He climbs onto the bed, on his knees in front of me, towering over my small frame. His lips lift in a devious smile. “A little black box,” he tells me.
“I need to start opening more boxes,” I say in a breathless whisper. “Are you going to cuff me to you?”
His grin lights up his whole face. “No, love.” And then he lifts me by the waist and sets me closer to our pillows. He clips one cuff around my wrist and then the other to a rung in the headboard.
Ohhh…my…
“Don’t move,” he instructs as he slips off his boxer-briefs. When he lowers his body against mine, I instinctively run my free hand across his shoulder, his bicep, sliding my fingers along his abs towards his cock.
He grabs my hand before I reach the best place. He shakes his head at me once in disapproval, but his lips betray him, rising as he soaks in my eager gaze.
“No touching,” he says, his voice forceful. He climbs off the bed, leaving me cold and alone on the mattress.
“Wait, I won’t—I promise.” Come back.
He disappears into the closet, and I wonder if this is a test that my therapist concocted. Is he supposed to leave me wanting and craving? Am I supposed to overpower this compulsive demon while I am in desperate need?
I’m going to fail.
I already know it.
I bite my lip, weight crashing into me. I stay entirely still, expecting Lo to walk out fully dressed, to wave goodbye and go meet Ryke somewhere. This was all a game to get me to this point, imprisoned on my bed with only one hand for use.
And then he exits.
But he’s naked, like before.
He holds a scarf, and I can barely process what this means. My head floats away as the bed rocks, as he edges near me, lifts my other hand and ties my free wrist to the headboard.
I am not as excited as before, mainly because I just freaked out.
When Lo looks back down at me, his smile fades into dark concern. “Hey, Lil…” His thumb skims my cheek. “You’re okay.” He must recognize the fear in my eyes. “I won’t ever desert you, love. Not for a goddamn moment. You’re mine to take care of, you understand?”
His words instantly fill my heart. I nod quickly. “Yes.”
“I’m going to take care of you now. I’m going to fill you so deep that you’re going to wish you could touch me, but you can’t.” Yes. “You’re going to come each time I slip in.” Yes. “You’re going to ask me to stop to catch your breath.” Yes. “I won’t.”
Please.
His hand descends to the spot between my legs, wet and ready. He spreads my legs open with his knees, and his fingers pulse inside of me. I writhe and buck up to try to meet him. But he contains me on the mattress; he softens my jagged, impatient movements with a hand to my hip.
I try to reach forward and run my fingers through his hair, but the silky scarf stops me, and the hard cuff digs into my other wrist. He dictates the position, the speed, the tempo of our love.
He replaces his fingers with his long, thick cock, so big for me, and I cry out, jerking against the restraint. He keeps my legs spread open and bends my knees. When he leans forward to kiss me, his whole cock slowly dives into me, no space to breathe.
I let out a staggered moan that turns sharp and needy. His lips hover right over my parted ones, and he rubs the sweaty hair out of my face.
In a low, husky voice, he whispers, “Every inch of me is inside of you.”
“Lo,” I cry. I want to touch him. I want to wrap my arms around his shoulders and never let go.
He doesn’t pull out or rock just yet. He stays deep, my need building fiercely. He breathes just as heavily as me, nearly kissing, nearly shifting, but he remains in this single, taunting position that has my nerves singing.
“Tell me the first thing that comes to your head,” he says.
In an aching whisper, I say, “I love you.”
His eyes graze me with sheer want. “How much do you love me?”
“So much.”
“How badly do you want me?”
“So badly,” I say with a short gasp. “Please.”
“How do I feel inside of you?”
I struggle to form words, my toes beginning to curl, my muscles spindling.
“Lily?” he says forcefully.
“…Good.” I manage to sputter.
“How good?”
I shake my head. I can’t describe. “You’re unlike anyone…” He’s my best friend. My best friend is all the way inside of me. If I think back years ago, when I wouldn’t allow myself to even fantasize about this moment, I would have died and come right there.
He slowly slips back and then slowly slips in. I shudder as soon as he fills me again. “How was that?” he asks with a growing smile. He knows exactly how that was.
“I can’t…”
“You can’t what?”
“Breathe.” I can breathe, of course—I’m talking. But it feels like my lungs are about to explode.
“I’m not stopping,” he reminds me. Please don’t ever. He slips out the same way for the second time, and when he eases himself completely inside of me, my cries must breach the walls of our bedroom.
“Lo, Lo, Lo!” I repeat in hurried succession. I constrict around him once and then twice.
He lets out a deep groan, his mouth parting like mine, unable to tease me with a lingering kiss any longer. “Lil,” he says, sitting up off my body to see the way he disappears between my legs. I want to see that too, but Lo shifts even further forward, and I constrict again. Holy…
My back arches, and I tug against the cuff and the scarf, the metal digging into my skin, the sharpness reminding me of Lo, igniting something intense within me.
Even as I come, I prepare for him to pull out and say enough is enough. One peak is all you get, Lily.
But he continues that mocking routine. Slipping out so very slowly. Slipping in so very slowly. Stopping, waiting, watching me.
And I come again.
He’s bursting every nerve in my body. He’s causing my world to spin.
And I can see how much he’s waiting for his release, how his own peak closes in, and how he restrains himself from coming, from ending this. Each time I tighten around his cock, he groans and finds a way to stay sane, to stay back in order to help me. In order to allow me to reach this place many, many times.
He’s filling my every single need.
He’s taking care of me.
Only Lo can satisfy every part of my all-consuming soul.
He is truly my everything.
{ 12 }
LOREN HALE
The therapist’s office rests in the heart of New York City, and on the ride here, Lily can’t keep her legs from bouncing. I’ve spent three months spilling my guts to doctors and psychologists; one sex therapist isn’t going to scare me off. I just wish I could take away Lily’s nerves. I told her it won’t be weird—that this lady has probably heard some wild things—but it wasn’t enough to stop her head from whipping towards the door like she was ready to fling herself out.
I take her hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. Her shoulders slacken and she turns to look at me, releasing a giant breath at the same time. I can’t help but smile. She’s cute, even when she doesn’t mean to be.
After paying the cab, a tense elevator ride, and a short walk down the hall, we wait in a small area that looks more like a modern living room: glass bookshelves and light streaming through long windows. The office door swings open, and the therapist motions us inside. A leather couch sits along the coffee-colored wall. And a robust black leather chair lies directly across.