Detained

She swept her eyes back to his face. “I might’ve guessed that. But you do know about restraint. You were restrained last night. You wouldn’t let me touch you.”

“If I remember rightly, you were restrained, and I wouldn’t let you argue with me. You’ve got ten seconds.”

“And then what?”

He laughed, his hands came down from behind his head to line the pillows again. Ready to pounce. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

“I want you to sit still.”

“Obedience isn’t my thing either.”

“No kidding.” She shifted to sit across his thighs. Put both hands on his ribs and smoothed them up and over his pecs to his shoulders. She leant forward and put her lips on his collarbone, her nipples grazed his chest, the light blond hair there creating a delicious itch.

“You want to sit a little closer, woman.”

She licked across his collarbone to the hollow at this throat. “I want to do this in my own time.”

His head kicked back against the pillows. “That wasn’t my plan.”

“Got somewhere better to be?”

He snickered, “I’m almost right where I want to be.” He pushed down on the bed so she was bounced further up his thighs. She had to grasp his arms to stop falling into him.

“You’re the devil.”

“I’m working on it, angel.”

“Sit still.”

He groaned. “You’re pushing your luck.”

She knew it. His body was vibrating under her hands, hot under her lips. She put her hand to his face, traced her thumb over the white line under his chin, then followed it with her tongue. He brought his head down and caught her lips in a wet kiss, but let her pull away.

She slid up his body so she was exactly where he wanted her to be and the air came out of him in a slow swoosh. He had both fists full of pillow and his eyes were black bright with desire.

She rocked against him, his hardness and heat. Her own restraint in tatters; her body arched, breasts thrust high, breathy sighs her only language. She forgot he was dangerous. Forgot she was reckless. Forgot her own name. All that was burned away. All she was left with was rolling flickers of electric sensation. Every nerve ending sparking, every muscle firing with pleasure. If he touched her she might become smoke, but burning alive would be glorious.

In one fluid movement he palmed her hips, pulled her down harder against him and flipped her on her back. Part of her wanted to resist, to cry out at the injustice of his disobedience. She wanted to take him, master him, but he was too big, too strong, too everywhere, and her ability to think had dissolved to nothing.

She was made entirely of feeling. His lips and hands and tongue, the racing sound of his breathing and the bite of his fingers. He did what they’d both wanted, and had held back from last night. He was all about her. Wringing reaction from her body with every stroke, press, pinch and thrust.

A spiral of intensity built inside her. It dragged in every thought and emotion she’d ever had and wrapped them tight, stirred them up, blew them apart. She fought it, tried to wait the force of it out, let it wash over her, but he was relentless. He took her to the edge with his fingers, with his tongue, and when he finally entered her she was wild with the need of him, scoring his back with her short nails, biting the skin on his neck.

Beyond the tremors, in the soft comedown, in the silence that held only their panted breath, she played her fingertips though his thick hair. He was heavy, but she knew he was braced on his elbows so not to crush her. He’d made her feel new-forged, but he hadn’t lost himself. He wasn’t relaxed, he wasn’t at peace. Under her hands his muscles were still rigid. She was amazed and grateful and worn out, like she’d done a yoga marathon. But she was also resolved. She needed food, she needed sleep, and then she was going to unravel this man like he’d done to her. Take away his anchors and make him float, give him wings so he could fly too.

10. Success

“Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles.” — Confucius

She needed to sleep, but he needed to feed her first. She was everything and more than he expected. She’d let him open her soul up; see everything inside her, all of her without covering, without pretence. It humbled him. She was something else. Nothing he’d experienced before. It could become a problem.

She wore the cream hotel robe and nothing underneath. It flowed against her skin, silk on silk. She sat opposite him, devouring a fruit tart after a main course of salmon. She ate like she enjoyed food. Devoured it. She ate like she fucked. And she’d fucked like she was starving for good food. She could become a problem.

But she wasn’t going to starve this weekend. They weren’t finished with each other by a long shot. All her reserve and hesitancy was gone now. She didn’t dodge his glance or default to shyness or caution. No more nibbling. From here on in it was full mouthfuls.

He patted his thigh and she brought her feet up, let him massage her arches and her toes, groaned with delight when he pressed into her foot, sinking further in her chair. Her robe fell open, and she didn’t bother to try and cover her legs.

He liked this comfort with him. He figured it was the opening act for the kind of brazenness she showed in debate. She had a plan, he could see it brewing. He just hoped it left him able to walk. Because at some point he’d have to. Without looking back.