He watched me the entire time with those intensely vivid turquoise eyes. My eyes started to close with the pleasure once, and he barked out a harsh order for me to open my eyes and look at him.
I obeyed, though the intimacy of that extra contact was almost too much for me. It was hard to remember that we weren’t supposed to feel anything for each other when he looked at me like I was more important than his next breath.
He pulled out almost completely, had me pleading with him to stay, before he pounded back in with a growl. If I had thought he was letting go before, now he was pounding me into the mattress until I thought I might leave a permanent imprint.
He reached a hand down between us, rubbing circles around my clit without slowing his furious pace.
“Come, Bianca, now,” he ordered, and his order worked as a trigger. I screamed as I came, and he shouted my name as he followed me, burying himself to the hilt as tremors wracked him, his neck arcing with his pleasure. As the waves started to subside a little, he gripped my chin, looking at me with an almost angry, and certainly possessive, gleam.
“You’re mine,” he told me. I had no idea what to say to that, but I didn’t need to respond. In the next instant, he was kissing me passionately, desperately.
He released my wrists and ankles and undid my nipple clamps more quickly than I would have thought possible. He pulled me against him, lining us up flesh to flesh, and started kissing my mouth again, as though he would never stop.
“Thank you,” he told me quietly, just once, when he came up for air, then began kissing me again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mr. Sensitive
Eventually he stopped kissing me and pulled my cheek against his chest. I was reeling with the realization that casual sex could feel so intimate. I felt so cherished as he stroked my back reverently and whispered sweet words to me.
He left me. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to intrude on the moment with noise.
I heard him start the bath, and couldn’t think of anything that sounded more perfect than a hot bath at that moment.
I lay on my back, exactly as he had left me, feeling more relaxed in every part of my body than I could ever remember. I felt…peaceful. It was a revelation.
When he’d been gone for several minutes, I opened my eyes to look around.
He stood at the foot of the bed, watching me, his eyes ablaze. I glanced down my body and realized there was blood spread around on the sheets rather messily.
“I didn’t realize I would bleed so much,” I said, starting to sit up.
“Don’t,” he told me, and I lay back down. We watched each other. I saw that his erection was as hard as though he’d never come.
I pointed at it. “Can you go again? Is that possible?”
He smiled, and stroked his cock idly with one hand. “Oh, yes. But you’re too sore tonight. I was just enjoying the view. Embedding this image into my brain.”
He came to my side, lifting me until I was cradled against his chest. He rose from the bed with my weight in his arms. He showed no visible strain. I loved that, his strength, and all of the amazing things he could do with his body, seemingly effortlessly.
“Let’s take a bath and talk about what we’re gonna do about this,” he said, stroking my hair, as though the ‘this’ was me.
It made me smile for some odd reason, though the thought of talking about anything held no appeal for me at that moment.
He stepped into the biggest tub I’d ever seen, still holding me.
The bathroom was one giant slab of greenish-black granite, so far as I could see. The tub was square and he slid down against one side of it, holding me in front of him until we were sitting up together, him spooning me from behind.
He pumped some divine smelling soap out of a built-in granite dispenser and began to lather soap over my entire body leisurely. It smelled like him, and I breathed it in. I felt positively decadent, laying there bonelessly while he tended to my bath.
“I love that soap. It smells like you,” I told him, eyes closed in pleasure.
He brought his lips to my ear, biting the lobe teasingly. “Now you smell like me. I love that.”
He washed me in silence for a few minutes, stroking as much as cleaning. He kept coming back to my breasts, stroking and kneading the pliable flesh thoroughly.
“We need to talk,” he told me.
I groaned, and not in pleasure this time. “I’d prefer that you spank me again. Can we do that instead?” I was only half-joking.
He made a delicious purring noise against my neck. “Not tonight. We need to set up the rules for this. If my self-control hadn’t deserted me tonight, we would have settled it before I ever touched you.”