerous hunger carved into every tense line of his body.
His hand strokes himself slowly as he stares down at me. I’m the altar he’s about to worship at and desecrate in the same breath.
“On your knees,” he says roughly. “Now.”
My heart stutters.
My thighs are still shaking, arms trembling, but I scramble to obey. He helps me, gently but firmly, guiding me off the couch until I’m kneeling on the plush rug beneath him—body still bare, still glowing from orgasm, still open for more.
He fists my hair and tilts my face up. Not cruel. Not rough. Just his.
“You look wrecked,” he murmurs, voice shredded. “Completely undone.”
I whimper, licking my lips. “You’re still hard.”
A slow, sinful smile curves across his face. “That’s because I’m not done.”
He strokes his cock faster now, standing over me, a god made of muscle and sin, jaw tight, breath ragged.
“You gonna let me mark you, baby?” he growls. “Gonna let me come all over that beautiful body?”
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless, eyes wide. “Hell, yes.”
That’s all it takes.
With a harsh groan, he throws his head back and explodes, hot, thick ribbons of come painting my breasts, my collarbone, my stomach.
His hips jerk as he finishes, grunting my name through gritted teeth, a prayer and a curse. His release hits my skin in hot pulses, and I swear to God, I feel every drop like a brand.
I moan at the feeling. At the sight of him losing control. At the claim in it.
By the time he exhales, long and low, I’m trembling again, needy again.
He looks down at me with something primal in his eyes.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re a masterpiece.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, cupping my jaw, smearing a bit of his release across my skin with his thumb. Then he leans in and kisses me, thanking me for letting him lose himself. For letting him mark me in this way.
When he pulls back, his voice is ragged velvet.
“Next time, I’m tying you up and coming on your thighs.”
My breath catches.
“Why?” I ask, dazed and aching.
His smirk is wicked. “Because I like seeing my mess on what’s mine.”
And all I want is to be messy for him forever.