Chapter 4 #2
“Are you going to come on me when I come for you?” My voice is ragged and desperate.
“Only inside you, Luna.” Each word fights past gritted teeth as he works himself with long, measured strokes. “Your mouth, your cunt, and your ass. Nowhere else.”
His crude words push me closer to the edge, the possessiveness in his tone setting fire to my veins. I moan, my back arching off the bed as my fingers move quicker, my other hand pinching my nipple harder, until pleasure and pain blur together.
“That’s it, beautiful.” He presses his shins against the mattress, his fist pumping faster. “Show me how good it feels.”
The world narrows to just this man. I’m drowning in sensation now, my body moving on instinct as my hips chase my touch. Each breath scrapes from my throat. Sweat beads on my chest as heat blooms beneath my skin.
He freezes, his muscles locking as his climax threatens. A growl tears from his chest as his fingers circle the base of his cock in a punishing grip, fighting his own release. Every line of his face speaks of desperate need barely held in check.
His rigid control strips away mine, and the coil in my belly snaps without warning.
White-hot pleasure crashes through every nerve as my back bows off the bed, and I surrender to its tide.
My fingers dance against my swollen flesh, and my voice shatters, my walls pulsing around emptiness, desperate to be filled.
My hips buck against my hand, chasing each aftershock as I come with a cry that I wish could be his name. He stands frozen except for the harsh rise and fall of his chest.
As I fight to catch my breath, trying to gather my scattered senses, he walks around the bed. One finger trails along my inner thigh, gathering proof of what he’s done to me before bringing it to my face. He paints my bottom lip with my own arousal.
A lazy smile curves my mouth despite my trembling limbs. His touch is gentle as he traces my cheek with the same wet finger.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Luna.”
“So are you,”
My hand lifts toward his cock without thought, barely grazing hot skin before I catch myself. The rules are clear. I can only touch when permitted.
He captures my fingers in his grip. “Time to bind your hands, little doe.”
My breath hitches, and I scramble to my knees, turning away from him as I bring my hands behind my back. The cold plastic surrounds my wrists, and the zip tie tightens. A little jolt of fear mingles with my excitement.
His hands guide me off the bed, steadying me as I find my balance without the use of my arms, before steering me toward the chair in the corner by the window.
“What are we doing?”
“I want you on your knees, but the ground will be too low.”
The ottoman in front is the perfect height. He helps me climb onto it, positioning my body where he wants it. Then he’s there, hard and heavy against my lips, demanding entry.
I part my mouth and take him in. The weight of him on my tongue, and the masculine taste and scent of him, make me dizzy with desire.
My tongue swirls around his crown, and I relax my throat to welcome more of him as he slides deeper.
He groans, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head—not guiding, just connecting us.
“That’s it.” His voice grates out, all gravel and want. “Take me deeper.”
His hips start a steady rhythm. I hollow my cheeks around him. Air whistles through his teeth as his cock glides smooth and wet along my tongue with each stroke.
My position—helpless, bound, and filled with his taste—sends a thrill through me. I’ve never wanted to submit to anyone before. But with him, I want this. Want to surrender every piece of myself.
His free hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with careful fingers. The gentleness of that touch, while his cock fills my mouth, while I’m tied and kneeling, makes my heart stutter.
I redouble my efforts, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head before swallowing him deep. Every stroke becomes deliberate, calculated to unravel him the way he’s unraveled me.
My own need pulses hot and insistent, an echo of what I’m doing to him, pressing at my core.
“Good girl.” The words rasp out as he pulls me back.
The praise crashes through me. My heart slams against my ribs.
Heat floods between my legs, instant and undeniable.
I’ve never considered myself a woman with a praise kink, but coming from him, those words unlock something I didn’t know existed inside me, desires I’ve never acknowledged.
They reach into my chest and twist, remake me into someone desperate to hear them again, to earn them through submission and surrender, to become everything he needs me to be.
His composure cracks, and his hips drive forward with new force, each thrust hitting the back of my throat.
His hand curves around the back of my skull, fingers tangling in my hair, directing my head where he wants it.
No more pretense of letting me set the pace.
He takes over, claims my mouth, and uses it for his pleasure.
I yield completely, molding myself to his demands, letting him fuck my mouth while his breathing disintegrates into ragged, broken sounds above me.
“That’s it, beautiful. I’m close.” The words come out through clenched teeth.
I whimper, the sound vibrating around his cock. His hips jerk, snapping forward as control abandons him.
"Luna!" My name wrenches from his throat.
He pulses against my tongue, and heat floods my mouth as he empties himself with a shudder that racks his entire body. I breathe through my nose and swallow everything he gives me, taking every drop, as pride swells in my chest at the way I’ve shattered his composure.
When the last tremor passes, he steps back and tucks himself away.
I tip my face up to meet his gaze, satisfaction curving my mouth as his chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm.
His hands shake as he works his zipper. Then his palm finds my cheek, thumb tracing my swollen lips, gentle now where moments ago there was only hunger.
“Now it’s my turn.”
He helps me onto wobbly legs and guides me back to the bed. My heart pounds, desire rebuilding within me, a slow-burning fire spreading through my body. I climb onto my knees on the mattress, my bound wrists making balance a challenge, but he steadies me.
The plastic around my wrists reminds me of how exposed I am. Fear and excitement tangle in my stomach, each feeding the other until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
This is our ritual. Our game. The pattern we’ve fallen into night after night.
And though I’d never admit it aloud, never confess it even in my own thoughts most of the time, I crave this—the way he strips away my control, the moment when I stop having to make decisions and exist only to feel what he gives me.
“You’re so beautiful like this, Luna.” Warmth infuses his words as his palm traces the curve of my spine, sliding down to cup my ass. His hand presses between my shoulder blades as he grips the zip tie to guide my descent. “Face down, ass up.”
I sink forward, pressing my cheek and chest to the cool sheets, my bound hands resting in the small of my back. The position bares everything—my arousal, my need, the way my body weeps for his attention.
The mattress shifts under his weight as he kneels behind me. His rough palms spread me open, and I feel his stare like a physical touch on my most intimate places.
Shame died somewhere between the first night and now. All that remains is the wild, desperate need that’s been clawing at me since he appeared in my life.
His mouth finds me, his wicked tongue diving deep. I cry out as he devours me with broad strokes and long, languid licks, tasting every fold and crease before focusing on the bundle of nerves that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. Each pass of his tongue steals my breath and leaves me gasping.
“Oh God.” My fingers curl into helpless fists behind me. “That feels… incredible.”
He hums against my flesh, the vibration spreading through my core. His strong hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he works me with devastating skill. When his tongue dips inside, mimicking what’s to come, I push back against his face, begging for more.
Every time I get close, he retreats, letting the tension coil tighter until I can’t stand it, backing off just enough to keep me teetering on the edge. I whimper in frustration, trying to move my hips to direct his attention where I need it most, but his grip is firm and unyielding.
“Stop teasing me.” Pride dissolves under the weight of need. “Please let me come.”
His tongue circles my clit before his lips close around it, sucking with gentle pressure. The sensation rockets through me, my thighs shaking and my breath reduced to desperate gasps as release rushes toward me.
Just before I fall, his mouth withdraws, and I scream my frustration into the sheets. Then, the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, hot and insistent. I push back, lost to my hunger.
His first deep thrust steals my breath as he buries himself to the hilt.
“Fuck,” I choke out.
He fills every space inside me. The stretch and the fullness overwhelm me, bordering on too much and not enough.
“God, you feel like perfection.” His hands roam the curve of my ass, up to my bound wrists, then back down to grip my hips. “So fucking tight and wet for me.”
He sets a pace that unravels me stroke by stroke. Each withdrawal drags against my inner walls, making me gasp. Every return thrust drives deeper, claiming more of me. The room fills with the wet sound of our bodies sliding together, his harsh breathing, and my voice climbing toward desperation.
His thrusts turning savage as his restraint abandons him.
His fingers bite into my flesh, and the headboard thuds against the wall.
I arch lower, spine curving to take him deeper, my hips slamming back to meet each punishing stroke.
This is possession stripped to its essence. No gentleness and no apology.
This is what I crave from him. This honesty of desire, his mask stripped away to reveal pure need.
His hand climbs my spine to fist in my hair. He yanks my head back, using it as leverage to drive deeper.
“Take every fucking inch of me.”
The new angle finds nerves that make my vision white out. Each thrust pushes me closer to the edge, my inner walls clamping down, trying to keep him buried inside me.
Words die in my throat, replaced by animalistic cries. Sweat slicks our skin, the musky scent of sex hanging heavy in the air, as the coil in my belly winds tighter with each brutal stroke.
Just when I think I’ll die from the pleasure, he slows to a tease. He curls over me, his heart beating a wild rhythm against my back, his hot breath against my neck. His lips brush the shell of my ear.
“Come for me.” His free hand snakes around to find my clit. “Come on my cock, Luna.”
The command triggers the release I’ve been fighting for, pushing me over the edge I’ve been teetering on.
I shatter, my walls rippling around him, pleasure exploding through every cell.
He groans against my neck, hips stuttering as his own release claims him, flooding my core, the warm pulse of him marking me in the most primitive way.
My body melts into the mattress as the last tremors fade.
He withdraws, and his hands move to my bound wrists, snapping the zip-tie with his fingers, a casual display of strength that should terrify me.
But when those same hands soothe the angry marks on my skin, the contradiction makes my breath catch.
“You’re a goddess, little doe.” He helps me roll onto my side, arranging my limbs on the bed.
I smile up at him, exhaustion tugging at my consciousness.
The space between us feels charged with unspoken things, especially the kiss that never comes.
The absence of that simple intimacy feels like a wound sometimes.
But I don’t ask. Don’t push. Not anymore.
I’m too hesitant to upset this delicate balance we’ve found.
He stands, adjusting his clothing. “Don’t fall asleep on me, beautiful. We’re just getting started.”
Hours blur together in a haze of touch and surrender. When it’s over and he’s gone, I lie sprawled across tangled bedding, every muscle humming with the aftershocks. My mind floats in that space between satisfaction and dreams.
My eyelids grow heavy, and sleep pulls at me. I should get up and pee. As a doctor, I know better than to fall asleep with his semen warm and sticky inside me. Last month's UTI should be reminder enough.
But my body refuses to move. His warmth still coats my thighs, and something primal in me wants to keep it there, this proof of what we’ve done, and this piece of him that lingers when everything else about him disappears with the dawn.
As consciousness slips away, I wonder if I’m losing my mind, letting a masked stranger possess me so completely. But the thought dissolves, washed away by the echo of his voice, his touch, and his promise to return.