I wasn't a virgin. I'd had sex with a couple of college boyfriends and other guys at that point, sex I'd considered pretty good. But it felt like Axel had this understanding of how important penis-in-vagina actually was. He was a connoisseur. He appreciated it in all its forms and how central it was, how crucial, to what I needed.
At least, that's how it felt. I was probably imagining it, but if it was all a dream, at least it was a good dream. I had never felt so completed by having a cock in me before, though I realized now that I had wanted to.
He didn't skimp. He knew how to back off and use the tip as well as how to bore in with deep strokes. And he knew how to stay in place while he made me come, and how to move in and out in time with my orgasmic spasms. Even when I was so sated I was sure I couldn't come again, I didn't want it to end.
Except that I did. I knew if he walked out hard and didn't come, it was going to bug me. I knew because it had been on my mind ever since the party, a nagging ache of dissatisfaction in the back of my skull. Unfinished business. I couldn't really explain it; all I knew was it had made me want him even more.
I ground upward against him, trying to make him come. Laugh all you want: it had worked with other guys. Not Axel, though. He eventually said, "Is that a hint that you want to come again?"
"No no," I said, and my voice was far more breathless than I expected. "It's a hint that I want you to come this time."
"Well. Ms. Hamilton. It's time we worked on your asking skills, then."
"My asking skills?"
"Mm-hm. Let's see. We've established that your pleasure's mine. That means your cunt is mine, your clit is mine. But I can't read your mind. That's why I loved getting a 'fuck me now' text from you. Very clear on your state of mind. But your asking skills are generally lacking. And, you know, these dominant-submissive things usually have a bit of etiquette around asking."
Was it a good sign that his words made me feel warm and fuzzy rather than stressed out? Or just a sign that my better judgment was impaired once again? At that moment I didn't care: I rode the wave of feeling good. I squeezed him inside. "Is that what this is? A dominant-submissive thing?"
"Oh definitely," he said, and leaned down to lick that spot on my neck that he knew drove me crazy with arousal. I suddenly found that maybe I could come again, maybe just once more … ? But he was talking again. "So let's see. What's the proper way for you to ask for sexual favors?"
"Um, you mean, like should I be on my knees?"
"I meant more like what words you should use. You know, like should you have to say something humiliatingly dirty like 'Please, Mr. Hawke, make my pussy sloppy?'" He laughed, unable to keep a straight face. "Okay, not that."
"Why not just 'Please, Mr. Hawke, I need you?' and get the rest from context?"
"You mean from your pleading eyes and the way you're humping my leg? While that does get the message across, I'm trying to get you to tell me in words what you want." He looked thoughtful, though, as if that had started a deep contemplation in his mind.
I brought him back to the moment. "Please, Mr. Hawke, may I feel you come?"
"Hm. You want me to come? I will only if you'll promise me you won't run away the second we're done. We need to talk, Ricki, and you know it."
I guess he really did know me, since a part of my brain was already preparing to run at the earliest opportunity. I tried to put off having a heavy conversation, at least. "We're going to talk on the weekend."
"We can talk then, also. But I mean tonight. No running away."
"Or what?"
"Or I don't come, I keep fucking you, and we talk anyway, with my cock buried to the hilt in you, like it is right now. I'm not tired yet. And I'm ready to start talking anytime."
He was serious. I was starting to worry about Gwen, who probably wondered where I'd run off to, and who might have found my car … "Hopefully my sister didn't put out an APB on me," I tried. Why was it such a strong reflex to run away?
"Disappearing into a seedy motel was your idea, not mine," he reminded me. "You can call or text her in a few. After you promise you're not rushing off. I came here because you asked me to, Ricki. You owe me at least that."
"All right." He was right. "I promise I won't rush off."
"I've half a mind to keep slow-fucking you for a while to keep talking, now that we've started-"
"Don't you dare-!"
"Hey, hey, hey," he scolded. "I'm in charge, remember?"
My face flushed scarlet-in fact, I think my whole body did-as I realized my error. It was like speaking out of turn in class by accident and getting scolded by the teacher, only worse. I was ashamed because I felt I was better than that. I forced myself to say, "Yes, Mr. Hawke."
"Mmm. Very good, Ms. Hamilton. I do believe you're getting the hang of it. And oh God your pussy gets tight when you're embarrassed. Squeeze me now, darling. Squeeze hard and I'll come."
I clamped down as hard as I could and he went at it with great gusto, very nearly making me come again just from that, but it wasn't quite enough. Especially since at the last second he pulled out and came while rubbing himself against my belly, groaning and half-crushing me with a hug as he did. It felt intensely good to be held so tightly, to feel him shuddering as he lost control, to feel him clinging to me in his moment of weakness, though I was surprised by his last-second pull-out. His come was hot and slick and as it hit my skin it sent a last wave of sympathetic aftershocks through me, too.
He held his breath as the last few spurts issued between us, and then when he started breathing again he loosened his grip.
"Sorry about that," he said, and I wasn't sure which thing he was apologizing for, not making me come one more time or covering my belly with goop. He lifted himself on his arms, snagged the small towel I'd been using as a blindfold, and cleaned the spunk off my stomach with it.
Then he collapsed on his side next to me. "Sorry, Ricki," he said. "I just … couldn't risk it."
Because I was acting like a crazy person, I thought. How could you trust the word of a crazy woman who blindfolded herself and acted like she wanted to be taken like that?
Then he nuzzled my hair and said, "I want to trust you completely."
I know that was my moment to say "me, too," but the words got stuck as I flashed to a thought of my mother, and of my grandfather tearing up ten years after her death just thinking about her. I was too exhausted at that moment to explain, so instead I just said, "I know." He grunted in agreement and then tucked me against him to snuggle. For some reason I hadn't expected that. No one tells you dominants snuggle their submissives. There's nothing in the high-tech catalogs or the porn movies about that.
CHAPTER TEN
EVERYBODY WANTS, EVERYBODY NEEDS
RICKI
The truth was I didn't want to run away. I didn't want to rush off. I wanted to lie there in Axel Hawke's arms and forget the whole rest of the world. But I couldn't. As the glorious sensual heat in my body cooled, my mind began to spin again.
So much to think about. So much I didn't want to think about. It was much easier to wish for a retreat into the fantasy world where Axel Hawke took care of everything and all I had to do was lie there.
The words "Is Axel even your real name?" came out of my mouth.
"You think I'd name myself after a part of a truck?" he said.
I sat up suddenly. "Be serious."
He tucked an arm behind his head and I could see the dragon tattoo went all the way around his upper arm. It was hard not to admire the lean, muscular line of his chest. "I am being serious. My mother named me Axel and I've stuck with it."
I hugged my knees. My curiosity about him was suddenly burning. He wanted to talk? Let's talk. "Are you close to your mother?"
"Pretty close. She raised me on her own after she split from my father."
"Where?"
"Everywhere." He stretched and cocked his head to look at me, but he didn't protest all the questions. "Didn't I tell you this? My dad was military. We moved a lot. I first met Mal in England when I was ten. After they split, my mom was tired of moving around, so we ended up in Massachusetts near my grandparents."
Right. I remembered him saying he'd lived in Germany and Japan, too. He looked so relaxed right now, no attitude, no act. If anything he was even more devastatingly handsome. "How'd you get into music?"
"Same way most guys do. To meet girls."
I poked him in the ribs. "That's why. I asked how."
"I dunno. I always played instruments and sang. I know it's a cliché but, when you move to different countries all the time … " He shrugged. "Music is a universal language. It was a quick way to be liked."
I tried to imagine a young boy, making new friends with his music in all different countries, all different schools. Everything he had said just made my heart softer and sweeter on him by the minute. I wondered if he was eventually going to say something that would burst my bubble. Surely he can't be that perfect, thought the little voice of denial in my head. I'll stop being so into him once I find out what a shallow jerk he is. Right? "When did you start the band, though? When you were ten?"