“I can do more.” He pushed a hand under my ribs, cupped a breast and drew me snug to him. I felt lips on my ear, fingers kneading my breast, hips rubbing mine slowly, erotically. A palm rasped up my thigh to the soft, wet, now-throbbing juncture.
And then, frustratingly, he said, “Enough?”
“No.” I tried to grab him to show him just how not enough, to make him bite my lobe or pinch my nipple or rub forcefully between my legs-and jerked wrists against tie. “Damn.”
“Yes.” Nikos’s purr resounded in my ear, against my spine. “Whatever I want. As long and slow as I want.”
In that moment I understood. Two hours. He planned two hours of this. Would I even survive half that? “If you ever want sex with me again, you’ll speed this up, Spartan.”
The plane dipped, rolling me into him. He held me closer, licking my ear softly. “The thing about Spartans, my strong, independent woman, is that we are trained. We have almost limitless self-control. Incredible patience-and endurance.” One finger touched the top seam of my labia, wiggled them gently apart. Stroked the lightest touch down the shaft of my hardening clit.
I groaned. “How much endurance?”
“Let’s see,” he said, lifting my hips to him and filling me with a single thrust.
“Uhhhn.” I panted. My vagina stretched around him, resonating with that possessive impalement.
His finger stroked the hood of my clit, barely touching it, over and over. I surged to meet him, urging him to pet harder. He kept up that same light mind-numbing stroking.
“Come on Nikos.” I tried to press into him, to rub myself harder against him. He simply gave under my pressure. I tried to grab for purchase with my legs but the tie binding my ankles stopped me. My pussy clenched helplessly around his throbbing shaft. His purr increased at my obvious frustration. “Damn it, Nikos, enough. Screw me, bite me, already.”
“No. Anything I want.” He pinched my nipple, plucked it.
I groaned. “Fine. Whatever you want. As long as it happens faster.”
He laughed. “Yes, my mistress. No, wait. I am master now.” He stroked once into me. Then lay throbbing inside.
I squirmed on his thick erection. Clenched a few times around it. “Master this, Spartan.” I contracted every muscle in my abdomen and bottom as hard as I could.
He sucked in his breath. “Your sheath is a tight, hot glove. But you’ll have to do better than that. Spartan control, remember? Spartan endurance.” He slipped a fingertip onto my clit and wiggled.
A moan hissed from between my gritted teeth. “Not fair. You’ve got me tied, helpless.”
“That’s the idea.” His laugh was ruffled by purr. “You must submit to whatever I want. Like this.”
His fangs sank deep into the trapezius muscle of my shoulder. Lightning struck sharp and bright down my body, exploding between my thighs. I screamed.
“And this.” He rolled me onto my belly, lifted my hips with one muscled arm and started thrusting into me, his driving strokes so hard I could feel my buttocks stutter.
Just at that moment the plane hit an air pocket and dropped what felt like a thousand feet in seconds. Nikos kept me firmly pinned to the mattress and drove into me, hard and deep, over and over. By the time the plane leveled out my stomach was on the ceiling, my uterus was in my throat, and I was weeping with pleasure.
He thrust into me tirelessly, driving me toward greater and greater tension. I tried worming away but his banding arm restrained me. I tried clawing with my hands, shoving with my feet, but tied together they were worse than useless.
I was bound and helpless, Nikos’s to do with as he pleased. So much for the strong, independent woman. I could do nothing but submit to his driving sex.
Nothing…except enjoy.
As he pummeled me closer and closer to the edge of insanity, a paradoxical clarity flooded me. A certainty, that it wasn’t a question of submitting. That it never had been about me being insignificant or less. But that sometimes life put me on the receiving end. That sometimes I should fight fate for how I thought things should be-and sometimes I should just enjoy what was.
Well. Maybe tomorrow life would hand me pain and suffering. Today it was throwing me pure pleasure. I relaxed and enjoyed.
The instant I did, Nikos growled. He thrust a hand under me, grabbed a breast and pinched my nipple. Bit me again.
And finally he beat my clit with his rough, hard fingers, matching and surpassing the driving force of his pounding hips.
He stroked and nipped and pounded until I stiffened in his arms-and climaxed. Liquid fire washed over me, through me, pulsing from his fangs piercing my shoulder to his fingers stroking my clit.
He drew my climax out, milked it. And when I finished, instead of holding me tenderly, he hauled my body to the edge of the bed, pushed my head off the end of the mattress and pounded twice as hard.
Head hanging, blood rushed into my brain. I built again, higher, sweeter. Faster. Fire consumed me. My breath rasped, my eyes flashed wide open as I saw it coming. The all-consuming orgasm, the climax so big it would incinerate me, burn me to ashes.
He pinched my nipple, derailing me. Then he sank fangs into my breast, jumping me back on track with a hot bright jerk, and started pounding harder. I opened my mouth to scream sweet heavens-
It exploded all around me, deafening me. Black noise hit my ears, black velvet wrapped around my head. My voiceless scream caught in my throat. White light burst behind my closed lids, blinding me. Pleasure knifed me, fierce and sharp.
Nikos roared but it was muffled, distant. His cock jerked in my sheath, pulsed as it emptied hot into me. It pushed my own pleasure deeper, a swirling surge in my womb.
When I lifted my head, hours/minutes/an eternity later, Nikos had to help me.
He gently untied my wrists and cradled me, a soft purr warming me.
“I’m not sure that was fair,” I mumbled.
“More than fair. You loved me when I was bound. Turnabout is fair play.”
“Okay. But next time?” I pulled the tie sleepily from his hand. Rolled myself over in his arms and wrapped the tie around his softened shaft and heavy testicles. A renewed interest tightened both. “Next time’s my turn.”
He was silent for a long time, and I nearly fell asleep.
“Twyla. You don’t need to marry me.”
That woke me up quick.
Nikos caressed my cheek reassuringly with a single thumb. “But I love you. Surely that counts for something.”
“You…you love me?” I sighed, nestled back in. “I love you too.”
“Then come live with me. We’ll see what develops.”
“I guess I can handle that. Whatever develops?”
“Yes.”
I kissed him sleepily, and knew that was enough. Because I had remembered a lot of my past, and who I really was. And I remembered my photography classes.
In film, what developed was only the picture that had been there all along.
About the Author
Mary Hughes is a computer consultant, professional musician, and writer. At various points in her life she has taught Taekwondo, worked in the insurance industry, and studied religion. She is intensely interested in the origins of the universe. She has a wonderful husband (though happily-ever-after takes a lot of hard work) and two great kids. But she thinks that with all the advances in modern medicine, childbirth should be a lot less messy.
To learn more about Mary Hughes, please visit www.maryhughesbooks.com.
