sense this. I know it deep in my bones. He’ll never hurt me, but he holds the power to destroy me.
The walls close in around me as I shift in his lap.
Cupping his face with both hands, his eyes widen and his pupils dilate. I feel him all around me. His body heat brushing against my skin, sinking deep to my bones. His breaths on my cheek strangle my air and flutter stray wisps of hair free from my lashes.
Time slows down.
Moments stretch to minutes.
He sits there, body tense, breaths strained yet tightly controlled. The chilling way he commands his body is new to me. I’m used to men giving into their urges, not holding them at bay.
I brush my nose against his, testing the waters, and get no response. He doesn’t draw away, but neither does he take the kiss I dearly want to give.
I want to know what he tastes like, and I plan on savoring our first kiss. But even more than that, the deep ache building within me makes me crave something far more carnal.
It’s beastly and wild, a craving, or maybe a desperation, but I need something I can’t quite explain. I don’t even know if I know what I need myself.
Sex is a part of it. I desperately want Four to fuck me, but there’s more.
What will he feel like when he’s inside of me? Will I come with a whimper, dissatisfied with another weak and unfulfilled orgasm? Or will his cock ignite my senses and bury me in pleasure so damaging that his cock will be the only one that ever matters for the rest of my life?
What about his lips? How will they feel when he finally kisses me, or better yet, when he kisses me where I’ve never had a man kiss me before?
Prostitutes and pleasure slaves serve their clients and Masters. They don’t derive pleasure from the ordeal, but I have a sense Four has it in him to wrench ungodly screams from my mouth. Screams so full of pleasure that he’ll wear me out until I fade into a blissfully spent puddle of ecstasy.
Is that what love feels like?
I suppose it does, but now isn’t the time. While I have no issue with a little change in position, straddling Four right now isn’t going to happen. He would stop me.
I’m scared to death to make a move. If he refuses me, like he’s done in the past, does that mean I mean nothing to him? Am I just another one of his countless rescuees?
A job?
Maybe I’ve built up a false relationship in my head, but I swear the close contact drills we shared sparked passion in us both. I can’t be making that up.
His fingers caress my spine. It’s beyond arousing. Each press of his fingers sends me into a quivering mess. His touch loosens the tightness of my muscles, relaxing me, sending me into such a haze that if I don’t do something about it soon, I’ll be a moaning puddle of… Well, of something.
Four makes no further move. The tips of our noses touch. His fingers continue their mad dance along my spine. The evidence of his arousal presses hard against the crack of my ass.
I can’t help it and lean into him. I loop my arms around his neck and close the distance. The heat of his mouth makes my breath stutter and my nostrils flare. He smells phenomenal, a dark, woodsy, masculine scent. His chest is firm. His thighs are tense. He’s aroused and very hard, but the expression in his eyes is unyielding.
He sits there, not moving a muscle as I slowly press my lips to his. At least I think I touch his lips. It’s more like a cautious graze.
I’m not really sure.
I believe he holds the skill to destroy everything I know about sex, but he holds himself with such rigid restraint it’s maddening.
My insides heat and tighten with anticipation. The endings of my nerves flare and sizzle. My entire body quakes with the need flowing through me.
Dear Lord, what is he doing to me? I feel uncertain, like I’ve never done this before. Granted, many Johns aren’t interested in kissing, but the Masters I’ve had craved the claiming that comes from a kiss.
Our breaths mingle and become one as I gently brush my lips against his. A moan escapes him, and he bucks beneath me, but still, he doesn’t engage. I want him. I feel it in the tingling of my