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“I can’t stand like this.”
“Easy enough to fix,” he says and then he’s pressing me onto the mattress, forcing me to catch myself on my hands and knees.
I’ve barely digested my new, more vulnerable position, when he shocks me and smacks my backside. He’s then down on one knee beside me, his lips at my ear, his fingers flexing on one of my butt cheeks. I try to move, and his hand settles in the middle of my lower back. “Don’t move. Stay here. Stay like this for me, with me,for you.”
“For me?”
“What do you feel right now?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, but I do know I realize even as I say differently. My adrenaline is pumping. My heart racing. My skin tingling.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. I can’t think.”
“Exactly. You can’t think. That’s the idea. I can take you away. I can show you how more is less and less is more. I can show you how to escape.”
Escape.
It’s what I want.
It’s what I need.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“That’s where that trust you said an orgasm doesn’t give me comes in. You have to trust me, but I’ll give you the chance to say no.”
“I need a chance to say no? What are you going to do?”
His lips press to my ear. “Trust me, Abbie. Stay just like this while I undress and then if you want to stop—”
“Hurry up,” I demand. “Hurry up—”
“I’ll hurry. Don’t move. Remember. It’s all about anticipation. It’s all about—”
“Control? Yours?”
I can almost feel the shift in the air before he rolls me over and suddenly we are side by side, facing each other, and he’s folding me against him, his hand on my cheek, guiding my gaze to his. “No, sweetheart. It’s not about my control. It’s about yours. You say yes. You say no.”
“But you give the orders.”
“To give you the chance to stop thinking.”
“I could stop thinking if you were kissing me right now. I really need you to kiss me right now.”
His mouth comes down on mine, a deep stroke of tongue that feels like a lick in other intimate places. That stroke and his hard, big, perfect body next to mine is all that it takes. I need him. God, how I need him and I press into him, trying to get closer.
My desperation seems to feed his desperation and it’s as if a match ignites between us. A smoldering heat going up in flames. We are all over each other, touching, kissing, sounds of need and hunger sliding from my lips, his lips. I don’t even know how his pants come down, how he’s pressing between my legs, but his fingers are rough in my hair, almost a pull, not a tug, but it arouses me. God, it arouses me and then his hand comes downon my backside again, a firm smack that radiates through me seconds before his shaft thrusts into me.
I gasp and moan and then his hand smacks my backside again. “Gabe,” I pant.
His fingers tangle into my hair. “What do you want?”
I don’t even think. “More,” I whisper. “I want more.” And I know I mean his hand on my backside again.
He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes burning, probing. “How much more?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. Just more.”
