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He wasn’t just letting me lead; he was making me.
And nobody makes me do shit.
Once we were completely naked, I grabbed Ken by the shoulders and rolled us both over, pulling his tall, athletic body on top of mine. The weight of him felt delicious—the thump of his heart, the dewy warmth of his skin. I finally had him where I wanted him—right between my legs.
Digging my heels into the mattress, I shifted my hips so that the head of his impressive cock was poised at the entrance of my impatient, thrumming body. Then, I kissed the shit out of him.
There. I consent, motherfucker. Bring it.
But Ken didn’t bring it. He tortured me further by dragging the entire length of his manhood back and forth across my slippery, pierced clit. Over and over, with each successive pass, Ken would graze my entrance, causing me to lift my hopeful hips in invitation, before denying me again.
Confused and pissed and panting with need, I glared up at his face in search of an explanation.
Is he afraid to fuck me without a condom?
Should I tell him I’m clean and on the pill?
Is he waiting for that slap? Because I’m about ready to give it to him.
But Ken didn’t look worried; he looked like a smug son of a bitch. He’d won, and he knew it. Never in my life had I thought I’d meet someone more stubborn than me, but there he was, in all his handsome, hard-bodied glory.
Surrendering to his impossibly strong will and my own raging hormones, I reached between us and stroked Ken’s slick girth. It was solid and ready and felt so right in my hand. As I guided him forward, I accepted my defeat, inch by glorious inch.
I don’t know if it was because his dick had been custom built for me, because he’d made me work so damn hard for it, or because we were both sober—which was a first for me—but the moment we were joined, I felt a powerful, euphoric shift occur between us. With that one motion, we went from being rams tangled in each other’s horns to lovers tangled in each other’s arms.
I just hoped he felt it, too.
As we began to move, it became clear that Ken was definitely feeling—or not feeling—something. His body was even tenser than before, his movements slow and cautious, and an ocean of space separated our exposed torsos as he hovered over me. Whatever his hang-up was, Ken’s inhibition was driving me fucking insane. I’d lost my virginity in bondage. I’d had every erogenous zone pierced by the age of sixteen. I’d been drizzled with honey, doused with tequila, and painted with my own blood.
And I’d loved every second of it.
Ken had a freak inside of him, too; he just needed help letting it out.
Trusting my instincts, I leaned forward and sank my teeth into the straining muscle between Ken’s neck and shoulder. Rather than yelping or flinching or warding me off with an outstretched crucifix, Ken melted into me, his taut tendons turning to putty between my teeth.
Interesting.
Next, I bit his earlobe, practically puncturing it with my sharp incisors. Ken responded by pulling my thighs up around his waist and filling me to my limit.
Yes.
I threaded my fingers into his hair and yanked. Hard. Ken thrust harder.
The more I hurt him, the more his self-imposed restraint melted away. But it wasn’t until I sank my razor-sharp nails into his shoulder blades that Ken’s pace became unhinged. He pounded into me with abandon. His mouth crashed into mine. His hands gripped my hips, my ass, my breasts.
And I finally got the high I’d been longing for.
Caught up in the moment and craving nothing but more, I dragged my talons, still sunk to the quick in Ken’s upper back, down the entire length of his spine. It was brutal. Medieval. I probably drew blood. But Ken…fucking…loved it.
As I sliced his back to ribbons, Ken buried his face in my neck, wrapped his arms around my torso, and came so hard that I saw stars.
Holy shit.
I panted and clenched around him, faking a physical orgasm but having a very real one emotionally. Ken, the poster child for self-discipline, had just come inside me, no questions asked. He’d trusted me. He’d held me. He’d let me see his kink. And, above all, he’d finally given me the one thing he valued more than anything else—control.
As well as his DNA, which I was pretty sure was permanently embedded under my fingernails.
With his dick empty and his back carved up like a prized turkey, Ken was a new man.
We spent the next few hours cuddling and talking, tickling and teasing, and when I climbed on top of him for round two, the orgasm wasn’t just real; it was revelatory.
The revelation being that I was totally fucked.
