24. Did I hit a nerve? #3
His lips hover near my ear. “I haven’t put my hands on anyone in over a year.”
My stomach does a happy flip, and a smug smile spreads over my lips.
“My turn,” he murmurs, and pushes the fabric aside again. Two fingers slide into me without any friction. The stretch is perfect, a slow drag that makes my toes curl in my shoes. He sets a rhythm that is unhurried and merciless.
“You like exhibitionism. I wonder what else you might like.” I feel myself dripping with every glide.
He adds a third finger, and my body takes every inch, greedy for more as I arch into his touch.
“Oh God!” I clench, and I know he can feel it.
He starts pumping into me faster. My mouth falls open as he curls his fingers, hitting my G-spot.
At the same time, cutting off my air. His palm slaps my clit with each pump.
“You’re so beautiful. My hand on your throat, my fingers inside your wet cunt.” He bears down with his thumb on my clit, steady pressure working in precise circles. The roof, the sky, and the sea all blur. There is only the climb he makes my body take.
“Oliver, I’m, I…fuck!” Words spill from my lips, having no meaning. He releases my throat. I take in air as the waves of the most intense orgasm I've ever had sweep over me, bringing me back to reality.
“Open.” He holds up his hand. His fingers are dripping with my release. I open, and he presses all three fingers to my tongue. “Suck your cum from my fingers.”
I do greedily. Slow at first, then deeper, hollowing my cheeks, holding his gaze while I clean him. He drags his thumb across my lower lip, smearing the shine like it’s lipstick, like he’s painting a promise there.
“Again.” His hand is already slipping back between my thighs. “Now I need a taste.”
“That was intense,” I murmur as I melt back into his arms, boneless.
My legs feel like jelly, and I could really use a nap.
I tug my underwear into place and let my legs fall back together, slumping against him with a sigh.
“I’ve never had that…” The euphoria, the slip of control, the strange freedom when I come.
“You like the loss of oxygen.”
I tip my head just enough to meet his eyes. “Why is that?”
“There are a few reasons. Lack of oxygen makes you lightheaded. When the restriction ends, and everything rushes back in, your brain floods. Endorphins. Adrenaline. Pleasure chemicals. The pain stops being a warning, and your body starts mistaking it for pleasure.”
“Do you like it…doing that to me?”
“Yes. I like taking you to the edge and bringing you back. I like that you trust me with your body, even if I don’t deserve it.” Something in his eyes flickers.
“You didn’t lose control. What was different?”
“I was aware.”
“And you weren’t in the shower,” I ask.
“I was, but not to the extent I should have been, I’m trying to…get better.”
“Do you need it?”
He exhales, seeming reluctant to answer. “I used to. It was the only thing that cut through the numbness, making someone feel pain mixed with pleasure. It made me feel something too.”
“I wanted it.”
His mouth brushes the bite mark. “Wanted what, Dollface?”
“The first night in the shower. Deep down, I wanted to drop to my knees. I didn’t understand it then, but I think…I think I do now. I liked giving you control and letting go. I like…submitting.”
His hand pauses its slow glide.
“You said you enjoy causing pain, but what if I can’t give you that?” The worry slips out before I can swallow it. I’m done pretending I don’t want him. That doesn’t mean I can be what he’s needed in the past.
His breath warms my neck, raising goose bumps. “With you…I don’t need to hurt you. I want to make you feel pleasure. The ecstasy and exhilaration over my own selfish wants.”
We sit a long while, watching the sun slowly transition from afternoon to early evening. The first cool drops tap our skin.
“Come on, let’s go.” He helps me up, then stops me. “Take off your panties.”
“What?”
“Now, Dollface. Don’t make me ask again.”
I arch a brow, mouth tilting. “Or what?”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “Oh, sweet Lyra…you’d better run. Because when I catch you—”
I don’t let him finish. I bolt, laughter catching in my throat as I fly down the narrow steps toward the beach. The air smells like rain and salt. Stones shift under my shoes. I know better than to believe I’m free.
He doesn’t chase right away. Oliver never rushes. He lets me go, savoring the game, certain of the moment he’ll strike. I make it only a few yards along the dark, pebbled shore before his arms lock around my waist. My breath punches out as he lifts and turns me, pressing me into the sand.
“Got you,” he murmurs against my throat, his voice pleased, as if this were inevitable.
He shoves my skirt up. Fingers hook my underwear and slide them down with infuriating control, pocketing them, a possessive gleam illuminating his dark eyes.
He lies between my thighs, mouth dragging over my pussy as he devours me.
When I arch, and his name breaks from my lips, it isn’t only release. It’s surrender. And he knows it.