or bossed around. But not by Raylan . . .
I don’t understand it.
How could everything I hate be twisted and turned to such a degree that I found it wildly arousing?
Even as I’m drifting off to sleep, I’m pondering that question. Trying to understand what I just experienced.
Right before I fall asleep, I see a glimmering answer, like a nugget of gold in the silt of a riverbed.
It’s because I admire him.
I’ve never fucked a man I actually respected before. I’m so fucking arrogant that I looked down on every man I dated. They didn’t impress me. Outside of my own family, one of the only men I truly respected was Dante. But we were just friends.
I’ve never experienced what it’s like to fully esteem a man. To want to impress him. To want to please him.
There was a kind of pleasure in being conquered. Raylan is so handsome and rugged and capable, that I felt like he deserved to have me. He deserved to have me any way he wanted.
Then, on top of that, there was a deep and potent relief in letting go . . . in letting him take charge of the sexual experience. I didn’t have to think or plan or maintain my rigid hold on the situation like I usually would. Instead, I could set my brain free. There was no governor on my thoughts or on my physical response. I was free to simply experience what was happening, with no distractions.
Then, of course, there was a third element—how deeply filthy and taboo it all felt. He tied me down! He whipped me! He fucked me like an animal!
I should be furious and disgusted.
But instead . . . I loved it.
The perverse and rebellious part of me takes a deep pleasure in enjoying what I’m not supposed to like. In embracing what I’m supposed to reject.
It would only work with Raylan though, I know that. I would never respect another man enough to allow him to do that. Enough to WANT him to do it. And I would never trust anyone else like that.
That’s the core of why I was able to let go . . . because I do trust Raylan. However dominant and aggressive he might have seemed in the moment, deep down I knew that he would never actually hurt me. I allowed him to tie my hands because I knew that what followed would be pleasurable for both of us. I knew that even though he was pretending to use me for his own enjoyment, all the while he was watching my responses, gauging my arousal and my desire, so he could pull back from the edge of pain at just the right time, and soothe me with exactly the right kind of touch.
I trust him.
Just that thought alone hits me like a hammer.
I’ve never trusted anybody outside my own family (I include Dante in that, because he is my brother-in-law, after all).
But I trust Raylan. I really do.
If his heavy, warm arms weren’t currently wrapped around me, I think that realization might terrify me. But I’m too calm, too drained, and too comfortable to feel any negative feelings right now.
Instead, I slip off to sleep, simply marveling that something so unexpected has happened to me.
The next morning I wake up to Raylan’s tongue between my thighs.
He’s down under the blankets, gently licking and lapping at my clit.
I’m so flushed and warm with sleep that my pussy is incredibly sensitive. Each stroke of his tongue is utterly intoxicating.
My brain is still in that floating half-asleep state. My memories of the night before are both vivid and fantastical—real and dreamlike. With every touch of Raylan’s tongue, I feel like I’m experiencing the best parts of our sexual encounter all over again.
I remember the look of his body in the lantern-light—every muscle bulging with exertion. His skin glowing. His bright blue eyes intense and animalistic. The glint of his teeth when he growled at me, or when he threw his head back in pleasure.
I remember how he seemed to transform into the most commanding, most powerful version of himself. The more dominant he became, the more my arousal grew. I wanted to please him. And the more I pleased him, the more pleasure I felt myself, in an endless feedback loop.
He knew exactly what I needed. His attention was fixed on me a thousand percent. Those bright blue eyes were focused and intent, and his hands seemed to have a supernatural ability to