Lovegame(50)

He pulls out in a rush and I do scream then, a hoarse, harsh sound that rips along my vocal cords without my permission.

The tears are coming faster now, blinding me, soaking the bedsheets beneath my face. “Why are you doing this to me?” I choke out, shuddering. “What do you want?”

He leans forward, grabs my chin. Twists my face to the side until I’m staring directly into his eyes. “What do you want?” he shoots back. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. I swear.”

I can’t do this. I can’t take it. It’s too much. It’s all just too much. “Untie me,” I whisper. “I want you to let me go.”

It’s a lie—letting me go is the last thing I want him to do right now. But I’m totally overwhelmed, completely vulnerable and I can’t take any more.

Ian freezes. He lets go of my chin, sits back on his heels. And though I know he’s talking to me, for a moment all I can do is stare. He’s so beautiful like this—eyes dark, jaw rigid, body tensed so that every perfect muscle is starkly defined—that all I want to do is touch. I want it so bad that my fingers flex, my wrists twisting and twisting against the belt.

“Damn it, Veronica! Answer me,” Ian snarls.

I would, but I don’t know the question. I’m too far gone to focus. I’m sinking, drowning, everything around me going soft and out of focus.

Ian curses again, low and vicious. And then he’s shifting on the bed, his hands sliding over mine as he starts to fumble with the belt.

It’s what I asked for but as I feel the give as the first knot unravels, I know it’s not what I want. “Please.” I force the words past my too tight throat, past my swollen lips. “Please, Ian. Fuck me. I want you to f*ck me. I need—” My voice breaks. It’s all too much.

And then he’s there, his hand tangling in my hair as he pulls my head back so he can see my face. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so wide open, and I start to close my eyes in an effort to hide.

But Ian stops me, his voice both sharp and impossibly tender as he says, “Don’t. I want to see.”

And when he asks like that, when he looks at me like that, I can’t do anything but give in to him. And so I stay just where I am, eyes open, body soft, all that I am laid bare for him in that one moment.

He knows it, too. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the sudden tenderness of his touch. He cups my cheek in his palm, rubs his thumb back and forth across my lips. “I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs as he replaces his thumb with his lips. “I’ll take care of you.”

He kisses me then, long and slow and languid, and I feel the last of my reservations slip away. I slide deeper and deeper until all I can feel, all I can think about, is him.

His hand skims over my cheek, down my throat, over the side of my breast to my hip. Everything is soft now, fuzzy, my body thrumming with desire. I press into his touch, craving it, needing it the same way I need his cock deep inside of me.

And then he’s flipping me over once more, fitting himself between my thighs, pressing himself inside of me. He’s huge and hot and hard, so hard, that it feels like an invasion as he buries himself balls deep inside of me.

I start to tremble the second he sinks home, my body so primed for his that the slightest movement will send me over. My eyes flutter closed, but then his hand is there around my throat, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin on the underside of my jaw.

“Look at me,” he says and I do. Of course I do. Right here, right now, it feels like I’d do anything—everything—that he asks of me. That’s how far gone I am. That’s how much I need what only he can give me.

The thought should terrify me, and maybe somewhere deep down, it does. But before I can focus on it—before I can let it in my head—he’s moving. And though his eyes are gentle, his touch tender, the way he moves against me is anything but.

He f*cks into me like he means it, like he’s dying for it. His hips pistoning against me, harder, faster, deeper than he’s ever been before. It hurts a little but it feels so good that all I can do is gasp and arch against him. All I can do is take it as he slams his cock inside of me again and again and again.

In seconds I’m overwhelmed, drowning in sensation. Completely surrounded and taken over by him. And still he surges inside of me. Still he f*cks me desperately, furiously, each stroke a branding that tells me exactly who my body belongs to.

I moan at the thought, tangle my legs around his hips in an effort to hold him the only way I can. He’s shaking now, too, his body pushed to the limits. I’ve never felt anything like this before, not even the first time we had sex. It’s intense, powerful, all-consuming.

I am completely in his thrall, lost in the fire of his possession. Taken. Overwhelmed. Dominated.

It’s the last thought that has my body flying over the edge, ecstasy ripping through me like a wildfire. Heat pours through me—through my sex, my stomach, my breasts. Down my legs, into my arms and fingers, up my throat. It’s radiant, incandescent, uncontrollable, so I don’t even try. Instead, I give myself over to it, throwing myself into the belly of the flames as I call his name over and over again.

“I’ve got you,” he grinds out again, his voice low and hoarse, his body jerking rhythmically against mine as he empties himself inside of me. His shudders set off yet another explosion and I’m coming again—coming still. I cry out his name, bury my face against the lean, hard muscles of his chest as my body spins further and further away from me, to a place where the pleasure goes on and on and on. A place where everything is a long way away except Ian and the ecstasy that burns, burns, burns inside of me.