CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
I may have also cried at some point, I’m not sure.
And all of that would be embarrassing if he wasn’t totally into it.
My king, my Phantom, the man I was sent to pleasure was so into it, he was shaking.
His chest was going up and down so hard and so wildly and his fists were clenched at his sides.
His thighs, all strong and bulging, were shaking too.
And when he came, he came so hard I couldn’t keep it all in my mouth.
It dripped over my chin, got on my throat and tits.
It got on him, too, but he didn’t care. When he was done, he pulled me up, flipped me onto my back and rubbed his cum all over my skin, getting me even hornier.
Which, in turn, got him hard again and then he also fucked me.
He did it so hard that my arms flew all over the place, smacking him in the chest and face, trying to get away from him, which is when I realized he loves when I do that.
He goes feral when I hit him while trying to get away from him.
Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s a hunter; he likes the chase. He likes to subdue and hold as much as I like to be held and trapped. We’re fate.
All of this was two days ago. Since then, my dick-sucking game has improved.
A lot. I’ve also sucked him off a lot. So much that we have labels for it: the easy way, where I get to do what I want; and the way where he ties me up, holds me down, and does whatever he wants.
I love both ways, but I love this one a little bit more because in this, I get to feel him for hours after he’s left my mouth.
Every time I swallow, I feel him throbbing in my sore throat.
My hair gets drenched with tears, and I become a complete mess that lingers for a long time after we’ve finished.
Anyway, this is how we end our days.
Which is not much different than how we begin our day.
We sleep in the same bed, the one in his barn, and always wake up late, mostly because I sing him to sleep and then, throughout the night, he wakes me up with his kisses, on my mouth, my body, my pussy.
He’s at least gotten over his reservation about fucking me, now that I’ve had time to adjust to him.
Anyway, we laze around, talk, kiss, make out, make each other come until we get hungry for food.
We then make our way up to the main house where he makes us breakfast while I sit at the counter and perv over him.
Or I make him carry me, either plastered to his chest like a spider monkey or wrapped around him in a piggyback ride.
Because he’s just so big that I can’t help but climb him every chance I get.
Plus, I don’t want to be apart from him.
He isn’t a lot better than me with his needs.
Because sometimes before eating breakfast, he eats me on the table because I’m his favorite food; and sometimes he sits me in his lap and feeds me pieces of bacon because he doesn’t want his Princess doing any work.
Then we take a shower together like we’re trying to save water. Although the amount of time we take to finish our shower, because we’re busy doing other things, cancels out all our conservation efforts.
At which point comes our daily horse ride.
I’m happy to report I’m able to keep my eyes open on rides now and watch the world streak by.
He still takes me to that blue lake where we sometimes have a picnic.
We spend hours under the sun, doing the same things we do on our bed every day: lazing around, talking, kissing, making love.
I say making love because that’s what it feels like.
It feels like slow summer days, sticky and sugary, drenched in sun and love.
Days made for fucking on the grass and then skinny-dipping after.
Even though I know these days aren’t just for lazing around.
I know why we’re here. Why he has me trapped on his ranch, away from everything and everyone else.
It’s not because I’m that girl for him, but because the world isn’t safe for me right now.
But I like to pretend. I like to pretend he brought me here because he wanted to keep me isolated from the world, his ring on my finger, and this is our life together. This is our past, present, and future.
Which is why one day, I decide to give him a gift. His fantasy.
Since it’s a surprise for him, I don’t tell him until we get there.
At the blue lake. Until he’s helped me off Tulip and we’ve spread out our picnic supplies.
He’s kneeling on the ground, digging into the little basket we brought with us, when I do it.
When I spring up to my feet and place something on the ground by his knees.
A coil of his rope.
I stole it from the side of his bed and brought it with us.
His eyes jerk up from his task and come to settle on me.
Swallowing and keeping our gazes locked, I take a step back.
His body goes on alert, his chest flexing and his spine snapping straight.
A thrum goes through my body as I take another step away from him.
And another and another until I see his jaw is clenched and his hands are fisted at his sides, his eyes flashing. And then, without further ado, I spin around and take off running.
I know exactly what I’m doing. I knew it the moment the idea of running away from him came to me.
The idea of taunting him to catch me. There’s only been one other time when I taunted him, really taunted him, to come get me, and it was the night in the parking lot.
The night I was trying to draw him out and get answers about my best friend’s disappearance.
Unbeknownst to me, he was a bigger hunter, and instead of me capturing him, I was the one who got snared.
I’m sure that this time around as well, he’ll trap me in ways that will make me want to stay his prisoner until the end of time.
Only I didn’t know how much because I’ve just entered the woods that line the edge of the lake when I hear a sort of a whistling sound cut through the air.
A noise similar to what I heard in his barn the night he was throwing knives.
Before I can process that, I see a flash of white streak through my vision, and a second later, I’m tripping on my feet.
But before I hit the ground, a pair of arms come around me and cushion my fall.
And I realize what just happened. That whistling sound was him throwing the rope at me. A rope with a noose at the end. That went around my body and caught me at my legs, making me stumble. Which can only mean one thing, right? It means that he used his rope to lasso me.
He lassoed me. Like I’m some… sort of animal. And now he’s on me, his chest panting against my spine, keeping me trapped on the ground with his heavy, suffocating weight.
My palms and my cheek scrape against the dirt and dead leaves. “Did you just…”
His mouth is at my ear, his arms squeezing my middle. “Told you. Don’t run if you don’t wanna be chased.”
I dig my nails into the ground. “But you d-didn’t chase me; you… threw your rope on me. You lassoed me like—”
He moves his face, his stubble scraping against my other cheek, his chest vibrating with his growl. “Act like a runaway filly; get treated like one.”
I clench my eyes shut as goose bumps rise on my skin. As chills skitter up and down my spine, dancing, fluttering, stinging. “You’re psychotic.”
His chest shudders over me, his breaths hot, his arms tight and trapping, much like his body. “You knew that, though. Still, you gave me the rope. Dangled it, almost. Before takin’ off when you know, you fuckin’ know, how my chest cracks and my heart stops every time you try to get away from me.”
He’s right. I knew that. I knew how insane he can be, how scary and feral. How he absolutely hates when I try to put some distance between us. Still, I gave him that rope. Although I thought he’d use it like he always does, to simply bind me. Not chase me down like a… runaway filly.
“That’s why I ran,” I whisper, my fingers curled into fists.
He freezes over me. “What?”
I arch my spine as if I want to buck him off, but what I really want is to rub up against his hard length as I say, “Because you’re so crazy.
Because you won’t… you won’t give me space.
” I raise my head and brush my ass against his cock as I continue, “Every night, you tie me to your bed. And if not your bed, then you tie me to yourself. You bind our hands together and won’t let me get away from you.
Not even in sleep. It’s insane. And then you wake me up all through the night, either with your mouth or your fingers.
Your cock.” I pause here to bite my lip hard and undulate against him.
Then, “Until I’m all sore and crying and moaning.
Until I’m so full of you that you run out of my pussy.
If I knew that, if I knew how intense you’d be, I never would have said yes. ”
None of what I’m saying is a lie. He does tie me to his bed every night.
Sometimes my hands, other times my legs, keeping them spread open so he can play with me, eat me whenever he likes.
So many times I’ve woken up with his mouth between my thighs, or his fingers.
One night, he slept like that with his fingers inside of me.
And other times, he wakes me up with his cock, gliding in and out of me in smooth strokes.
But when he doesn’t tie me to his bed, he ties me to himself.
He ropes our wrists together and we sleep with our fingers joined.
So any time I roll away from him in my sleep, I can’t. Because we’re roped together.
It’s crazy. It’s intense. It’s the most romantic thing in this world. It’s what girly dreams are made of. Full of hearts and candies and lollipops and a beautiful man with green eyes and a penchant for ropes.