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“No…”
“Yes.” And he laughs as he rises up, dragging me up into his arms, hands still tied behind my back, and I don’t know what kind of knot he used, but even using all of my strength, I can’t pull them free. He positions me on his lap, my legs on either side of him.
“Yes.” He says the word again, thrusting up into me and pulling me down on top of him, my pussy stretching around his thick cock.
I almost choke on a gasp. The invasion is almost too much, but almost not enough. He reaches behind to grab the thick bindings, using them to rock me on him and oh my God, it’s there. That golden orgasm.
As it explodes in my core, I cry out, “Yes.”
And then he fucks me deeper, harder, faster, bouncing me on top of him like I’m his own personal pleasure toy, and I’m there for it. The radiating ripples of an orgasm build. I squeeze my muscles tight, clamping down on him, dragging him farther inside of me. It’s rough, hard, the stuff of the darkest fantasies.
When I come again, he holds me down on his throbbing cock and comes, too. I can feel his warmth shoot into me and hear the satisfied sigh as he fills me.
Then he undoes my hands and pushes me off him. He doesn’t cuddle me, doesn’t do a single thing except roll away from me and get dressed. When he leaves, he doesn’t even look back.
I stare at the door, pull my top on, then huddle under the covers. Of course he left; of course he’s not going to want to be with me.
This is a man I pushed into fucking me. A hard, hot, violent man. And?—
The door opens and he’s back. I recoil, searching his face for any clue about what the hell just happened. I can’t read him but he closes the door and comes over to me, offering me a bottle of water.
“You can’t drink the tap water.”
“Thank you,” I say. “You don’t need to stay.”
“I fucking know that. Move over.”
I do, my heart exploding into wild beats. He just stretches out next to me, on top of the covers. I take a sip of water, and when I put it down, he slips an arm around me and holds me against him.
I’m not sure what this is. Everything inside me is in free fall, a maelstrom of emotions I don’t know how to process.
As his breathing evens out, I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. But how can I when the woman he loved, the one who died, the one he claims made him what he is, sits between us, like a ghost constantly floating over us.
I’m not part of his world, or even what he wants, for that matter, so how can I hope to compete with her?
My outlaw, Daddy/Master.
Oh God. How do you go on after this? Not that I have had a lot of sex, or any sex really, but if I wanted to, how can I possibly have it with someone else after the deliciousness of him, of this world we created? Because right or wrong, it fits me.
The games, the subservience, the foreplay.
When I’ve thought of Doms before, I’ve only had debonair men in mind, men in suits with whips and rooms of toys. Men who are smooth and spank for fun.
He doesn’t do any of this for fun. He plays for real. And he’s not sleek or debonair. He’s a man who’ll chase you in the streets, fuck you in public if he wants.
He gets down in the mud and I want to go down there with him, test all the boundaries.
I don’t have to like him, just trust he’ll keep me safe.
And his ghost? I’ll never win a competition with her, and I feel guilty even wanting to.
But I do want him.
For as long as it’ll last.
Because I know one thing.
This is going to end.
