Crazy Girl(64)

“Think you could choke me out?”

Twisting my neck, I looked back at him. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It takes a lot of hand strength, doesn’t it? Not exactly my forte, remember?”

“Depends on if you’re trying to make someone pass out, or if you’re trying to strangle them.” Pulling his arm from under me, he rolled to his back. “Sit on top of me,” he ordered. “I’m going to show you some things.”

Turning, I pushed myself up and straddled him. He was massive between my thighs, my knees barely touched the mattress. Holding my hips, he shimmied, sliding me up higher, closer to his chest. Damn, he looked good lying there staring up at me—his dark eyes and beard, his hair perfectly disheveled with that just-fucked look.

Reaching up, he ran his finger down the center of my throat. “This is your trachea.” Placing his hands around my throat, he gently pressed his thumbs against it. “See how when I squeeze you there it’s harder to breathe, right?”

His grip wasn’t so strong that I couldn’t breathe, or that he was hurting me, but he was applying just enough pressure to illustrate his point. “Yes,” I wheezed a little.

“If you want to strangle someone…as in kill them…that’s where you squeeze.”

Releasing his hold, he took my hands and gently pulled me forward, placing them at the sides of his throat, positioning the heels of my hands to the side of his trachea, then he pressed my fingers against the side and back of his neck. “If you want to choke someone out, you squeeze here. This cuts off blood flow to the brain, which will make them pass out.”

I took a moment to memorize the placement of my hands, to mentally record what they felt like on his throat. It felt sensual. Sometimes it was hard not to get caught up in moments in life—to live them. That’s what we’re all told we should do…live in the moment. But the rules were different for me—I was a writer. Moments were my inspiration; they were the proverbial well from which I drew to quench my creative dehydration. It was important I recognized them; gently caught them like fireflies in my hands and cradled them safely into a glass jar, ensuring I could peek at them later and be moved by their magic. Fireflies were somehow simple and majestic all at once, just as some moments were simple yet so much more. And something inside of me knew this moment was exactly that. Me, naked, atop this beautiful and mysterious man, my hands on his throat, holding the power he gave me—firefly.

“How long does it take?” I asked.

“Depends on how hard you squeeze.” Placing his hands on my hips, his fingers firmly gripping me, he said, “Go ahead.”

I lifted my brows, surprised. “You want me to try and choke you out?”

He smirked. “I want you to see what it feels like. I’ll let you know when to let go.”

I stared down at him, hesitant. “Are you sure?”

“Go ahead.”

I shifted a little, bracing my body, my hands never leaving his neck. I halfway wondered even if I squeezed as hard as I could, would it really do anything.

“Go on, babe,” he encouraged.

I squeezed.

“Harder,” he instructed.

I obeyed.

“More,” he said.

I squeezed as hard as I could. Our gazes were locked as I held on, never letting my grip relent. My hands were already tired, and I knew if this were a legit situation where I was trying to do this, I’d fail. It was harder than it looked. His face reddened somewhat, and I wanted to let go, but his eyes said it was okay, not to stop. After a moment, he wrapped his hands around my wrists letting me know to let go.

He chuckled a little as he took a deep breath. “That was good.”

“Are you okay?” I asked as I brushed my hand across his cheek.

“Yeah. So that’s a cross-collar choke,” he explained, taking my hand and kissing it.

“You are a fountain of knowledge, sir,” I jested. “And pretty kinky, too.”

He gave me a wolfish grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever taught a woman to choke hold naked before.”

I gave a shrug. “Well, I certainly feel special.”

“You should.”

“What about the one from behind?” I queried. “Like the one you do with one arm, like they do in wrestling?”

“Same principle, just different method. Turn around and lie on top of me.”

Climbing off him, I turned and reverse straddled him, my sex sliding against his abdomen.

“You’re so wet, babe,” he gritted, his hands sliding down my back. His words triggered something in me causing a flutter in my belly. I loved how candid he was. Before I could respond, he ordered, “Lie back on me.”

It took me a moment to lie back and move the way he was positioning me. My body fit comfortably on top of him. My head wasn’t quite level with his, but close, and my feet were on either side of him, planted on the mattress, my sex exposed.

Tilting my chin back, he wrapped his arm around my neck, flexing it to apply pressure to the sides. “See how I use the sides of my arm, but the crook of my elbow doesn’t touch your trachea? Same thing, just a different method. This is called a rear-naked chokehold.”

I wondered if he realized how incredible this moment was, or was it just me? Here we were, naked, the sheets and covers tangled at our feet, the heady scent of sex in the air, and he was teaching me something primal as if I were a student in his course. It was all so outside the box, yet it felt so natural. It felt…good. And with that thought, something twisted inside of me. I didn’t want it to feel good because if it did, that meant I’d want more. I was getting attached, romanticizing everything. My thoughts and impressions could all be inside my head. I needed to reel it in, pronto.