He kisses me and places his fingers around my wrists, holding them firmly, pressing them down into the mattress.
“Reminder of what?”
He continues gyrating on top of me all the while, pounding deep inside of me again and again. “I don’t want you to forget,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on my wrists, “who you belong to. All of you. Including your pussy.” His eyes are fierce and dark, and a thin sheen of sweat is building on his forehead. “Remember?”
I flash back to one of our first nights together, how he had demanded that I say those words to him, telling him that my pussy was his. I nod.
“So? Say it.” He quickens his pace, thrusting his full length into me more quickly.
“My pussy is yours.” I whisper the words.
“Louder.” His voice is strained.
“My pussy is yours.” I say the words again, loud and clear.
“Again.”
“My pussy is yours.” His face is just inches from mine, our eyes locked. Our bodies are entwined, forming one wild passionate animal. I can feel the throbbing between my legs, the brief flicker of ecstasy every time he hits me deep inside.
“Cum with me.” It’s not a question but a command. In the last week, he’s already gotten to know my body well enough that he can read the signals. He knows I’m on the brink anyway. And so is he. “And tell me, again.” He adds, squeezing my wrists more firmly.
I start to roll my head back, preparing myself for the shuddering orgasm to come, but he shakes my wrists briefly. “Don’t look away.”
I return my gaze to his face. I can feel my breasts bouncing with each thrust of his body into mine, and I can feel the slick glaze of sweat over my own body.
“Now.” He says. “Tell me.” As he says the words, he alters his rhythm ever so slightly, adding a small swivel of his hips to each pounding moment. It feels like he’s hitting every nerve inside of me and seconds later, I feel my pussy explode in a fresh rush of juices.
“I’m yours.” I croak out the words, my eyes watering with unexpected wetness. It’s like every emotion in my body is pouring out at once. “My pussy is yours.” The words come out in a groan of pleasure. “Fuck. My pussy is yours,” I repeat.
“Yes,” he breathes out the word, urging me on.
“My pussy is… YOURS,” I get it out one more time, just as I explode into a powerful orgasm, my body shaking underneath his. His entire body tenses on top of mine and he lets out a low, guttural, roar as he lets go on top of me. I can feel his cock twitching inside of me, and my own muscles, inside, tightening around him. The entire time, he maintains eye contact with me, staring me down, his eyes reminding me—You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.
Slowly, our bodies come to a halt. He leans down and kisses me deeply, once, and then pulls back.
“Don’t forget that,” he murmurs, before rolling off of me, onto his back, panting heavily.
I roll over onto my side and watch, with my eyes wide, the rise and fall of his chest. I will never forget, I want to tell him. David has been all kinds of firsts for me. A part of me will always belong to him. Whether I want it that way or not.
His phone buzzes next to him from the nightstand and he reaches over lazily to take a look. He scratches his chest absentmindedly and then runs his hand through his hair, still messy from sleep.
“The car will be here in one hour to take us to the jet.”
“Okay.”
Without another word, he gets up and walks to the bathroom. I want to go after him, to chase him into the shower, to cuddle up to him, and kiss him even more. But something is stopping me. It’s suddenly hitting me that once we board that plane, I’ll be taking the first step on my journey home. Back to Parkville. Back out of David’s life.
I hear the water turn on in the shower and sink back into the pillows, feeling oddly hollow. What did I expect? This has been, for all intents and purposes, a fling. An out-of-this world experience…yes. One that I’ll remember forever. But still. A fling. Well, why not add one more memory to the mix? If I’ve learned one thing in the past week with David, it’s that being bold pays off. And